Who’s The Cheater

Accusations made before the game is even played,

Or simply put, if things don’t go my way,

It must be unfair play,

Somebody take their victory away,

Things didn’t go your way,

So you automatically cry foul play,

And steal the thunder of your opponent, 

Who you couldn’t outplay,

What does this make you?

Trying to steal the winner’s joy away,

It’s so childish that grown men would act this way, 

But we all witness it day after day,

I want to play, but if I lose there will be hell to pay,

This act is like a child deliberately destroying his playmate’s toy,  

A toy one that they both have just enjoyed,

If I can’t win I’ll make a scene and steal their joy,

After the game has been played,

There are many things that you can say,

Such as good game, 

We let this one get away,

Good luck the rest of the way, 

I enjoyed myself today,

Or you can be a sore loser and cry cheat,

And refuse handshakes and walk away,

Unjustly accusing others of cheating doesn’t define who they are,

But who you are and what you’re capable of.

—Matthew McCargo

 

I Will Wait

You have a place in my heart

That place is just for you.

When you get busy with other people, family, work, love says

I will wait for you to come back

It may take a week, a month, a year or four years;

Times does not matter

The love and place in my heart is yours and nobody can have it

So, when you return, it is if you never went away.

As God’s place for you is just for you and He will wait for you to return.

—Pat Roberts,

South Boston

 

Please Be Happy

Please read my note that says to you

Please be happy, don’t be blue.

The things that are so bad today

Will soon disappear and fade away

Life will go forth, life will be gay

Life will continue, even if some are away!

So read my note that says to you

Please be happy, don’t be blue.

—Julia Carrington, South Boston

 

In Defense of Borderline: A Prose Poem

It is easy to glide over the Ocean of Good effortlessly. 

Gracefully when the sea is like glass and the path to good is brightly lit by the sun

And there’s love and laughter on the ship. 

But I was born on a stormy sea, a choppy sea, a virtual whirlpool of dark pain

And was not even invited to board the boat. 

And thusly was my shattered personality scattered on the ocean floor by a Shark. 

I think I should at least get credit for surviving this kind of pain, 

Much less thriving in my marriage like I do. 

For all intents and purposes, I should be dead.

—Shirley Satterfield, South Boston