|
Fishing Poet Tom Zart's = THE WORLD of MAN AND SPORTS
by Tom Zart BASEBALL A game called prison ball was enjoyed in France while English boys played rounder in short pants. Town ball was the game that Americans played While friends and family watched from the shade. American baseball became alive With Cartwright's rules of 1845. Civil War soldiers played behind the lines To help pass time and soothe troubled minds. Professional baseball got its start When the National League performed its part. Soon after fans would pay to see the games As the players traveled by boats and trains. From April to October, players play. Half the time at home and half away. By thirty, it's time for most to retire Before they're consumed by game time desire. FOOTBALL The stands are full of eager fans Who say, we're paid too much money! But if they would put our suits on They'd find football isn't funny. Twenty-two men and five referees Chasing a pigskin, air filled ball. Mashing and bashing all the way Till the striped shirts whistle their call. All the generals on the sideline Are waging their athletic war. And the letters in the words they use Never amount to more than four. There's no substitute for winning And no excuse for losing. Though after games; when we can't sleep It's because of all the bruising. THE BOXER My opponent's huge but his brain is small I'll bust his chin and watch him fall. He'll greet the mat and moan and groan As I stand in victory, he'll lie alone. Boxing is a game of sport Loved by all both tall and short. Cheers and shouts shall fill the air Far more than a circus or fair. I'll jump the ropes and respond to the bell Engage in combat and fight like hell. As the punishment begins, behold the test Soon the fans will know, Who's Best. BOXERS, PAST & PRESENT The Greek and Roman athletes Wore studs of iron on each hand Beating and clawing each other Like two tigers on the sand. The English called it boxing first To pound someone with your fist. Mostly it was done for money But sometimes by those just pissed. Matches of the bare-knuckle days Lasted fifty rounds or more Till one man's towel would be thrown in As he lay upon the floor. Boxers now use soft leather gloves With their hands wrapped in cotton. Wearing a mouthpiece for teeth and lips They fight like those forgotten. BESIDES LOVE MEN NEED FISHING Besides love men need fishing And for both, most are wishing Catching trophies chosen best To be envied by the rest. Fishing is a game of sport Loved by all, both tall and short. We must fool the fish's eye If we plan to stir and fry. Some use boats while others wade As they fish the sun or shade. Ice-cold drinks help pass the day While life's troubles fade away. Most men feel they've everything With their rod, hook, cork and string. Be it river, pond or lake We all pray our line won't break. GOLF Many games were played with a stick and ball As far back as the early days of man Till the 14th century, golfers teed off At St. Andrews, Scotland with clubs in hand. Today men and women both play golf As a group or just one or two. Players, rich, poor, pro, or in between Practice their swing with clubs, old and new. They don't go thirsty cause they bring their own Whatever it takes to enjoy the day. Sometimes they play several games at once As they win money or give it away. There's nothing better than a green golf course With the sweet scent of spring in the air. To escape the drudgery of the workplace Where you can laugh, joke, brag, gamble and swear RODEO RIDER From dawn to dusk my horse breathes flames I'm a rodeo rider with no time for games. I ride and I fly as I hang on to hair Ramming my spurs in the sides of a mare. Every bone in my body feels some sort of pain No wonder the normal call me insane. I'll drink cold beer and smoke a skinny And in between paydays, I'll spend every penny. So give me my horse and get out of the way As I ride off to glory, till my dieing day. Waving my Stetson, as the crowd cheers me on How soon they'll forget after I'm gone. PUMPING IRON Except for love, there's nothing beats a good workout Pumping iron with dumbbells or a bench press bar. You're muscles grow tight as you begin to swell And those who like firmness want to know who you are. From 16 to 60 you can still look good Though they'll be some who will point, laugh, and make fun. Pay no attention to whatever they say For jokes on them, when they're naked in the sun. History's Sampson, the biblical strong man Was blessed with the strength of no other. A modern man who pumps iron and gives it his all Before he knows it, could pass for his brother. So put aside the pop, beer, hotdogs and chips And pump earth's iron for the rest of your life Soon you'll discover the best of yourself And always have someone for a girlfriend or wife. WHEREVER THE BIG FISH BITE When I was young and before girls I loved to go fish the river. Creeks and ponds where alright to Anywhere that would deliver. Fingerlings four to five inches long Are what trophies love to feast on. Trout line or pole made no difference Bate up and the fight was on. Sometimes I would strike a fire To help keep warm in the night. Spring, summer, fall, I was eager to go Wherever the big ones bite. RIVER FISHING After school my friend and I would walk through town to the river Soon to bait our trout lines with cotton cake, crawdads and liver. Sometimes we used baby bullheads, perch or great big frogs Tossing out into the current next to a snag of logs. At times we would disrobe and wade out in the stream Attaching lines to anything hoping to hook our dream. One day I made some doe bait and stuffed it in my sock Attached five hooks, hundred pound line and tied it to a rock. When I bragged to my classmates they snickered and called me fool Till the next day they followed me to the river after school. I made my way to the water my path was a fallen tree Something big was on my line it was easy for us to see. I tried to pull it in but the current was too strong Three boys ran to assist me as we began to sing a song. Going fishing instead of wishing for the granddaddy of them all If we land this monster will give the sport shows a call. It seemed like forever before our beast was ashore Eighty-five pounds of flathead cat as big as a closet door. We shared his steaks at a fish fry, food for heart and soul Took his head and nailed it high for all to see on a pole. For a time we ceased our casting instead we chased the girls After marriage with our kids we again fished the swirls. Too many of my friends have past and the years have raced by Though here I sit with rod in hand a fisherman till I die. By Fishing Poet Tom Zart Most Published Poet On The Web Poet and Author of Love War And More 225 poems published by Publish America; SHEPHERDS of LIFE e-book 350 poems, CD "MEMORIES" 28 poems with music by Bill Crain for sale on the web under Tom Zart and or Bill Crain. It's appropriate and symbolic that the romantic poet Tom Zart was born on Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |