Most Beautiful
“A Poem for Magic”
Quincy Troupe
Take it to the hoop, “magic” johnson,
take the ball dazzling down the open lane
herk & jerk & raise your six-feet, nine-inch frame
into the air sweating screams of your neon name
“magic” johnson, nicknamed “windex” way back
in high school
cause you wiped glass backboards
so clean, where you first juked and shook
wiled your way to glory
a new-style fusion of shake-&-bake
energy, using everything possible, you created your own
space to fly through--any moment now
we expect your wings to spread feathers for that spooky takeoff
of yours--then, shake & glide & ride up in space
till you hammer home a clothes-lining deuce off glass
now, come back down with a reverse hoodoo gem
off the spin & stick in sweet, popping nets clean
from twenty feet, right side.
Put the ball on the floor again, “magic”
slide the dribble behind your back, ease it deftly
between your bony stork legs, head bobbing everwhichaway
up & down, you see everything on the court
off the high yoyo patterd
stop & go dribble
you thread a needle-rope pass sweet home
to kareem cutting through the lane
his skyhook pops the cords
now, lead the fast break, hit worthy on the fly
now, blindside a pinpoint behind-the-back pass for two more
off the fake, looking the other way, you raise off-balance
into electric space
sweating chants of your name
turn, 180 degrees off the move, your legs scissoring space
like a swimmer’s yoyoing motion in deep water
stretching out now toward free flight
you double-pump through human trees
hang in place
slip the ball into your left hand
then deal it like a las vegas card dealer off squared glass
into nets, living up to your singular nickname
so “bad” you cartwheel the crowd toward frenzy
wearing now your electric smile, neon as your name
In victory, we suddenly sense your glorious uplift
your urgent need to be champion
& so we cheer with you, rejoice with you
for this quicksilver, quicksilver,
Quicksilver moment of fame
so put the ball on the floor again, “magic”
juke & dazzle, shake & bake down the lane
take the sucker to the hoop, “magic” johnson,
recreate reverse hoodoo gems off the spin
deal alley-oop dunkathon magician passes
now, double-pump, scissor, vamp through space
hang in place
& put it all up in the sucker’s face, “magic” johnson,
& deal the roundball like the juju man that you am
like the sho-nuff shaman that you am, “magic,”
like the sho-nuff spaceman you am.
“A Poem for Magic”
Quincy Troupe
Take it to the hoop, “magic” johnson,
take the ball dazzling down the open lane
herk & jerk & raise your six-feet, nine-inch frame
into the air sweating screams of your neon name
“magic” johnson, nicknamed “windex” way back
in high school
cause you wiped glass backboards
so clean, where you first juked and shook
wiled your way to glory
a new-style fusion of shake-&-bake
energy, using everything possible, you created your own
space to fly through--any moment now
we expect your wings to spread feathers for that spooky takeoff
of yours--then, shake & glide & ride up in space
till you hammer home a clothes-lining deuce off glass
now, come back down with a reverse hoodoo gem
off the spin & stick in sweet, popping nets clean
from twenty feet, right side.
Put the ball on the floor again, “magic”
slide the dribble behind your back, ease it deftly
between your bony stork legs, head bobbing everwhichaway
up & down, you see everything on the court
off the high yoyo patterd
stop & go dribble
you thread a needle-rope pass sweet home
to kareem cutting through the lane
his skyhook pops the cords
now, lead the fast break, hit worthy on the fly
now, blindside a pinpoint behind-the-back pass for two more
off the fake, looking the other way, you raise off-balance
into electric space
sweating chants of your name
turn, 180 degrees off the move, your legs scissoring space
like a swimmer’s yoyoing motion in deep water
stretching out now toward free flight
you double-pump through human trees
hang in place
slip the ball into your left hand
then deal it like a las vegas card dealer off squared glass
into nets, living up to your singular nickname
so “bad” you cartwheel the crowd toward frenzy
wearing now your electric smile, neon as your name
In victory, we suddenly sense your glorious uplift
your urgent need to be champion
& so we cheer with you, rejoice with you
for this quicksilver, quicksilver,
Quicksilver moment of fame
so put the ball on the floor again, “magic”
juke & dazzle, shake & bake down the lane
take the sucker to the hoop, “magic” johnson,
recreate reverse hoodoo gems off the spin
deal alley-oop dunkathon magician passes
now, double-pump, scissor, vamp through space
hang in place
& put it all up in the sucker’s face, “magic” johnson,
& deal the roundball like the juju man that you am
like the sho-nuff shaman that you am, “magic,”
like the sho-nuff spaceman you am.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
I selected this poem for this category due to it's genuine feel, definite beauty, and relation to basketball. This poem has great style, and showcases Quincy Troupe's emotions as he describes the style of Magic Johnson.
What do you feel while reading this poem?
I feel a deep connection with this poem. I understand how Magic Johnson used to play basketball, even though I was never fortunate to watch him play in person. His game seemed magical, and full of grace while on the court; Magic Johnson was capable of doing things at 6'9 that no other person in the NBA could ever do.
What are your favorite lines?
"now, double-pump, scissor, vamp through space
hang in place
& put it all up in the sucker’s face, “magic” johnson,
& deal the roundball like the juju man that you am
like the sho-nuff shaman that you am, “magic,”
like the sho-nuff spaceman you am"
hang in place
& put it all up in the sucker’s face, “magic” johnson,
& deal the roundball like the juju man that you am
like the sho-nuff shaman that you am, “magic,”
like the sho-nuff spaceman you am"
Most Stylistic
“Untitled”
Quincy Troupe
in brussels, eye sat in the grand place cafe & heard
duke's place, played after salsa
between the old majestic architecture, jazz bouncing off
all that gilded gold history snoring complacently there
flowers all over the ground, up inside the sound
the old white band jammin the music
tight & heavy, like some food
pushin pedal to the metal
gettin all the way down
under the scaffolding surrounding
l'hotel de ville, chattanooga choochoo
choo choing all the way home, upside walls, under gold eagles
& a gold vaulting girl, naked on a rooftop holding a flag over
her head, like skip rope, surrounded by all manner
of saints & gold madmen, riding emblazoned stallions
snorting like crazed demons at their nostrils
the music swirling like a dancing bear
a beautiful girl, flowers in her hair
the air woven with lilting voices in this grand place of parepets
& crowns, jewels & golden torches streaming
like a horse's mane, antiquity riding through in a wheel carriage
here, through gargoyles & gothic towers rocketing swordfish lanced crosses
pointing up at a God threatening rain
& it is stunning at this moment when raised beer steins cheer
the music on, hot & heavy, still humming & cooking
basic african-american rhythms alive here
in this ancient grand place of europe
this confluence point of nations & cultures
jumping off place for beer & cuisines
fused with music, poetry & stone
here in this blinding, beautiful square
sunlit now as the golden eye of God shoots through
flowers all over the cobbled ground, up in the music
the air brightly cool as light after jeweled rain
still, there are these hats slicing foreheads off in the middle
of crowds that need explaining, the calligraphy of this penumbra
slanting ace-deuce, cocked, carrying the perforated legacy of bebop
these bold, peccadillo, pirouetting pellagras
razor-sharp clean, they cut into our rip-tiding dreams carrying
their whirlpooling imaginations, their rivers of schemes
assaulted by pellets of raindrops
these broken mirrors catching fragments
of sonorous words, entrapping us between parentheses
two bat wings curved, imprisoning the world.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
I chose this poem because of the unique style it has, as well as the interesting lines written by the poet. The poem grabbed my attention with it's odd lines, and it's abnormal theme.
What do you feel while reading this poem?
I feel a bit of awkwardness, when reading this. It makes me laugh, due to how abnormal it is. It bounces off the walls, yet the style captures my attention, so I keep reading.
What are your favorite lines?
"jazz bouncing off
all that gilded gold history snoring complacently there
flowers all over the ground, up inside the sound
the old white band jammin the music
tight & heavy"
Most Shocking
“Snow and Ice”
Quincy Troupe
Ice sheets sweep this slick mirrored dark place
space as keys that turn in tight, trigger
pain of situations
where we move ever so slowly
so gently into time — traced agony
the bright turning of imagination
so slowly
grooved through revolving doors, opening up to enter
mountains where spirits walk voices, ever so slowly
swept by cold, breathing fire
as these elliptical moments of illusion
link fragile loves sunk deep in snows as footprints
the voice prints cold black gesticulations
bone bare voices
chewed skeletal choices
in fangs of piranha gales
spewing out slivers of raucous laughter
glinting bright as hard polished silver nails.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
I chose this poem under most shocking because of its shocking lines, and dramatic storyline that it has. It's shocking due to the dramatic affect that the poem has, which is why I chose this poem under this category.
What do you feel while reading this poem?
When reading this poem I feel a bit cold, even though it relates to the title of the poem. It is almost chilling in a sense to read this poem, as the theme creates a deep impact on the readers emotions. What are your favorite lines?
“Untitled”
Quincy Troupe
in brussels, eye sat in the grand place cafe & heard
duke's place, played after salsa
between the old majestic architecture, jazz bouncing off
all that gilded gold history snoring complacently there
flowers all over the ground, up inside the sound
the old white band jammin the music
tight & heavy, like some food
pushin pedal to the metal
gettin all the way down
under the scaffolding surrounding
l'hotel de ville, chattanooga choochoo
choo choing all the way home, upside walls, under gold eagles
& a gold vaulting girl, naked on a rooftop holding a flag over
her head, like skip rope, surrounded by all manner
of saints & gold madmen, riding emblazoned stallions
snorting like crazed demons at their nostrils
the music swirling like a dancing bear
a beautiful girl, flowers in her hair
the air woven with lilting voices in this grand place of parepets
& crowns, jewels & golden torches streaming
like a horse's mane, antiquity riding through in a wheel carriage
here, through gargoyles & gothic towers rocketing swordfish lanced crosses
pointing up at a God threatening rain
& it is stunning at this moment when raised beer steins cheer
the music on, hot & heavy, still humming & cooking
basic african-american rhythms alive here
in this ancient grand place of europe
this confluence point of nations & cultures
jumping off place for beer & cuisines
fused with music, poetry & stone
here in this blinding, beautiful square
sunlit now as the golden eye of God shoots through
flowers all over the cobbled ground, up in the music
the air brightly cool as light after jeweled rain
still, there are these hats slicing foreheads off in the middle
of crowds that need explaining, the calligraphy of this penumbra
slanting ace-deuce, cocked, carrying the perforated legacy of bebop
these bold, peccadillo, pirouetting pellagras
razor-sharp clean, they cut into our rip-tiding dreams carrying
their whirlpooling imaginations, their rivers of schemes
assaulted by pellets of raindrops
these broken mirrors catching fragments
of sonorous words, entrapping us between parentheses
two bat wings curved, imprisoning the world.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
I chose this poem because of the unique style it has, as well as the interesting lines written by the poet. The poem grabbed my attention with it's odd lines, and it's abnormal theme.
What do you feel while reading this poem?
I feel a bit of awkwardness, when reading this. It makes me laugh, due to how abnormal it is. It bounces off the walls, yet the style captures my attention, so I keep reading.
What are your favorite lines?
"jazz bouncing off
all that gilded gold history snoring complacently there
flowers all over the ground, up inside the sound
the old white band jammin the music
tight & heavy"
Most Shocking
“Snow and Ice”
Quincy Troupe
Ice sheets sweep this slick mirrored dark place
space as keys that turn in tight, trigger
pain of situations
where we move ever so slowly
so gently into time — traced agony
the bright turning of imagination
so slowly
grooved through revolving doors, opening up to enter
mountains where spirits walk voices, ever so slowly
swept by cold, breathing fire
as these elliptical moments of illusion
link fragile loves sunk deep in snows as footprints
the voice prints cold black gesticulations
bone bare voices
chewed skeletal choices
in fangs of piranha gales
spewing out slivers of raucous laughter
glinting bright as hard polished silver nails.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
I chose this poem under most shocking because of its shocking lines, and dramatic storyline that it has. It's shocking due to the dramatic affect that the poem has, which is why I chose this poem under this category.
What do you feel while reading this poem?
When reading this poem I feel a bit cold, even though it relates to the title of the poem. It is almost chilling in a sense to read this poem, as the theme creates a deep impact on the readers emotions. What are your favorite lines?
"Ice sheets sweep this slick mirrored dark place
space as keys that turn in tight, trigger
pain of situations
where we move ever so slowly
so gently into time"
space as keys that turn in tight, trigger
pain of situations
where we move ever so slowly
so gently into time"
“Commercial Break: Road-Runner, Uneasy”
Tim Seibles
If I didn't know better I'd say
the sun never moved ever,
that somebody just pasted it there
and said the hell with it,
but that's impossible.
After awhile you have to give up
those conspiracy theories.
I get the big picture. I mean,
how big can the picture be?
I actually think it's kind of funny —
that damn coyote always scheming,
always licking his skinny chops
and me, pure speed, the object of all
his hunger, the everything he needs —
talk about impossible, talk about
the grass is always greener...
I am the other side of the fence.
You've got to wonder, at least a little,
if this could be a set-up:
with all the running I do —
the desert, the canyons, the hillsides, the desert —
all this open road has got to
lead somewhere else. I mean,
that's what freedom's all about, right?
Ending up where you want to be.
I used to think it was funny — Roadrunner
the coyote's after you Roadrunner...
Now I'm mainly tired. Not that
you'd ever know. I mean
I can still make the horizon
in two shakes of a snake's tongue,
but it never gets easier out here, alone
with Mr. Big Teeth and his ACME supplies:
leg muscle vitamins, tiger traps,
instant tornado seeds.
C'mon! I'm no tiger.
And who's making all this stuff?
I can't help being a little uneasy.
I do one of my tricks,
a rock-scorching, razor turn at 600 miles an hour,
and he falls off the cliff, the coyote —
he really falls: I see the small explosion,
his body slamming into dry dirt
so far down in the canyon
the river looks like a crayon doodle.
That has to hurt, right?
Five seconds later, he's just up the highway
hoisting a huge anvil
above a little, yellow dish of bird feed —
like I don't see what's goin' on. C'mon!
You know how sometimes, even though you're
very serious about the things you do,
it seems like, secretly, there's a
big joke being played,
and you're part of what
someone else is laughing at — only
you can't prove it, so you
keep sweating and believing in
your career, as if that
makes the difference, as if somehow
playing along isn't really
playing along as long as you're
not sure what sort of fool
you're being turned into, especially
if you're giving it one-hundred percent.
So, when I see dynamite
tucked under the ACME road-runner cupcakes,
as long as I don't wonder why my safety
isn't coming first in this situation,
as long as I don't think me
and the coyote are actually
working for the same people,
as long as I eat and
get away I'm not really stupid,
right? I'm just fast.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
I chose this poem under most humorous since it makes me laugh. I love the incorporation of the Road-Runner in the poem. His connection to the Coyote and the Road-Runner made it a bit more humorous.
What do you feel while reading this poem?
When reading this poem I can't help but laugh and remember the days of watching Saturday morning cartoons. It definitely makes me happy, as well as reminisce of my younger days.
What are your favorite lines?
"You know how sometimes, even though you're
very serious about the things you do,
it seems like, secretly, there's a
big joke being played,
and you're part of what
someone else is laughing at"
Most Inspiring
For Brothers Everywhere
Tim Seibles
There is a schoolyard that runs
from here to the dark’s fence
where brothers keep goin to the hoop, keep
risin up with baske’balls ripe as pumpkins
toward rims hung like piñatas, pinned
like thunderclouds to the sky’s wide chest
an’ everybody is spinnin an’ bankin
|off the glass, finger-rollin off the boards
with the same soft touch
you’d give the head of a child, a child
witta big-ass pumpkin head, who stands
in the schoolyard lit by brothers givin and
goin, flashin off the pivit, dealin
behind their backs, between their legs,
cockin the rock an’ glidin like mad hawks—
swoopin black, with arms for wings—
palmin the sun an’ throwin it down,
an’ even with the day gone, without even
a crumb of light from the city, brothers
keep runnin-gunnin, fallin away takin
fall-away jumpers from the corner,
their bodies like muscular saxophones
body-boppin better than jazz, beyond
summer, beyond weather, beyond
everything that moves, an’ with one shake
they’re pullin-up from the perimeter,
shakin-bakin brothers be sweet
pullin-up from the edge of the world,
hangin like air itself hangs in the air,
an’ gravidy gotta giv’em up:
the ball burning like a fruit with a soul
in the velvet hands while the wrists whisper
"back-spin" an’ the fingers comb the rock
once—lettin go, lettin it go like good news—
’cuz the hoop is a well, Shwip! a well
with no bottom, Shwick!
an’ they’re fillin that sucker up.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
I chose this poem under most inspiring because of the strong connection I have with the poem. Although it is related to basketball, the smoothness, and the overal idea of the poem inspires me to work hard and do things I love. It just happens to trigger a motivation button in me when reading this.
What do you feel while reading this poem?
When reading this poem, I feel like playing basketball. It gets me all worked up, and inspires me to go work hard. I can totally relate to this poem, yet I can also connect to it as well; hence that is why it is my second favorite poem out of these eight here.
What are your favorite lines?
"hangin like air itself hangs in the air,
an’ gravidy gotta giv’em up:
the ball burning like a fruit with a soul
in the velvet hands while the wrists whisper
"back-spin" an’ the fingers comb the rock
once—lettin go, lettin it go like good news—
’cuz the hoop is a well, Shwip! a well
with no bottom, Shwick!
an’ they’re fillin that sucker up."
Most Emotive
Trying for Fire
Tim Seibles
Right now, even if a muscular woman wanted
to teach me the power of her skin
I'd probably just stand here with my hands
jammed in my pockets. Tonight
I'm feeling weak as water, watching the wind
bandage the moon. That's how it is tonight:
sky like tar, thin gauzy clouds,
a couple lame stars. A car rips by —
the driver's cigarette pinwheels past
the dog I saw hit this afternoon.
One second he was trotting along
with his wet nose tasting the air,
next thing I know he's off the curb,
a car swerves and, bam, it's over. For an instant,
he didn't seem to understand he was dying —
he lifted his head as if he might still reach
the dark-green trash bags half-open
on the other side of the street.
I wish someone could tell me
how to live in the city. My friends
just shake their heads and shrug. I
can't go to church — I'm embarrassed by things
preachers say we should believe.
I would talk to my wife, but she's worried
about the house. Whenever she listens
she hears the shingles giving in
to the rain. If I read the paper
I start believing some stranger
has got my name in his pocket —
on a matchbook next to his knife.
When I was twelve I'd take out the trash —
the garage would open like some ogre's cave
while just above my head the Monday Night Movie
stepped out of the television, and my parents
leaned back in their chairs. I can still hear
my father's voice coming through the floor,
"Boy, make sure you don't make a mess down there."
I remember the red-brick caterpillar of row houses
on Belfield Avenue and, not much higher than the rooftops,
the moon, soft and pale as a nun's thigh.
I had a plan back then--my feet were made
for football: each toe had the heart
of a different animal, so I ran
ten ways at once. I knew I'd play pro,
and live with my best friend, and
when Vanessa let us pull up her sweater
those deep-brown balloony mounds made me believe
in a world where eventually you could touch
whatever you didn't understand.
If I was afraid of anything it was
my bedroom when my parents made me
turn out the light: that knocking noise
that kept coming from the walls,
the shadow shapes by the bookshelf,
the feeling that something was always there
just waiting for me to close my eyes.
But only sleep would get me, and I'd
wake up running for my bike, my life
jingling like a little bell on the breeze.
I understood so little that I
understood it all, and I still know
what it meant to be one of the boys
who had never kissed a girl.
I never did play pro football.
I never got to do my mad-horse,
mountain goat, happy-wolf dance
for the blaring fans in the Astro Dome.
I never snagged a one-hander over the middle
against Green Bay and stole my snaky way
down the sideline for the game-breaking six.
And now, the city is crouched like a mugger
behind me — right outside, in the alley behind my door,
a man stabbed this guy for his wallet, and sometimes
I see this four-year-old with his face all bruised,
his father holding his hand like a vise. When I
turn on the radio the music is just like the news.
So, what should I do — close my eyes and hope
whatever's out there will just let me sleep?
I won't sleep tonight. I'll stay near my TV
and watch the police get everybody.
Across the street a woman is letting
her phone ring. I see her in the kitchen
stirring something on the stove. Farther off
a small dog chips the quiet with his bark.
Above me the moon looks like a nickel
in a murky little creek. This
is the same moon that saw me twelve,
without a single bill to pay, zinging
soup can tops into the dark — I called them
flying saucers. This is the same
white light that touched dinosaurs, that
found the first people trying for fire.
It must have been very good, that moment
when wood smoke turned to flickering, when
they believed night was broken
once and for all — I wonder what almost-words
were spoken. I wonder how long
before that first flame went out.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
I slected this poem as most emotive because of the raw emotion throughout the poem. Each specific event or idea, has a clear emotional attachment, which clearly shows why I would pick this poem as the most emotive poem out of my eight.
What do you feel while reading this poem?
I feel really attached to his poem; as I read, I understand his childhood dreams and what it was like as kid for the author. The poem also gets me very emotional due to the the detail and touching story that the author tells throughout the poem.
What are your favorite lines?
"If I was afraid of anything it was
my bedroom when my parents made me
turn out the light: that knocking noise
that kept coming from the walls,
the shadow shapes by the bookshelf,
the feeling that something was always there
just waiting for me to close my eyes."
Most Thought-Provoking
Playing Catch
Tim Seibles
On the day the balls disappeared, men playing soccer
suddenly looked like crazy people chasing invisible
rabbits through the grass. Men playing baseball
became more clearly what they'd always been: bored
teenagers waiting around for something to happen.
Spectators, at home and in the stands, believed
they were being jerked around by a player
conspiracy, that this was the first whiff
of another strike that would cancel all the fun.
On the day the balls disappeared, the sun did not
smear its way up above the dew-damp rooftops
as if this were a day to keep your finger on.
And if all the refs overslept that morning,
it only meant they were a little extra tired
of instant-replay highlighting their best mistakes.
In fact, it was a warm Saturday, sunlight the color
of a canary. Almost everybody was outside!
I remember one woman in particular alone
in the schoolyard practicing lay-ups. Each time
she left the ground she balanced the basketball
like a fine dish, then let it rise from her
long white fingers toward the rim.
It had been August for more than a month and, as usual,
the televisions were jam-packed with sports: pre-season
football, WNBA playoffs, golf, baseball, rugby…
If you didn't know better changing the channels could
make you think the world was really just a zillion
fields separated by a few rivers and roads, that life
was, in essence, a chance to fall in love
with one of the many artificial spheres.
I guess they went all at once or, at least, within
the same 15 minutes. I had been watching the U.S.
Open Tennis Championships when Pete Sampras,
ready to serve, gestured to the ball-boy who quickly
pointed at the other and shrugged, hoping
not to be blamed. People in the stadium began
whistling and stomping their feet. I went
to the fridge and grabbed a plum.
But I remember a boy and his sister across the street
playing catch in the yard half-framed by my kitchen window.
He had a new red glove. She was a lefty and
brown as coffee, and, just to show off, she
whipped the throw just above his reach.
A moment later he yelled, I can't find it—I don't
see it-it ain't out here! She thought he just wanted
her to go get it, just to get on her nerves. She thought
he was just messin' around.
Why did you select this poem for this category?
I selected this poem for most thought provoking, due to it's deep thought, and back story within the poem. The story that is told made me think, because of the deep underlining of the theme. If looked at in a literal way, the poem is easy to understand, but with the symbolism behind it all, this poem definitely makes things a lot more thought-provoking.
What do you feel while reading this poem?
While reading this poem, I kind of laugh, noticing the different ideas and topics within the poem. Obviously it makes me think a little bit deeper than a lot of other poems, however, it happened to be easier to understand, since it was sport related.
What are your favorite lines?
"A moment later he yelled, I can't find it—I don't
see it-it ain't out here! She thought he just wanted
her to go get it, just to get on her nerves. She thought
he was just messin' around."
