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Basketball Poems
Basketball Poems Competition 2006 "Basketball - Poetry in Motion" Celebrating the game of basketball in poems A site by Garo Salibian
Special InternationalBasketball.com Feature
Submit your basketball poems at: worldbasketball@yahoo.com or info@internationalbasketball.com
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Basketball Poems Competition 2006
Send your original basketball poems for publishing on this site
Include your full name, age and a brief biography with your poems. All formats acceptable. Copyright at all time will remain to the author ( © 2006 )
As for already published poems elsewhere, you can inform us about them for possible inclusion in our "Basketball Poem Links" section
E-mail: info@internationalbasketball.com
Basketball Poems website sections:
Basketball Poems 2006 Competition Contains winners for all years and new participating basketball poems for this year Basketball Poems 2005 Competition Contains the three winners and all other participating basketball poems Basketball Poems 2004 Competition Contains the three winners and all other participating basketball poems Basketball Poems 2003 Competition Contains the three winners and all other participating basketball poems Basketball Poems Links and Media Section 4. Basketball Poems Online
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Basketball Poems 2006 Competition
Submissions in alphabetical order: Aaron Amado: "Basketball" Brandy Clemmer: "What's the point of this game" Madonna Saad: "I Will Never Give Up" Victoria Schallberger: "Learning the Game of Basketball" Paige Sickmiller: "Suck It Up For Basketball" Laetitia Wu: "Be Strong"
Basketball By Aaron Amado
So many things come to mind
When you have to write a rhyme
Like basketball my favorite sport
The ball bounces against the court
Making that rhythmical beat
Pulling back to hit the jumper from six feet
If you’re successful you will hear
The crowds go wild in your ear
And as you hum your favorite song
The ball will follow right along
Creating that rhythmical beat That makes the crowd jump out their seats
© 2006 Aaron Amado
E-mail: amadoaa@thayer.org
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What's the point of this game By Brandy Clemmer
Life is kind of basketball. You can go through life doing everything right and still die young You can play basketball with every fundamental and still lose.
So what the point of the game. The point of this game is your team's the team That cared, shared, fought and thought So even in the end, you don't lose anything, You'll always have your team that fought it through with you
© 2006 Brandy Clemmer
Brandy Clemmer says she wrote this poem years ago when she was sitting on the bench of a varsity when she could have been playing, but couldn't. This crushed her, she says she loved this sport more than anything. She never published the poem and the paper she had written on got lost. But she couldn't take off her mind and remembered even years later. E-mail: brandybecker7@hotmail.com
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I Will Never Give Up By Madonna Saad
By no means will I give up, And continue working from set to dawn. Working is what makes me strong, Because wishing and dreaming is never gone.
You never think that it could end, Tell reality really sets in. You feel like you're in a dreaming ball Constantly trying not to fall.
It happened to me in a millisecond, But feels like it never ends My injured body laying their helpless Unable to recapture the incident
Now looking back at what killed me, Physically though not literally A body with no point in life Feeling the pain of a stabbing knife.
Trying to ignore the pain, But it will always be a part of me. I sit her in the rain, Thinking of a shattered dream.
Where do I begin from her because basketball is the air I breath. Please God help me, With that injured knee.
© 2006 Madonna Saad
Madonna Saad, 17, has been playing basketball since she was five years old. Most people call her shorty because she was considered a tiny player. "But just from experience," she says "I can say that it is not how big you are it is how big you play. Basketball is all about heart and love for the game". She graduated form Fordson High School this year but as a senior couldn't play basketball because she got injured. She is still recovering but she's not going to give up on her dreams. Listening to Nas's song "I Can " is what keeps her motivated.This poem was written a month after she got injured. Going through the rehab was and is still tough for her but she just has to work hard and continue pushing myself.
E-mail:
madonnasaad@msn.com
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Learning the Game of Basketball By Victoria Schallberger
Learn the game, It is not all fame.
The two face off, hip to hip. The referee throws the first tip.
Dribble, pass and shoot, The fans are here to root.
Pivot and triple threat, Ball falls through the net.
You should not travel or lose the ball, It is forbidden to double dribble or fall.
Steal the ball, pass it to a team mate, She has the lay-up, with her arm up straight.
Another score, That makes four.
You may be fouled, to the line you go, Players line up for your free throw.
Make it five, Miss... the ball's alive.
Quick, defense to guard the hoop, Put your arms up, work as a group.
TEAM work is the core Together Everyone Achieves More
© 2006 Victoria Schallberger
Victoria Schallberger wrote this poem when she started basketball in 3rd grade. It was a learning experience for her. She owes a lot to her incredible coaches she says. Victoria remembers her sister repeating the coach's words that TEAM work is so important, and now she know why. Thus this poem. E-mail: Heidiswlodi@aol.com
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Suck It Up For Basketball By Paige Sickmiller
© 2006 Paige Sickmiller
Paige, 14, has played for 8 years and constantly writes poems, this one being a favorite and admits: "Basketball is my life. I eat, breath and sleep basketball". E-mail:
bballaintacrime@comcast.net ****************
Be Strong By Laetitia Wu
The
inter-class basketball competition... © 2006 Laetitia Wu
This is one of the many poems Laetitia Wu, 12, wrote after losing the match. I want to be a professional player or a school basketball coach when she grows up, and this loss told her that there is still a lot of room for improvement.
E-mail:
laetitiawu@excite.com
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Basketball Poems 2005 Competition Winners
First Prize
Just A Game By Rachel Fury
It’s just a game they say-
Tell it to the kid who gave up smokin’ who’s no longer stuck jokin’ about cancer- because someone gave him a token to play
Tell it to the kid who just dropped a sweet dime saw the smile on his daddy’s face for the first time found that on the court he had rhythm and rhyme
Tell it to the girl who finally found a place where she doesn’t have to put on a new face and she can take on the world at her own pace
Tell it to the guys who bang the boards at noon knowing their lunch hour will be through soon stickin’ around because this game plays their tune
Tell it the kid who just joined his first team who finally found out what the word means because it’s something his family never seemed
Tell it to the people with empty pockets who feel rich when the ball hits the net like a rocket the adrenaline pulsing like it came from an electrical socket
Tell it to the kids in a gun-riddled city who have to grow up hard and gritty people tellin’ them they’ll never be witty
You know what they’d say don’t you who are you- if you had half a clue if only you knew what they had to do you’d know it was the only way to see it through
© 2005 Rachel Furey
Rachel is a SUNY Brockport senior student with a major in English and minor in Coaching and Environmental Science. For her, basketball has always been more than just a game. She has long loved basketball and writing and often finds herself mixing the two. She enjoys sitting down to write after a hard pick up game. She even wrote a term paper for an advanced composition course on the advantage of short players in basketball. She says: "From shoveling off the court in the winter to play, to pick-up games with the guys at the Y, it has been a great release, a great way to clear the mind, and a place that I can always feel at home".
Rachel Furey came second in our Basketball Poems competition in 2003 with "B-Ball" and third in our competition in 2004 with her poem "Early Morning Practice"
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Second Prize
Ballers and Friends By Daniel Shelton
from the first time i saw him i knew he would go straight to the top and beside him i'd flow, he'd hit every three and stuff all your shots, the absolute king of the ball on our lot.
now jeremy told me not to try he was that good, but for the love of the game i'd put him to shame, the first match i'd lost and my pride seemed to fall, i swore to this kid i'd be back and we'd ball.
i'm not the best i do miss my share, but i've got the heart and he's got the spark, now my mind is made up it's time to return back to the lot and stuff this kid's shots.
i remember it clear the look on his face when i blocked his first shot hard into his face he stared in amazement he knew it was time, he knew we weren't playing the game on the line
we played with our hearts and realized it then... that we're ballers.... .... we're friends....
© 2005 Daniel Shelton
Daniel Sheldon wrote this poem about a friend, Kyle. "He is a real good basketball player... Probably this guy's the best I've ever seen" Dan says, "and I'm not just saying that because he is my friend... We play basketball all day everyday and I'm right behind him...we both love the game more than anybody..... we play in the cold and when its windy, we play 2 games back-to-back with friends to 100 and then play some more...." E-mail: bballer_23_2004@yahoo.com
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Third Prize
The Touch By John Hennings
The touch has never left me I find warmth in the cold winter sun And seeing the breath from my lungs Whisper of wind keeps me company Dire Straights can replay the memory "Boy has dedication, the boy can play" I feel the tingling in my finger tips And I smile knowing I still have the touch
I drive by my old street corner No longer a spot on the boulevard That I wore out with my own two feet Some say you can't find dreams On a down hill road following a dead end street But I was too stubborn to know what that means
Before I had a hoop of my own I shot on any hoop around Mr. Hare had a hoop on his garage Worried about his window, so he took it down And some years later it seems He forgot about me coming around Put up that black and white backboard Wondered if he still recognized that sound
He says to me aren’t you You must be that funny kid Before he could say who I was I said yea that was me Twenty years ago and not aware of reality But I had this to say to him
The touch has never left me I find warmth in the cold winter sun And seeing the breath from my lungs Whisper of wind keeps me company Dire Straights can replay the memory "Boy has dedication, the boy can play" I feel the tingling in my finger tips And I smile knowing I still have the touch
I no longer chase my dreams From sun up to sun down But this I know
The touch has never left me I find warmth in the cold winter sun And seeing the breath from my lungs Whisper of wind keeps me company Dire Straights can replay the memory "Boy has dedication, the boy can play" I feel the tingling in my finger tips And I smile knowing I still have the touch
© 2005 Jon Hennings
Jon Hennings, 31, says: "Basketball did more things for me than I will ever know. It made me go about life in a certain way, even without basketball I apply and appreciate the things basketball gave me. So I wrote this poem. I write about basketball here and there. But it is always with me the spirit it gave me".
Jon Hennings is the winner of our Basketball Poems competition in 2003 with his poem "Flick of the Wrist"
E-mail: chuckhennings@hotmail.com
. Basketball Poems 2004 Competition Winners
First Prize
Basketball By Cole Bossman
The
beat of the ball marks my rhythm, Times
like these let you know you are livin', My
calves are burning, crying out in pain, Soaring
through the air they think I'm insane, A
thirteen year old shooting 'till 10 o'clock, they stare, As
I sore easily through the air, They
ask why I do it, why am I there, Why
do I love it so much, why do I care, I
cannot say anything to them, they just don't understand, What
it's like to look down and not be on land, They
don't understand how hard it was to get here, How
I went through disappointment, how I went through fear, How
I played through injury, serious and not, How
I played in the rain, and when it was hot, How
I studied and learned the entire game, Just
to get to the top, so they would know my name, And
so as I stand here, the cold breeze touching my face, I
know I belong here, this is my place, So
when those people ask why I do this all day, I
say, because I love it, I'm here to stay, And
so when the day is long overdue, I
go home happy, good as new, Because
what keeps me going runs in my every vein, It's
this undying love, for this perfect game. © 2004 Cole Bosmann
This is the first time Cole Bosmann has tried to write about basketball. He calls himself "Baller for Life". They had to do a project at school and to write a poem. He was just back from a pickup game and he was still thinking about ot and the words just flew easily, he says. "It's just what I feel about it, but not entirely," he admits, "because words can't describe what it's really like." He adds: "People who haven't played basketball can understand this poem, but they can't feel it, can't believe it. This is just a taste of what basketball is, because it is much more". E-mail: cole_bosmann@hotmail.com
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Second Prize
The Endless Dream By Richard Lee
Cold feet move about gracefully as twilight approaches, A single street lights’ dim glow replaces a fading winter sun. The concrete slab is for now the hardwood floor of tomorrow, As each step is repeated over again until night has come.
The first of many wonderful moments came one winter day, An invite to leave the cold, empty concrete slab. Inside an aging building with heavy metal green doors, Lay a hardwood floor waiting to test every known move.
Like the warmth of a blanket this place gave sheer comfort, Against the unforgiving elements each winter night produced. The glare from the lights hanging high about this holy place, Let everyone display their smoothest or newest move.
So many old buildings in so many places then and now, With hardwood floors upon which these feet moved about. Nearly fifty winters have passed since this dream began, The hardwood floors are the same, the feet have stopped at last.
A chair at the edge of the hardwood floor gives a perfect view, From where to see all that those younger cold feet can do.
© 2004 Richard E Lee
Richard Lee is a coach and a writer. A much better coach than a writer, he admits. But the love of the game shows so much in his words here. E-mail: rambler6484@netscape.net
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Third Prize
Early Morning Practice By Rachel Furey
I call this a dream stars scattered across the sky the moon bubbling on high beam the ball balanced in my hand as if it were the earth spinning on its axis.
The thud of ball against blacktop speaks out to me like people from the clouds its gentle swish hums like rain rolling onto a roof and hangs in the air like dandelion seeds caught in the wind.
The snow falls to the ground in full flakes like parts of heaven descending for embrace they melt to the blacktop like angels wings melting into a magic dust.
A soft layer of wetness envelopes the ball shimmering onto my anxious fingers somewhere in the distance a coyote calls hitting a high note that will cover miles.
For a moment I hold the ball in my hand as if it's a slice of the world finely carved out just for me I let it go and watch it rotate in the air, a dream turning in midstride.
© 2004 Rachel Furey
Rachel Furey is a 20 year old junior at SUNY Brockport majoring in English. She is also pursuing a minor in coaching and would like to coach youth basketball some day. She is passionate about writing and basketball and few days pass where she doesn't engage in both in some way or another. Rachel had also submitted a poem last year entitled "B-Ball" winning the second prize. Read her winning poem on the 2003 Competition page
Email: rfur0629@brockport.edu
Basketball Poems 2003 Competition Winners
First Prize
Flick of the Wrist By Jonathan David Hennings
Not your ordinary young gunner Have to confess she kept me out late Boy shouldn't be in love at eight She had the focus of my eye Just her and I and the night sky Seek her even in through the shadows Something about her I could not resist Determined to make to the top of her list Gave her all my devotion Just for the motion Found love on a dead end street You never kicked me to the curb Cant talk about the neighbors we disturb Such sweet sound I insist Made with the flick of the wrist
© 2003 Jonathan Hennings
Jonathan David Hennings, now 28, had the privilege of growing up and watching Magic Johnson, Larry Bird, and Michael Jordan. He loved basketball from the very first time his father took him to the park to play. It became a life long passion and burning desire for him. The above mentioned 3 stars inspired him to practice every waking hour he could get. Basketball was his life and he wanted nothing more than to become a great pro player. Well that did not pan out, so here are three of his poems about his life experience growing up with basketball. E-mail: chuckhennings@hotmail.com
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Second Prize
B-Ball By Rachel Fury
I live for that sacred sound of the swish, The rolling shots that spin in like a fish, The through the defenders dish, And the hanging half-court shot - I wish.
I make this blacktop land my home, Like I’m a callous court gnome, I don’t need a multi-million dome, I take my ball where I roam.
Putting up shot after shot, Five on five games hard fought, Some super star - I’m not, Talent’s not a gift to be bought.
I work hard - pushing every day, Running to keep weakness at bay, Leavin’ it all on the floor when I play, I take the swish of the net as my pay.
The sweat running strong, Strides stretched out long, The ball bouncing in like ping pong, My heart singing the sweet song.
Getting myself all in the flow, Liftin’ ain’t such a blow, Workouts lined up in a row, I take my ball in tow.
Full court games all alone, Zig zaggin’ through the zone, Workin’ ‘til it hurts to the bone, And there’s nothin’ left to loan.
Playin’ for kids that never had the chance, People never given the deed to dance, In the gym I’m holding my stance, Heads spinnin’ to take their glance.
‘Cause pumpin’ in every vein Is the love of this game, Life without it - spare me the pain- It’d never be the same.
© 2003 Rachel Fury
Rachel Fury is a 19-year old Sophomore at SUNY Brockport. She loves to write and she loves to play basketball. E-mail: rfur0629@brockport.edu
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Third Prize
(Untitled) By Joe Hines
Basketball brings a feeling I can't describe. If you are a player, all you can see is the basket And eyes filled with doubt or determination. You can smell the odor of jerseys drenched in sweat You can taste nothing but dryness of the mouth All you can hear are bleachers Filled with the roaring half-crazed fans And thunder of twenty feet going up and down the floor You can feel the rough, but gentle leather of the ball. To live is to experience basketball.
© 1996 and 2003 Joe Hines
Joe Hines is a college basketball player from Michigan. He is a senior and co-captain in Denison University basketball. He s 21. He is going to Dental school next year. Actually he hasn't written poems for a long time now, but has kept what he had wrote when he was younger (1996) and thought that he could play in the NBA. E-mail: kjoehines@hotmail.com
About This Basketball Poems Site: The game of basketball, much loved and practiced around the world, has been celebrated many times in poems written mostly by amateur writers, young and old, and at times even by known poets indeed. This is hardly surprising as the game of basketball has high esthetic value inherent in the game, a game that has always aspired to the higher and better to be almost a "poetry in motion"
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