Bulls Bard--The Verses
  • About
  • 2016-17 Season
  • 2015-16 Season
    • Summer 2016
  • 2014-15 Season
    • Summer 2015
  • Store
  • Contact

Game 94

5/14/2015

1 Comment

 

Round Two - Game Six
CHI 73               CLE 94

I used to savor things more

I was great at enjoying things--
Almost competitive

Milkshakes
That I would drink as slow
As I could

Letting things linger
Every step of the way

Like one of those
Bike races
Where the object is to come in last

Wobblingly
Teeteringly slow

Swooping close to the ground
But never falling

Almost in denial

Of the rules
Of physical science--

Of the temporal nature
Of all things

Bullieving I could make a moment
Last forever
1 Comment

Game 93

5/12/2015

0 Comments

 

Round Two - Game Five
CHI 101               CLE 106

One thing about Vietnam
That made it different
Was that people watched it
Over dinner.

They saw it
Pretty much
How it actually was.

Brutal
And terrifying
And not how we thought
War
Was supposed to be.

Doesn't this game
Have rules?

Reality TV
Before we were conditioned
Not to see.

Real Housewives
Of the My Lai Massacre.


Before the killers were replaced with clowns--
And the rockets replaced with juggling pins.

People turned off their tvs
And marched.

They burnt bras
Tore up draft cards
And wrote songs of rebellion.

They made love--
Not war.

This is the danger of
The truth.


Pale and pasty--
Almost flickering
Like a dying candle.

The Emperor’s hologram--
Here to watch his apprentice
And to assure victory.

Out from behind the curtain--
No longer hiding
This dark alliance.  
0 Comments

Game 92

5/10/2015

0 Comments

 

Round Two - Game Four
CHI 84               CLE 86

The end of this one
Could have been remembered
A few different ways.

Let’s be honest--

We all saw Blatt
On the court
Calling for a timeout
His team didn’t have.

Right?

An uncalled technical--
Quite possibly the difference
Between 2-2
And 3-1.

One man
At the line
At home
With the chance to win it.

Is this story not exciting enough?

That's some high fucking drama.
Come on.

A true blunder
Ignored
For a taste of flashy heroics.

Turning a human drama
Into an action flick--
As if the audience is too dumb
And the writer’s too lazy.

I Don't Mean to Complain, But...

My mom tells this story
About when she was little.

She was at a friend’s house--

A perfect little gentile girl
With a perfect little nose (her knee-jerk measuring-stick)
And a man to operate the elevator.

Around the dinner table,
In its own special room,
Sits the family
And their visitor.

Everyone seeming so comfortable
Catching up.
Discussing things.

A surprising, hypnotic rhythm--

Question?
Answer.
Clarify?
Explain.

The little girl--
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but…”

My mom doesn't remember what her friend said next.

It didn't matter.

What did matter
Was the attention she got.
The whole table turning toward
Her.

This type of attention
Around my mom’s table
Was reserved for Brother
And Father.


She held this move
Like a secret--
Waiting.

Later that week
Around the table
In her crowded kitchen,
She tries it,
While Father talks about the store.

I don’t mean to interrupt but…
“Then DON’T.”

He flashes a cold look and continues.
0 Comments

Game 91

5/8/2015

0 Comments

 

Round Two - Game Three
CHI 99               CLE 96

There is some Butkus quote
About today’s players
Celebrating after making the plays
They’re supposed to make.

Or even after not making them.

About how stupid it is.

Commentary on how the game
Has become more foofoo.

Makes me think

Of the intros for an NBA all-star game
A few years back--

Might’a been the Outkast year.

Some grotesque spectacle--
All tinsely and decadent,
Like Christmas at the mall.

Anyways,
As the starters were introduced
Most of them did silly little dances.

Look at me--
I’m the show--

There was something sickening about it.

The kind of desperate
Typically reserved for children
Waiting at the window for daddy.

Not for grown men--
Not for millionaires.

The only starters
Who seemed more interested
In basketball than cameras
Were Rose and Durant.

Quiet and Dignified.

Now,
I know these guys like cameras,
But it’s not their job to dance.

You ever seen Kobe dance
The camera?

He does it by killing people.
0 Comments

Game 90

5/6/2015

0 Comments

 

Round Two - Game Two
CHI 91               CLE 106

My wife
Doesn’t really care about basketball--
Not like some people.

Not like me.

She is a video artist.
A creator of things.

Smart as a whip.
Sharp as a switchblade.

And she can’t
Stand
LeBron James.

“If he wasn’t such a BITCH,
He would be
Dangerous.”
She says--

Close as you'll come
To a compliment.

Cold blooded

For real.

“In the book Ways of Seeing,” *
She explains--
Tone shifting 

Through crooked crafty smile,

“Berger talks about how people see themselves.”

“Men see themselves
As they imagine they are.
While women see themselves
As they imagine others see them.”

Interesting--

A lifetime spent
Discerning one’s value
Through the eyes of others.

The male gaze.

“Look at him on the bench.
Little fuss bucket--
Pulling faces--
All the other players are
Watching the game--
He’s busy watching people
Watch him.”

Must be weird
To exist in this megaphone / microscope
That is
America the media frenzy.

“He puts wigs on at home,
And it makes him feel pretty.
I’d fucking put money on it.”



* Berger, John. Ways of Seeing. New York: Viking, 1973.
0 Comments

Game 89

5/4/2015

0 Comments

 

Round Two - Game One
CHI 99               CLE 92

It is many years later.
Jack sits at his mother’s bedside
Listening to her breathing--
Hearing it become more shallow.

The house is quiet
Other than some birds
Picking at the rotten stump
Out back.

Still oozing
Cloudy milky something--
Like puss.

And sprouting
Weird little sprouts--
Like extra fingers.

Still.

After all these years.

The golden goose long dead
(God save the Golden Goose),
Its feathers plucked
And sold for medicine money.

Mother struggles up
On her elbows
And turns to face him

Jacky,
Baby (an old Irish whisper),
I know I don’t tell you enough
But I’ve always been very proud of you.

You’re a good boy.

Even before--

When I was a great beauty…

When Becky was fat
And gushing milk--
And you were just a baby--
     Laughing.

     Always.

Even once your father left
And times got hard--
You never asked for anything.

You were a happy child.
And not afraid
To take risks--
Even before...

But looking back,
I wish you’d of just swallowed the beans
And become the giant.
0 Comments

    Author

    Poet Laureate of the
    Chicago Bulls

    Archives

    May 2015
    April 2015
    March 2015
    February 2015

    RSS Feed

Proudly powered by Weebly