So Many Poems
Still Dreaming By Schetselaar In my youth I ran a lot, Bounced the ball And took a shot. Laced the Chucks and broke a sweat. Dreams of glory, And ripping net. I was Bird and Dad was Chief. Basketball - Time’s biggest thief. Grew a bit, became a man. Dreams then worn Where they began. A youngster’s dreams are dreams of yore: All but gone - ‘cept on the floor.		Dreams Live Here By Schetselaar Kobe and The Diesel play. So does Larry Bird. And to think that Magic would skip a week Is nothing but absurd. The Admiral dons his silver duds, And MJ’s on his way. LeBron is here ‘bout every week, And look! There’s Dr J! Boys rise up in stout old men Where heroes never die. The skills may fade, but the love is there. Wings sprout and children fly.
Thursday’s Lament By Schetselaar I think I hurt my knee somehow, It’s giving me lots of pain. I’ll mow the lawn when it feels better. It hurts worse when it starts to rain. My ankle barks, dear, it makes me hobble. I can barely get around. I’ll take out the trash in a little while, When I can get myself off the ground. My shoulder aches, I can hardly take it, The pain is so aggravating. I’ll do the dishes this afternoon When the pain isn’t so frustrating. My head is pounding, babe, my fingers throb. I’ll paint and sweep and caulk. But not right now, darling, I hurt too bad, But I’ll feel better ‘round nine o’clock.		My Basketball Things By Schetselaar Big Ben’s three-pointers That just clear the ceiling. ‘Ol Jordan’s no-looks And dimes that he’s dealing. Corey is counting his multiple rings. These are a few of my favorite things. Taylor’s rebounding Is something real pretty. Jason’s tough hustle Is boundless and gritty. Swanson is royal and worthy of kings. These are a few of my basketball things. Dan is leaking - Easy layups - Coolest points we had. When I am down I remember these things And then I don’t feel so bad.
Old Gym Shoes By Schetselaar To run and play and jump and shoot. To laugh and box and pass. I’ve loved each moment of every game, And played with men of class. I’ve played with dad and nephews, too. And driven hard to the rack. I’ve shot the three and heard it swish, And enjoyed the talk of smack. I’ve learned some savvy, I’ve grabbed some boards, Since those days with the driveway hoop. And thankfully no one’s ever said I should play with my own age group. For that, I thank you, and bow my head, And hope I don’t have to choose. ‘Cause who knew such sanguine joy could come From a pair of old gym shoes?		Quack! By Schetselaar “Come play with us”, said Brer Rabbit. “Quack, quack!” were the quick replies. “Come over and play ‘cause we won’t go away. Come play the Gainesville franchise.” “Quack”, said the ducks as they laid in the hay, “That season has come and gone. It’s now time to swing like birds on the wing, And hit a few onto the lawn.” "But basketball season is just getting good!” The rabbit said through gray whiskered jowl. “The Cedars are good folks and so are the Oaks.” But the ducks just turned and said, “Foul!” Then they waddled away with bags on their backs And Dodger-blue caps on their heads. “We’re ducks, after all, we can’t play much ball Unless we’re wearing these nifty golf threads.”
Release the Kraken (with thanks to Robert Service) By Schetselaar There are strange things hewn ‘neath the midnight moon By the men who moil for goals; The hardwood floors have their tales of scores That would climb the Salt Lake polls; Those Thursday nights have seen strange sights, But the strangest for excessive slackin’ Was that year on the floor, and there might be more, Without a visit from the Kraken.		Some Guys By Schetselaar Some guys like to paint the town, And flash all kinds of money. Some guys think they’re ladies men, Or think they’re really funny. Some guys like to stay out late, Or drive in fancy cars. Some guys work and don’t go home, Or smoke high-priced cigars. Some guys sit and watch tv, And some guys like to brawl. Me? I’m simple, ‘cause all I want Is to play some basketball.
Name-Dropper By Schetselaar From James Naismith’s baby To James’ great hoops eye There’s Wilt and then Duncan And Dirk and A.I. From Ewing to Kobe, From Moses to Shaq. To thinking that Willis Would never bounce back. McHale and James Harden. Kareem and KD. Stockton and Malone Who were championship free. Magic and Michael, Dikembe and Chief, And then on to Bird Whose stay was too brief. Hakeem and Steph Curry, And good old Bob Cousy. Come on now, Dan Bowman, You can’t be that choosy. They make up the game I’ve loved since a kid. And I love all the players My good old dad did.		The Words I Fear By Schetselaar “You’re fired” are words that could start a fight. “I’m going to mom’s” if I’m feeling right. “Your car’s in need of an overhaul.” “Your son’s been in a giant brawl.” “The Yankees lose the Series in seven.” “There isn’t any such place as heaven.” But all these words can be outdone By the words I fear most…”One and done.” When uttered, those words mean another night Of ball has gone, now comes the fright Of hearing the words that make me shriek When Ben says them once, “Until next week.”