Spirit of Sport
It was that one day
Where the team can't play
Then you join
To score a point
You start to celebrate
But then you just get baked
But then the game changes
U join the game
And loose all the shame
U dont earn the fame
Although it can be tamed
Then move your foot
And be able to shoot
You tame the fame
And win the game
Don't think of it
Just do it.
Copyright © Mario Marin
SITTING ON A COUCH,
ONE SUNDAY AFTERNOON,
I TURN ON THE RADIO,
SAME OL' TUNES,
I LOOK AT THE NEWSPAPER,
SAME OL' STORIES,
SO MUCH DRAMA AND GLOOM.
LET'S SEE WHAT'S ON THE TUBE.
COMMENTATOR GIVEN HIS OPINION,
ABOUT WAR AND POLITICS,
I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF IT!!!!!
RECAPPING THE STORIES FROM THE NIGHT BEFORE.
GAURANTEE THAT WE ALL WON'T GET TO HEAVAN
JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I HAD SEEN IT ALL
IT'S FIRST AND TEN,
AND THE HOME TEAM IS DRIVING,
THE 30,THE 40 , THE 50, WITH EASE.
RAISED ARMS AND HANDS,
OF FANS IN THE STANDS,
AND THE REFEREE.
THEN I REALIZE, AS I STAND THERE,
I WAS ALONE.... BUT CONTENT,
AS MY ARMS, STILL RAISED,
I CLOSE MY EYES,
THANKING GOD FOR SPORT.
Copyright © Jesu Johnson
The feeling of getting rocked for the first time is
like losing your virginity. How I rise from the producers
decides if I like going down or hate getting up.
Yeah, they saw it. Eyes on me. The ubiquitous
air is still hear. My ascetic body
still functions on this field of men.
Fighting for friends, flying around full speed.
Go! Go! Go! Epitomizes our support.
The brain yells stop, but the heart whispers fight.
Hard work minus teamwork equals intact pants.
Hard work plus teamwork squared equals a smile.
Perspiration in the eye, never felt better.
The weakest link of our chain better power up
because he who pays the piper will call this tune.
Turns out, I couldn’t cry over spilt milk, if it didn’t spill.
As celebratory we were, we endeavor to looked opportunity
in the eye and purloin her work clothes,
before she is out of sight and out of mind
Copyright © Darian Brown
There was a bated hush over the arena
people watched the warriors fight the lion
it was a battle royal, much needed was stamina
they could not complete their task without it
Fearful of his power and strength
they fought mightily to overcome him
knowing if he got loose he would attack
ripping them from limb to bloody limb
The crowd gasped in hot excitement
secretly they wanted the lion to break free
they were there for blood, the more the better
just so long as it was not their own
The fight carried on some men mauled
as the lion tugged them close
bleeding they were carried off
more warriors took their place
Cheers go up as the mighty lion is overpowered
legs bound up he roars in frustration
the warriors stand round jeering
one grasps his spear and strikes deep
The lion gives a final defiant roar
as he lies blood pouring out
he starts to shake with shock
as his heart pumps to a stop
The smell of battle sweat and blood
hang heavily in the air intoxicating
the cheers fade to a silent respect
the honor that is paid to a worthy foe
contest Ancient Egypt
Copyright © Shadow Hamilton
Eye Candy Sport
Pretty young things fill the caverns of love
Spectators pay to see abortions live
Bets are placed.
Sparsely clad girls with signs march around the rink
Pink, innocent, candy like parades of flesh
On display for all to see
Freedom at play
Skeletons flee the closets
There are no secrets or places left to hide
Eye candy virgins walk the streets at night
As pretty as a picture with a knife
Copyright © Earl Schumacker
THE ANICENT SPORT
In the ancient arena of the Gods sport,
Men and beast face off against death's final battle
To live or die.
The king of the wild lands, seeks freedoms calling,
He chokes at the rope of captivity, with the sharpened
Claws and jaws of death at his command.
Men heave to control him, to tame him, but he
Has tasted freedom's wind and roomed
Without chains heavy yolk.
Deny yearnings bequest, for that which
Lies within his heart, a noble creature,
Once a king amongst the beasts, he must
Be free or die inside.
A sacred statue stands in the desert,
It symbolizes Egyptian power and
The sphinx the blending of lion and men,
Joined together in the arena of the gods,
Born to be free, are both in the kindred
Spirit, of the desire to live.
Copyright © cherl dunn
It's more than that.
It's that piece of tinsel lingering
at the back of your heart,
hanging onto that rope of your
hopes and dreams.
For me, this is soccer.
When I play it I am taken back
to a world of my own, free of
school and the stress it causes.
It's my own little igloo chilling
me to bones and filling the soil
in me to grow out flowers.
It is the connection to my
grandfather, the hope of my
That poor little ball, being
strangled by the mouths of the
kicking it around.
This ball belongs to someone,
but it doesn't know to who.
Goes from goal to goal, one of
it's own, one of what it's told.
It's what I breathe, What I
Wind running it's sneaky little
fingers through my hair,
and the fresh crisp grass
scruffing dirt onto the source of
Kick Kick Kick.
It's all up to you, me.
Free that ball and let it fly, It'll
soar through the sky and fly
into warm hands, or a net to
finally catch it.
It's not just a sport,
It's way more than that.
Soccer is the source of my
scars, yet the healer of the
It's the consumer of my mind,
My happy place.
Copyright © Rachel Peysakhova
Or hunted for sport
If my eyes don't deceive me
Iv'e just seen cow's on board this boat
Whilst glancing down upon the trucks
Alas for them sadly this boat is no ark
That's why I fear their future be dark
I just pray cow's are unable to process any thought
Never ponder or wonder how they got caught
Because with every wave we draw nearer to port
I , myself know their future lay fraught
As I know meat can be bought
Sometimes hunted for sport
Copyright © Christopher Flaherty
Upon sources I stumbled on a sort
Upon curiosity I caught on to the sport
Not knowing I would actually in truth
Find someone worthwhile in my smattering youth
He wanted much to get to know me
And I just couldn’t get him to see
I was there only as a friend
I was there solely for me…
I cannot mend what I cannot tend
I surely cannot begin what I did not end
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal