by Rob Littler
Superfluid frictionless flow
Draining the window trailing absolute zero
Permanently complete and forever cool
Threats don’t get sweat for a triple-double three-point fool
Superfluous ego letting anyone and all know
No significant figures get in—it’s about letting it go
Swish follows the flick of the wrist through the arc of the ball
Momentary slow-motion exactness, the analytical machine makes the call:
“Step up supposed spurious suckers who dare try to school
Learn while I teach you the right way then break every rule
'LOOK, it’s that player again standing ten feet tall'
Second-place will always be the first loser. You’re all bound to fall.”
"Lone, wild, and strange, he stood alike exempt
From all affection and from all contempt:"
Posted on 10/21/2017
Copyright © 2019 Rob Littler
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 10/26/17 at 09:35 PM|
Your piece is a must-read aloud - so many phrases that roll off and slow the tongue in satisfying sounds and causing slight pauses in the flow. A compelling poem - takes my mind in several directions, which I like.
|Posted by Laura Doom on 11/21/17 at 07:58 PM|
Would Byron find this ironic? In time, they'll all be on their knees, or at least one [whilst touching base].
|Posted by Johanna May on 01/08/19 at 12:27 AM|
Bionic indeed, the contrast of old and new in a poem, with the anti-hero concept the same. Entertainment will always be a human interest from Byron's age to this one. Very good :)