Archive for Poetry – Page 2

Poetry and the Olympics: Amazing Athletes and Important You

Aren’t the Olympians amazing?  I find myself in awe of their abilities, inspired by their dedication, and exhilarated by their willingness to do whatever it takes to go as far as they possibly can in their chosen sports.  Occasionally, though, a little voice creeps in and begins to compare (and this is one sport in which no one ever wins).  I start to think things like “I’ll never be that good at anything” and/or “If only I had…”

Sound familiar?  I hope not, for your sake, but even if it does, I am here to remind you that, while you may never be an Olympic athlete, you are human, and you are and always will be the only you.  And that’s something at which you’ll always excel!

And if you need even more on the subject, take a look at today’s poem, written by my talented friend Ann Betz, and let its beauty and truth wash over you.  Then remember that you have a special place in the global puzzle – yours!

if you only knew

how delicate
and tender
you are

if you could only see
the softness
and susceptibility
of your own heart
the way it blooms
and contracts
a sea anemone
of hope and fear
floating bravely
through your life

and yes I know
that you move mountains
command armies
and face the foe

what of it?

to be human is to carry
a precarious blossom
that no barrier
or shell can ever
truly contain
the strong among us know
you might as well
give up
hold out your hand
and offer it
and without hesitation
to this world

~July 2012, copyright, Ann Betz

Poetry and the Olympics: Worthwhile

I hope you’re enjoying the Olympics, seeing as much as of the games as you want, and still getting enough sleep… Before I head off to bed myself, I thought I’d post a little reminder to all of us, myself included, to get up off the couch every now and then and get outside…


Moving from the cool conditioning
To the hot steam of summer
Can be a stultifying affront
And can stop one still,

Was I coming out here?” and
“Is it really
“Of course
it is,” another
Silent voice announces.

“See the lushness
Of the cotton,
Which upon inspection
Is dappled
With pinks and whites,
Buds and blossoms?”

It is those little things,
Though not so little,
Those unexpected details
That make a trip
From the inside-ease
To the outside-heaviness

… And
To the
Of life …


Laura Overstreet Biering, ©2009

Poetry and the Olympics: A Bonus from Carol Ann Duffy

Want to read some poems that have something directly to do with the Olympics?  Well, Britain’s Poet Laureate Carol Ann Duffy thought you might, and has posted several here at this link.  Enjoy today’s bonus – thanks, Ms Duffy!

Again, here’s the link:


Poetry and the Olympics: Olga, Gabby, Little and Grown Up Me

I am writing this post with tears in my eyes, having just watched an amazing special on Olga Korbut.  Wow, what a difference she made on the sport of Gymnastics, in the hearts of those who watched her, and, as they pointed out, in the Soviet – U.S. relations.  The story about her moment with Richard Nixon alone is priceless!  I am thinking about our current darling, Gabby Douglas, and how the two of them are so much alike, with their enthusiastic spirits!

And now, for today’s poem, is one I wrote about me – another then and now story, of sorts..

Wanting for Myself and Others 

I grew up wanting to be somebody
Else.  Like many little girls, I
Put on skits,
Sang with records, was
Sensitive and dramatic.

I ended up on stage
For money, for love,
For friends, for myself.
Although who was that?
Who was I?

I knew whose voices I admired
So I used theirs, or some
Facsimile therof.
I performed so well
I became unwell.

Now the long road
To recovery discovery
Continues and I
Listen for my voice,
Hoping for

Others to
Use it to
Find their
Own True

Poetry and the Olympics: Remembering Papa II

I’ll have to leave the coverage of the Olympics to attend a birthday party tonight. Thanks to the DVR, we get to do it all.

Writing about Papa earlier, and thinking about birthday parties, I was reminded of another poem I wrote for and about him.  So here it is…


February, new doc said “tests.”
March, we knew for sure.
April, it began to sink in.

May was busy with party preparations.
June was his 75th. The invitation read
(And I kid you not), “…if he lasts that long.”

He insisted, and it was his party.
It was a grand one, but not too grand:
Bombay Sapphire Gin, but only on the first round.

Some came because they knew the news.
Some didn’t come for the same reason.
Some didn’t know until they came and saw him bald.

He surprised us.
Made up with his sister,
Had no nausea. “Blessings.”

Then came radiation
Burns. Aspirated lungs,
Not a blessing.

So excruciating, in fact, that
He reported
The technician.

July, more treatments.
August, they were supposed to be over.
September, they weren’t.

October, his stubborn guest had
Settled in, and he
Settled into bed.

For a while, he enjoyed his life
Passing before him, a parade of students, friends, lovers,
Some of them one in the same.

And cousins,
White and black, a fact
Of which he was particularly proud.

He dictated letters to me and
I was surprised. To the recipients he said
“Forgive me?” and “I’m sorry.”

He even wrote my mother,
Admitting she’d been right
All along.

He began losing track and the
Disorientation disturbed him.

December came,
As did my brother,
And then he left us for real.

January, “The coldest day on record,”
We left ashes at the Brinson family
Cemetery, and at the several-times-transplanted

Fig tree. The one
They said wouldn’t live.
Yet still it does.

February and March were filled with
Sorting out – books, letters and why
He did what he did and didn’t do.

April, it began
To sink in, again.
For real.

Laura Overstreet Biering, Copyright, 020610

Poetry and the Olympics: Remembering Papa

I missed writing yesterday – it just slipped my mind – does that ever happen to you?

So today, there’ll be two posts!  The first of which is in memory of my father.  Papa was never an athlete.  He was, nevertheless, a big fan.  And he loved the Olympics.  He was especially proud of the athletes from Auburn University where he taught, and most especially proud of those who had been his students, including Rowdy Gaines.  So naturally, I am remembering Papa, his last months, in particular…

I Remain

Six years since we heard the word,
Over five since you’ve been gone.
It took you fast,
It took you slow-
Ly. There was no pain
And then only
I remain

For the unpronouncably-named medications,
The couch in your bedroom
On three legs and a brick,
The place I supposedly slept,
And from which I listened to each gurgling breath,
Wondering, worrying, hoping, feeling
Guilty as hell.
I remain

That there were cousins,
Some of them not-even-really
Cousins, bringing bread pudding,
Sharing in your care,
Nursing you in ways I could not, would not.
Thankful that you’d splurged
On the electronically-bending bed,
Purchased for pleasure, not knowing at the time
The need around the bend.
I remain
Not thankful

At all
For hospice
Not helpful
At all
In the end.

Damn them.


Laura Overstreet Biering, Copyright March, 2011


Poetry and the Olympics: Michael Phelps and Me

As of now, Michael Phelps is the most decorated Olympian of all time.  Wow – that is so exciting!  And, as much of a star as he is, he’s also been known to make mistake or two. I, too, have been know to make a mistake now and again.  🙂  And I’d like to apologize for at least one of them here.  My apologies to Jane Yolen, Mary Oliver, Jack Gilbert, Gwendolyn Brooks, and Tony Hoagland. In my enthusiasm for your amazing work, I posted your poems without asking for your permission or for the permission of your estates.  I hope you can forgive me.  Please know that l’ll be removing your poems from my previous posts, and replacing them with links…  And, starting right now, I’ll be posting only links or original poems, such as the one I posted yesterday by my friend Ken Carlson, and the one I am posting right now, by me!

The Call to Connect

There is a need I have
To connect
From waaaay down deep inside me
To waaaay down deep inside you.

You can take that to mean something
Sexual, and sometimes it does,
But mostly it doesn’t.
Mostly, it means

I have a need to see you, know you, feel you and
To be seen, known, felt by you.
And then there comes the time when I am done
Connecting with you.

This is when the call comes
To connect with me
Only. Sometimes
I answer.

Laura Overstreet Biering (Copyright 2008)


Poetry and the Olympics: Are You Among the Best in the World?

Maybe we can’t all be Olympic athletes or geniuses or stars, but I know one thing at which we can all be hailed as the very best.  Being ourselves!

Today’s poem is by a friend of mine, Ken Carlson. It grabbed me from the very first line, and I am delighted to share it with you.  It’s entitled “The Best You.” Enjoy.

The Best You

I know you are tired
I know you are ready to quit
Do your best

I’m not asking you to win
I’m asking you to try
Do your best

This is how you learn
This is how you grow
Do your best

I respect you
Especially when you try
Things you don’t know
And you…
Do your best

Imagine if today
Every day
You just did it
Your best

Imagine how many failures
Imagine how many successes
You would experience

You would be the best
The best you
That you could be

Poetry and the Olympics: Oh, the Stories!

I know that some people are watching the Olympics coverage to see who wins, which country gets the most medals, etc.  My favorite parts, though, are the stories of the athletes.  They are so inspiring!

Today’s poem is also a story, and also meant to be inspiring – sickening, if need be, but in the end, inspiring.  I hope you can see it that way.

It’s by Tony Hoagland, and from his book, Unincorporated Persons in the Late Honda Dynasty.” Go here to read this amazing poem.

Poetry and the Olympics: Thank Goodness for Title IX

Yes, there was poetry at the Olympics in the olden days.  But no, not until 1900 were there any women!  This was because Pierre de Coubertin thought it would be “impractical, uninteresting, unaesthetic, and incorrect,” according to an article at  Harumph!

Thankfully, however, due to Title IX and some very brave pioneers from all over the world, the tide has turned.  According to the LA Times, this year’s Games had already made history before the opening ceremony.  For the first time ever, all of the participating countries have sent female athletes to compete. And the good ole’ USA even has more women than men (8), also for the first time. We’ve come a long way, baby!

And now, for today’s poem:  It’s “A Song in the Front Yard,” from A Street in Bronzeville, Harper, 1945, by Gwendolyn Brooks, an amazing woman I had the honor of meeting when I was a child. Please go here for the poem itself.