Poems about bowling

Her inviting blue eyes

Met my dark brown

My secret love

So calm and profound.

I bowled three games tonight.
Possible paths to victory skipped rocks in my mind,
Until the ball dropped.
I won and lost.
My face flushed.
My skills wavered,
Such a tragic player.
A strike, a ball doomed to the gutter.
What did it matter?
When the lanes burst with laughter?
Friends, arcades, night bowling.
Fingers contorting.
Strange shoes and watching feet behind the line.
No passing it, no crime.
All win in the end.
Bowling alleys- hidden gems.

Roll the ball down the lane
Hit a pin or two
Shoes for rent
Scores are kept
Roll a spare
Three holes feel with fingers
Sometimes a gutter ball
Keep trying for a strike
Get your roll down till it feels right
Play all your frame
Love it so much keep playing the game
Play in teams or do it alone
The scores at the end says it all

What will it take? 20 years of outright lies
And denied mistakes?
Watching you escape on a plane set a thousand miles away
Or at home screaming in pain
We're both here, both alone
Both sorry, both stubborn
Overcome with disappointment
And it'll kill us, we'll die here, we're done

Bowling sucks.
Stepping in and smelling fresh diarrhea and cigarettes
Slide your fingers into the heels of over worn shoes
Then your feet- someone has been here before, hundreds of people have
Sit in the solid plastic swivel
Step up to the dead rack and pick up a germ infested, god-forsaken ball
Bowl terribly and pull your glute
Repeat.
Ten frames.

We bowl and yet
No ball is thrown;
Our gazes roll
Through lanes unseen

Two ends,
Two pairs
Of eyes;

Whoever wins,
Scatters all
The thoughts
On the other end
Like pins

With a swift exit and a shrill cry,
She took bits and pieces,
My would-have-beens
My voice hidden inside
Where I talked about being alone and being happy with nothing;
My fear of anything at all.
I remember rambling to myself
LOUD
Echoing off the tile
And it is lost to a memory
Because SHE
Took it away and I won't ever see him dancing naked
Singing YES YES YES smiling the way he did
I won't ever get back those tiny bits and
Pieces and
Would-have-beens
Now I must compartmentalize every little
Moment and attempt to draw it nearer because I was
So intent on letting it go.
I was past using mere
Words to make a beautiful image-
A keepsake souvenir
A contrived and convenient way to appear to myself and all those
Folks that I am an artist-I create-I am art.
I wish I had those stupid pages covered in my
Pretentious language and dripping with
Painfully young and insulting experiences
To throw in someone's face,
Watch their eyes get small,
Squint into my starry romantic yarns,
And wish they would have been the one to pick up a pen-
Cause they are stuck sucking on bitter air and
Sweet would-have-beens

Fun at the bowling alley



Heaps of strikes, left, right and centre

Spares are as good as well

If you can't manage a strike, no spares a great

Every strike you get

You get a mighty big cheer

And then you sit down

And wait for your next bowl

Sometimes you get a blasted 7-10 split

Which is bloody well annoying

Especially if you are 117 in the 0th

Instead of getting 147, you get 126

And it drives you crazy

Especially if you know you can bowl a heap better than that

It can be very frustrating

It is fun to bowl at any cost

And you really enjoy getting the perfect score for you

Whether it's a 200 game or a 121 game

It's still a fantastic score

It's normal to enjoy a nice cold drink afterwards

With heaps of munchies as well

So you have the energy, to bowl a perfect game