FIFTY WORD STORY – Basketball Kid

Early every morning, I walk down First Street. There is a rundown park, and everyday I see a kid caked in sweat. His hands are coarse with dirt from dribbling. And everyday, without fail, he will look over at me, step behind the chalky white lines, and sink a three.

——

 

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FIFTY WORD STORY – Tag

I sped down the road like a bullet from a gun. The wind whistled past me as I cut through the air. My feet stamped the concrete hard as I whirled to the right. Everything was still. I saw the hand reaching for my back graze my shoulder.

“You’re it!”

——

 

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Soccer Dog (and Other Haikus)

Cheering – Body

Hands banging metal,

like a chorus of drummers

beating on the stands.

 

Cheering – Breath

The voices cry out,

swelling over the field

like a rising wind.

 

Commercial Break

Despite the colors,

all I hear are white noises

saying to buy more.

 

Bad Calls

I can taste the blood

leaking from between my lips,

yet play continued.

 

Soccer Dog

My cry of despair,

followed shortly by a howl

from the seat by me.

——

 

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STRIKEOUT

Like an umpire shooting bullet holes

through a neighborly batter’s defenses,

you should strike through the draft of your paper

with the black ink of objectivity.

 

Or else you’ll be an executioner.

The ink will become your vicious black hood

and the pen will be your dripping red axe

swinging at the necks of innocent words.

 

Or worse yet, you will be back in high school,

stuttering sentences in a mirror

as you prepare to ask Suzy to prom,

just to doubt you had a shot to start with.

——

 

Hello there!

 

Did you like this poem? Let me know by leaving a like and a comment!

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Want to see more of my work? Check out my blog’s site!

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You can follow me on social media! 🙂

Instagram: @cassadyblog

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Facebook: @cassadyorha