Dancing With Noah

Just messing around, getting triple doubles

Category Archives: Poetry

Relief in the City of Roses

Deep in the bowels of the Rose Garden

Lays a mausoleum, a skeleton-less, mummy-free catacomb

Where memories and dreams are Laid to rest Bill Walton, Sam Bowie, Brandon Roy, Greg Oden

Their starched jerseys stretched across the walls in black, red and white, permanent defiance

Paul Allen and the sons and daughters of Portland weep when they remember

Clyde and Rick Adelman and Jack Ramsey are helpless to ease their pain

But what if hope landed in PDX in a

Lithe, lean, young point guard from Oakland

What if he was stolen out from under the inquisitive eyes of the analysts, the

Noses of the scouts who know

Talent when they see it

A sequence of events as fruitfully unexpected as prior tragedies had been unfairly unfortunate

Damian Lillard, not the flashy teenage prodigy or the

Entitled one and done junior maestro whose destiny is interwoven within NBA

No.

Damian, Dame, with his boyishly angelic face barely sprouting whiskers

Psalm 37 inked down his left arm in an expression of his faith

Reflected in his discipline and patience to

Wait it out in Ogden (to work it out in Ogden) while his peers bounded towards riches (?), professionalism, fame and the

Trappings that have become cliché

Dame waited

And waited in Ogden at the feet of hills and mountains, a cultural antithesis from the haunts of Oakland

While Portland languished through the inconceivability that Brandon Roy’s knees were without

Cartilage, just bone grinding on bone until the inevitability that Brandon’s knees couldn’t

Ever hold up

But that’s past now

Wearing number zero, zed, O—for Ogden, O-for Oakland,

O for the emptiness Portland can leave behind

Lillard is here with his mature pick-and-roll game, a generously balanced blending of inside-outside-all-inclusive

involvement that breathes anticipation and excitement into Portland’s sons and daughters

And for today and tomorrow allows Paul Allen the

Respite to forget and lock up the gates that provide entry to the

Dark, dank cemetery of dreams that sits in quiet and peace deeply forgotten beneath the Rose Garden

Ode to LeBron Raymone James

A post-Jordanian titanium mass of a man,

Rings be damned

If he never wins again

What we have is enough

Memories (feats, destructions) to last us a

Million basketball-less summers

Memories aren’t just for the lonely,

But for the longing too

And the longing don’t have to be lonely

The longing and/or lonely don’t

Need rings or royalty

 

Just a man moving through a

Slow-motion world of

Blank-faced helpless defenders,

A screaming freight train barreling towards punctuality

Narrative be damned

His ability exceeds our qualifications and

Accolades,

Definitions and Parameters,

His existence on-court is

Independent of contemporaries and

Forebears

I’ll take a ghetto blaster and destroy the

Trophy cases with heavy bass

I can’t wait to invent a ray gun just to melt the

Infinite statues symbolizing his greatness

I’m resurrecting René Descartes to help imagine a devilish saw and equations that

Undercut the stats and tables we use to articulate greatness

  

What is victory

Without the struggle?

What is war

Without the sacrifice?

What is success

Without the failure?

The anticipation of a hundred thousand years is

Finally over

We made it

We’re here

And free to believe in whatever we please

 

Rondo Interrupted

I’m not a Boston fan

I don’t love the city or their teams

I don’t drape my shoulders in anything remotely Celtic Green

But my heart can ache

For the injured Alien whose

Ligament(s) tore, ripped, shredded

Like sheets of paper

Covered in inky dreams

The point guard from another planet, another world or underworld

With extra-terrestrially long fingers

An infinite scowl that’s

Like looking into the bottom of an inkwell

Shifty shifting eyes straight from a Gorillaz animation,

Demeanor borrowed from Mad Max’s post-apocalyptic Thunderdome,

Always alert, always suspicious,

Trusting no one, no thing, not even the man-made ligaments he was given

A black hole mood that rises with the moon

…yes, Rajon Rondo has fallen

Kids choke back kelly green tears

Garnett & Pierce in their wizened years

Understanding now more than ever

The importance of young Rondo

But the shredded ligament (that we didn’t know he had), the last

Single elastic straw that held up

The hope of a million Celtics fans

Collapsed under the expectations

And amid the rubble, Celtics fans attempt to

Soldier on

While Danny Ainge painfully retrieves a stuffed,

Frayed, and Faded manila folder

Stenciled with red letters spelling out:

DECONSTRUCTION

Danny and Doc deeply contemplate deconstruction

While Rondo sits in a chair in the corner

Quietly sipping seltzer water

Thinking of the Moon

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