Jacob Buurman's Poetry Flyer
Splat
It all started with a juice box
So tasty and innocent
But soon its insides
Would be much less magnificent
It all started with a boy
That thought he was a baller
But little did he know
That a Korean shouldn’t bother
It all started when he said,
“Should I shoot it in the trash can?”
But it was too late
Before I could halt his plan
It all started...
Majestically gliding…
But the juice box met its end
When it hit the window; striking
It all started with a juice box
Now it’s causing a scene
But somehow barely anyone noticed
And we walked away clean
Laser Pointed
I dreamed of the future
Until it finally came
A wonderful game of remembering the past
One day on the Delaware boardwalk, my friend made victory bells and whistles
The past was unwinding before me
We all shot it miles into the ocean, until we had an idea
The fragments of my dreams
On the hotel balcony, unsuspecting bystanders
The reality which I had always taken for granted now became the most remote fantasy
Dazed, confused, oblivious to the source
No present existed
No present existed
The Perfect Game
Perfectly placed.
Home plate and the mound
Perfectly spaced.
The chalk laid down
In a perfect line.
The infield dirt
Raked perfectly fine.
Then the teams take the field -
And we're reminded again.
It's a perfect game
Played by imperfect men.