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Best Sport Poems

Below are the all-time best Sport poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Sport poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Sport Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Sport poems are below this new poems list.

Making Sport of Human Nature by Rigoler, Maurice
Fun Sport by Williams, Marilyn
Astra dish for ''be in sport'' by Poetry, Shepherd
Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport by Ellison, Jack
Spirit of Sport by Marin, Mario
Eye Candy Sport by Schumacker, Earl
Soccer-No greater Sport by Foli, Gideon
Ancient Sport by Casey, Sarah
Ancient Sport of Egypt by Hamilton, Shadow
THE ANICENT SPORT by dunn, cherl

View all new Sport Poems

The Best Sport Poems

Details | Sport Poem | |

I Think Of You - An Alternative Universe - 6


From childhood it was a world of two...you and I...
I leaned lightly, leisurely against your heart and you let me in.

We were five I use to draw you rose scented flowers
using an ordinary led pencil. Youth! The world was ours.

Seven!  I know that was the first time I saw you blush.
I whispered a song for you so no one else would hear.

Oh when we were nine! The potato sack race.  I entered with Lisa.
 You gave me that look. Oh that look!  And you  left without a word.

At eleven years old I had my "magic wink". "A Magic Wink" you'd
say sarcastically.  How it made you giggle to make fun of it.

It was at thirteen we decided to burn the gym floor with our moves.
Our first dance.  You stole my breath. Emptied the room of oxygen.

Fifteen...we started running and my God we ran and ran...
our shoe prints dug into the concrete. It was then I knew. Forever.

Then suddenly at seventeen in the slip of time you left, dissapeared.
Stunned! I slept through the next two years even in the full light of day.

At nineteen I swam an endless pool but even the chlorine couldn't
clear your scent from my memory as my spirit filled out hard as steel.

Was it on my twenty first birthday you showed up? You showed up
 tried to hug me hello. Silent! Cold! I turned and walked away.

Was I still twenty one when I apologized for that day. When you asked 
for an explanation. I recited false words but we both knew. Hurt for hurt.

Then at twenty five we still had issues to work out. I asked you bluntly 
why you cut me loose in the prime of our youth. You my first and only.

I asked the question that burned in my gut. Without words your eyes spoke. 
You were still in love with me. There was only me. I your first and only.

Finally our lips met to never part again. Left to wonder why, I accept our 
lives without an answer. My love was that. Why would I have let you go?

Older than old now. One last time you leave. Death makes this choice. 
Alone again I remember how I never knew why once you left.

Not everything  is explained or understood,
like music by a one arm man playing a violin.

I sport my blank stare. Naked is the body of life.
Mystery sings blind the song of the lark!

and I...

i think of you.



March 29 2015
Armand




More great poems below...


Details | Sport Poem | |

A Tulip Grows Under An Evergreen - Inspired By The Poets At PoetrySoup


A
fine
Parrot Tulip
in vibrant intensities 
with unique undertones
of green acquirable only in a 
few forests. A ruby red swirls within 
its petals beckons awareness of those very 
strokes that live in the lustre of your shapely lips 
like fantasy realized. Mirthful yellows in all those lacquers 
barely ever seen as one would scorch their eyes to gaze lastingly 
directly at the Sun - though I have been fortunate to witness identical 
iridescence in strands of your hair you unintentionally flip and like dainty 
fingers wave me on to move closer to your flawless frame - memorized easily.
A 
special 
fuchsia sparingly 
paints the flower they
say exists only in certain 
singular gemstones yet l know
this tincture for I have seen it in your 
cheeks when we play and laugh. Oh your 
laugh how it fills me - replacing noise surfing
the waves of sound in the surrounding atmosphere.
How enchanting when your laughter there - dwells to
tickle molecules invisible to the eyes but felt by the human
heart. Parrot tulips with their soft myriad shades become stunning 
against a deep black backdrop which shimmers bright like your ebony eyes. 
Sparkle like your smile and I grin happily just thinking of you, just thinking of us.
A 
pearl
white that also 
adorns the flower a 
special light effect I have
found in your complexion - dazzles
my mind each and every time I see you.
Parrot tulips a miracle of nature, a special
breed I admit are as remarkable as any offering 
that grows in our gardens but rarer still - you the flower 
I share my life with. No one, no thing, no life compares to you,
your approach - for every time I even think of you, the joy it brings
completes the meaning of my existence full. If not for you no other delight 
would have that extra zest I feel from the sharing of your love and light always.
A
Parrot
tulip oh 
what joy it
brings. How the flower
draws these words from
me. Ironic how true allure felt
fills our glass so I thought I'd share
with you how it uplifts my days - knowing
confident in our love as one - you'd never resent
me speaking of an elegance other than yours. So you may 
know - understand what the fibres of ones constitution compels 
them to write. Now - about a mystique other than the one you sport with
humility. Finally I have written a poem on aesthetics that does not mention you.
A
closing
monologue.
Just above and 
beneath the dirt grows 
riches unimaginable. Made to 
be absorbed by senses recognizable 
only by a few. They are free for the taking.
An appreciation, a love of a natural essence.
A flower, a person, romance you breathe incomparable
to anything real or imagined.  It alone are the wings we humans 
seek...as real and as precious as all else consumable. How lucky I 
am the magic handed out daily on these pages. The people I could never
find anywhere else then here. I am in love with their words in love with them.


the   re    frain       
is a  par    r               a 
ot  tu lip                m
hid   d                a
en u                j
   n             e
   d           s
   e         t
   r      i 
   c    
   e
    v
     e
     r
    g
   r
 e
 e
n
earthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearthearth
r  r r  r
 o   o   oo
o      o o   o
    t      tt     t 
  s      s   s      s
r r        r   r
o  o    o        o
o  o        o   o
t      t          t     t
s   s        s       s




April 27 2015
The Gardener




Details | Sport Poem | |

New World Order

While Bureaucrats grow rich and fat
              in six-star luncheonettes, 
and Bankers beam their self-esteem
              (bailed out of broker's debts),
the deep, devout and down and out
              sink, sallow silhouettes.

Tycoons hold reins (arrayed as chains)
              where words have mesmerized.
So, mild and meek, we turn our cheek
              to worlds They’ve polarized,
and march to war, through Satan's door,
              watch cities vaporized.

The Lord of Lore tells tales of war,
              of victories far away,
where eyes stare stark within the dark 
              and death is painted gray
on faces cold, some young, some old,
              all lined with jaded clay.

We're taught at school the Golden Rule
              for all to live in bliss.
But in the wars on foreign shores
              the only rule is this:
'Yo! You and I must fight and die
              inside the black abyss!'

But well alive, the Merchants thrive
             on sales of armaments
that Barons built (with pride, not guilt)
             to quell the dissidents,
while Artisans are posing plans
              to conquer continents.

But back at home, the rumors roam
              'Good times are soon to come,
despite the breeze on frozen seas
              in weathers wet and numb.'
They fantasize with fleeting lies
              and pray we'll all succumb.

A Tabloid screams of phantom dreams
              to keep our minds at sea 
and TV skews the evening news,
              ensures we all agree:
'With dynamite we fight for right
              and not for tyranny.'

The brain aborts when drugged with sports
                and fashions of the day,
and sevenfold, men think as told
               and so are led astray;
and like some sheep (unless asleep)
              they baa when they obey.  

In search of sense in sounds intense
              of droning drum tattoos,
souls, thin and worn, file by forlorn,
              in tame and tattered shoes -
their tears of pain, like streaks of rain,
              have strewn the avenues.
	
Along the roads, the future bodes
              in legends made of dust,
and ashes gray the alleyway
              'neath lampposts scaled with rust.
While Divas dine with cakes and wine
              pale orphans share a crust.

Dead colonies of bumble bees,
              a ravaged hornet's hive,
rain forests, dales or minke whales
              soon nothing left alive…        
a world laid waste is to Their taste,
              as long as They survive. 

The Moguls wield a silver shield,
              wear golden coronets
while warders guard the prison yard,
              boast brazen bayonets;
and unicorns sport ivory horns,
              defend the Martinets.

Ten thousand eyes belong to Spies
             who watch you day and night
to track your trails and read you mails
              and say They have the right
to know your thoughts and thwart your plots
              to cease Their oversight.

Behind the scenes, behind the screens,
              the rules are fixed, arranged
(contorted smiles conceal their wiles -
              their goals have never changed ).
When upside-down, a grin is frown
              and common sense deranged.

As sunlight wanes in winter rains 
              and sullen shadows crawl,
the evening ebbs, and spider's webs
              seem tattooed on the wall.
And in the night the Masters write
              The Final Protocol.

Details | Sport Poem | |

The Battle

The menace of war in the chaos of life
The peril of ocean when tempests are rife;
The danger of jungle where feral beasts hide
The terror that lies in a mountain slide.
All these things are simple child's play
Or frivolous sport on a summer's day;
These sad battles that rouse and vex
The heart and soul of love and sex.

Struggle and hardship,  beasts of prey
Are there to menace all human clay:
The bird uncaged can take to his wing
But the hazard of love is another thing;
Under the torment of passion's control
Love crushes the body and steals the soul.
A minute of rapture, an age of despair,
These are the gifts of love's warfare.

Always and forever since time began
When man dared woman and woman lured man;
In that sweet peril that prowls and lies
Is a bloodless conflict when eyes meet eyes.
That careless menace, forever sweet
Whose forlorn end, is joy's defeat;
Now and forever till time has passed
On passion's altar, hearts shall come last

Details | Sport Poem | |

I Love Horses: A--Z

I Love Horses: A--Z

A is for... Appaloosa. They have 
blankets on their rumps. 
B is for...Belgian. They work 
hard and can pull up stumps. 

C is for...Clydesdale. They're 
BIG bays with white fluffy feet. 
D is for...Dartmoore, a pony 
from the moors--so sweet!

E is for...Egyptian, the finest 
horse on desert sand. 
F is for...Fresian: Big black War 
Horse--a Knight's demand. 

G is for...Gypsy Vanner, a rare 
beauty like fairy tales. 
H is for...Hanoverian. The best 
all-round from England hails. 

I is for...Irish Tinker. A loyal 
horse that's black and white. 
J is for...Java Pony. He's 
Indonesia's working sprite. 

K is for...Knapstrup. He's a 
horse full of leopard spots!
L is for...Lipizzaner: Grey 
leapers known in the Big Tops!

M is for...Mustang. Wild and 
Free--roams America's West. 
N is for...Nonius: Big-headed 
black and drives the best. 

O is for...Oldenburg. Dressage 
ribbons just get bigger. 
P is for...Palomino. Roy Rogers 
named his, Trigger. 

Q is for...Quarter Horse, 
cowboy's fav'rite! Does 
Everything!
R is for...Racking Horse. His 
ride's so smooth it will make 
you sing. 

S is for...Spotted Saddle Horse, 
Gaited beauty everyone loves. 
T is for...Thoroughbred. Racing, 
"The Sport of Kings", he does. 

U is for...Ukrainian Riding 
Horse: Beautiful born after 
War's end. 
V is for...Vlaamperd: Flemish 
black stallion and true friend. 

W is for...White Horse(Albino). 
The Lone Ranger's 'Silver'--of 
course!
X is for...Xilingol. He's 
Mongolia's riding draft horse. 

Y is for...Yonagui, a chestnut 
pony from Japan. 
Z is for...Zebra: African wild 
but tamed by man. 

A personal therapist long past 
the end,
The love of a horse...is the 
love... of a Friend. 

deborah burch
02.28.2013

For Cyndi's contest

More great poems below...


Details | Sport Poem | |

Candy hearts

Basketball
It's not a sport
It's a lifestyle
No one understands
What it means to play it
Not for the money
Not for the fame
But the love for the game
Basketball
Not a sport
It's a lifestyle

Details | Sport Poem | |

ON THE ROCKS

Whiskey on the rocks, advised by my doc
combats dementia, so bring on the blocks
no need for a glass;  I'll have me the bottle
with a big bowl of ice this baby I'll throttle

The whiskey's gone, now a brandy'd be fine
my inside's on fire, there's a hoop up my spine
swigging from the bot comes at a price
I'll temper the fire with whole blocks of ice

The flames have been doused;  rum, if you please?
my head's in a clamp;  ice will loosen the squeeze 
now, be a sport and pile on the ice
two bowls or more I think should suffice

Three bottlesh down, all on the rocksh
my tootshiesh are shtarting to curl in my shocksh
my shmile is chemented, my lipsh glued together
my fashe the feel and texture of leather

Twishe left, thrishe right my head ish shwinging
short, long, short, long my earsh are zinging
either I'm crosh-eyed or my brainsh have been fried
elsh why are my legsh by three multiplied?

I'm freefalling on shixh feet firmly earthed
alternating twixht lower and then upper berth
vocal chordsh tangled, shizhably crimped
I'm walking with a lishp and talking with a limp 

I'm teetering-tottering or tettering-tortering
I've no clue which ish which and given up wondering
the world ish a blur;  I musht be plarshtered
the liquor went down well;  ishe warsh the barshtard

On all foursh – nay, twelve, I reach the bed
now I'm pondering and shcratching my head:
am I waking up or about to retire?
I shimply topple over, my whole being on fire

In the Land of Nod I'm harnessed by tether
in comely dreams of cowboys and leather
when plagued by a swishy feel in my bladder
swelling as fast as a pregnant puffadder

Abruptly awakened when a stream emanated
unable to move, still intoxicated
stuck to my bed and severely drenched
nausea ensued in the encompassing stench

How my stomach reacted I'd best not relate
suffice to say it was a full freight
soiled and hung-over, a word of advice:
liquor's fantastic but steer clear of ice 


Details | Sport Poem | |

Happy Birthday Jan


Happy is the way I wish for you to be Another year has gone by, I hope it was a little care free Perhaps next year, the best will come to you Perhaps your smiles will be more than your tears You deserve the very best my friend, Birthday wishes are coming your way I hope they find you full of hope Real icing on the cake, is what I hope you receive True and tested friends and family at your side Honorary degree from the University Of Good Sport Diamonds and pearls at your front door A day at the Spa, for pampering and joy You deserve the very best my friend, Jan Another year has past by No more tears for you dear heart, only smiles today and ever. Happy Birthday, dear friend, xxx

Details | Sport Poem | |

No Mans Land

A brand new development for you and me
A gated community you just have to see.
Situated on the plains of deep despair
A rocky road will lead you there.

Surrounded by lovely weeping willows
Beautiful vistas of the sea of sorrows.
So if you are feeling down and out
This community is what it's all about.

The school of hard knocks will teach you well
The Drown your Sorrows pub is really swell.
And should you crave some company
Why down the street lives Lady Misery.

Soliciting is certainly not allowed in here
Opportunity won't come knocking, have no fear.
Undesirable tenants were the ladies Luck and Hope
Fortunately for us they decided to elope.

The restaurants will only serve the bitter pill
Of humble pie and crow, you can have your fill.
For sport we do have plenty of space
Feel free to enjoy our weekly rat race.

So if you feel depressed and without hope
Why we offer bungi jumping without a rope.
We have taken great care as you can see
To offer our tenants every possible amenity.

So if life has turned its back on you
If you have nothing to lose and feeling blue.
Consider buying your very own stand
In this community called No Mans Land.

Details | Sport Poem | |

The Sundress Girl

Little Lulu, a cute little girl. in her sundresses loved to just twirl. Around she kept going, pink underpants showing. Her life would become one big “whirl.” In grade school, she grew to be wild. Upside down, in the playground, this child from the monkey bar hung in her sundress among all the boys standing round her, who smiled! As a teen, Lulu still loved to wear a sundress to make young men stare. She was thought a great sport when she wore a dress short, legs crossed as she sat in a chair. Little Lulu was so hot to trot her affection by many was sought till that cute buttercup got finally knocked up. Then a white wedding sundress she bought! The years crept up quickly on Lulu. On her porch she now stands and calls, “You-hoo!” to every old guy who might give her the eye as she twirls the huge skirt of her muumuu!
Written by Andrea Dietrich Inspired by the contest: "The Sundress" Sponsored by ~ Constance La France ~ A Rambling Poet ~~

Details | Sport Poem | |

Lotsa Limericks - It Couldn't be Verse

		1. Big Brother
Big Brother's protecting his mice
with a secret eavesdropping device.
          If you hang up the phone
          he'll send in a drone
when a warrant won't really suffice.

		2. Neutrality
The internet's meant to be free
for all, such as you, such as me.
          But now there's some doubt -
          will it lose all its clout
with the death of neutrality's spree?

		3. Privacy
'twas surely our forefather's dread
all our emails would someday be read.
	Now that push comes to shove
	by the powers above  -
private thoughts must now stay in our head.

		4. Guantanamo 
Guantanamo bay's a resort
where fishing's a fabulous sport -
	with your back on a board
	tepid water is poured
wringing tales for a kangaroo court.

		5. Banks
To bountiful bailouts give thanks
for there's nothing much richer than banks -
	making money galore
	taking homes from the poor
while managing mortgaging pranks.

		6. Health
If you live in the States don't get sick
(lest a cut of the upper class clique).
	If you suddenly fall ill
	all they'll offer's a pill -
if you're lucky you'll surely die quick.

		7. Economy
Our economy's doing just fine
lying dead with a slug in the spine.
	So follow the call
	where there's money for all
and profit's the bottom-most line.

		8. Safety
Now police vigilantism's wide spread -  
but not justice… not even a shred.
	The avengers of right
	are still stalking the night 
so beware of a cap in the head.

Details | Sport Poem | |

The Isle of Man TT

Our sleepy little Island in the middle of the Irish Sea
Opens its eyes slowly for the Isle of Man TT
The Island bursts into life with bikers everywhere
You need to keep alert and take extra care

The Grandstand is buzzing with colour and noise
You have to admire the bravery of the biker boys
Tearing round the course at a million miles an hour
The machines that they ride have an awesome power

They line up on the grid; the adrenalin flows
The starter counts them down and then the rider goes
Tearing around the circuit at a tremendous pace
Trying to be the winner of the TT race

A dangerous sport racing can be
You don’t want to be a casualty 
We cheer and shout when they cross the line
Then the Island goes back to sleep until the next TT time

~ This poem is to be featured in a book called 'Bringing it home' ~

Details | Sport Poem | |

Pocket Pool?

A political pundit with power
stuffed dollars in his purse by the hour.
When called to court,
he said “Why not, sport?”
My daughter’s in real need of a dower.

And, while running a nasty ad game
He cried out “Why I’m not to blame!”
He did it too,
So *crew to you!
And he rose up on a tide of acclaim?



Details | Sport Poem | |

SMITTEN OLD MAN

SMITTEN OLD MAN

High school year book, 47
I’m not a gad looking guy –
Short hair, sport coat, tie

This remembered as I gaze across the room
She’s sitting at a table near the wall,
Lap top open, ear phones, late and all

She wears a sleeveless blouse
On a cookie now I’m nibbling,
But, my God, her arm! What’s that scribbling?

From distance the appendage looks solid black
Is she weird, some sort of voodoo?
“No, you idiot!” I laugh. “Just a tattoo.”

Through her tangled blond hair a streak of purple,
No cosmetics improve the sallow face,
Clothes, by 40s standards, a national disgrace

I’m smitten – chair seat a bed of nails,
Arthritis rebels, bony hands clutch -
This modern generation, it’s just too much!

Dave Austin


Details | Sport Poem | |

IF GOD GIVES UP ON US

Open season
the games have begun
We be target practice
Shoot randomly 
no penalty

Kill at will
...if you will
Lives don't
matter to the people
you're chanting to

Kill for thrill  
new sport
Kill at will
...if you think
Lives matter 
watch the gavel...
justice not served

Makes no difference
if they get sacked
Big money got their backs
Now who has that kind if cash ?

Thumb twiddlers, sitting down
eyes watching God's moves
"God's gonna get them people"
That is what God said: He also
 said: "faith without works is dead'

Earth disturbers in combat boots
Serial killers with badges in blue suits
commissioned for this mission
rewarded with loot.

The makers of tragedies  on 9/11
twin towers. Afghanistan and 
the embassy in Kenya ..World Trade
Center and the list goes on..
By the way who's funding BOko Haram?
They have better weapons than the whole
Naja Militia.

Desensitized people, frightened and numb
Worldwide genocide irrespective of person
religion or gender.
When bombs go off, bodies drop 
buildings fall down.
What if the grid breaks?
What if he does not re-create 
anyone smart enough to fix it.?

Those people who one day 
gets paid, to kill those people, 
Who pays you to kill them people
and them people to kill you....

Somebody is paying people, 
to make less people
and paying people - 
to make less people etc...
until there is less people. 
Only the people on the left, 
are left.
And the leftover people. 

Then no more people left.
and the green grass grew all aroun all aroun ....
and the green grass grew all aroun

IF God Gives Up ON US...

What might he do, send us back into the 
black hole.Take the power back from the Sun?

Reverse the magnetic magnitude of the moon
There'll be no separation of day from
night, there'd be no more chances to get life right. 

If God gives up on us it would
serve us deserving. No intercession
for your transgressions.

Just send us back into oblivion;
Erase us like we had never come.?
Dauntless disobedience, and foul
acts mocking his earthly domain
Diverging from Gods plan
Ignoring truth, man abusing man.

What if God would wait
one million years before 
he launched another plan
and like the dinosaurs
we'd be - Just another species 
from ancient times and lands.

What if God gave up on us....

and sent us back into the 
dust, and the only memories 
left, would be the writings
in ancient books..
Ancient books no-one could decipher.

...and the green grass grew all aroun all aroun
and the green 

ghttp://www.addictinginfo.org/2015/01/20/black-homeless-man-sleeping-when-he-was-set-on-fire-by-white-teens-video/


Details | Sport Poem | |

Aussie Roulette

Aussie Roulette

50 years ago we had a sport
Of the deadly dangerous sort
Fight a Tiger snake just one
Quick as lightning in the sun

Used just once a post hole shovel
6 foot long was the handle
Running barefoot with the Tiger
Banded black n brown, a gamble?

Adrenaline ignites, terrifys!!!
Up the handle 5 foot tries
3 strikes each the 5 foot bugger 
Deadly battle, won another

Fang marks on the handle sit
Near my hand where he had bit
Don’t fight old Tiger he may win
Stupidity it is a sin!

Don Johnson

Hindsight says don't play with snakes.
My Tiger was launching 5 foot all his body at me, incredible because he was 
racing  alongside me  at the time.

Details | Sport Poem | |

Misspelled

I feel like I want to cross the boundaries with you
I feel like I want to tell you about me, my feelings about you
I feel like I need not to
Am afraid of losing you if I do so 
Am afraid that I don't have that pass
Even thou you are my biggest sport to cheer

Do I have to spell correctly? 
Do I have to proofread?
Or do you want me to come mispelled?
Or do you want me to keep no time?

Because I will misspell, if you want me too
 


Details | Sport Poem | |

POSSUM JUGGLING

POSSUM JUGGLING  
  Written By the Poets Listed After The Poem.  
  
Possum juggling is a trick conjuring sport.  
You should never do it if your arms are short.  
Nasty teeth are gnashing as they're tossed in air.  
The juggling of possums requires flair.  
Full-grown possum are very massive fellows.
Their bulk when lifted, like handling jell-o.  
They are so at ease as they fly through the trees.  
Are you ever so tall?  Fight them on your knees! 
Though cuddly and soft, please never be smitten.  
Asleep they appear, in a flash you're bitten.  
Upon one look, so UN-cute the ragged claw!  
Surely reminds me of my mother in-law.  
In my compost bin found this fury creature.  
Pointed nose, stinky as my English teacher-  
For that part which sticks out of the can at dark.  
Not a pretty site though pink, duck. It’s a fart!  
Quickly grab his leg and throw him really high 
Let the little blaster soar into the sky! 
Be quick, juggler, Granny Clampett is waiting 
It's possum stew she hopes to be creating 
Wait, I forgot! My arms are too short for this.
Now on my face sprinkles a souring mist.
The moral of this story, surely you see!
Never juggle opossums! Just let them be… 

Contributed Poets (in alphabetical order)  
Charma Chircop, Austin Daver, Carolyn Devonshire,  James Frazer, Robin Gass, James M. 
Goff, Raul Moreno, John Robbins, James Peranteau, Dane Smith-Johnsen,

Details | Sport Poem | |

Dad's Last Ball Game

Being the shortest in my high school gym class
Attempts to play basketball brought no success
Broke my finger while trying to catch a pass
Leaping to take balls from tall girls? What a mess!

Always loved football, baseball and soccer too
But in basketball I succumbed to defeat
Just couldn’t get into it, that is true
Till Dad took me to see the Miami Heat

Startled he was, watching me jump up and down
Although my enthusiasm was contrived
The cheers of other fans my loud voice did drown
This was the last time I saw my Dad alive

I’m so thankful now that I went to that game
Dad was so grateful for these moments we shared
When I watch basketball now, it’s not the same
It was Dad and not the sport for which I cared



*Entry for Deb’s “Play Ball” contest

Details | Sport Poem | |

Catch of the Day

My passion for fishing is well known

But sometimes my catch brings a huge groan

     Octopus clung to my boat

     Dolphins around me did gloat

The queen of the sea had been dethroned



Sadly, a true story for Royal’s Favorite Sport challenge.
It took my 10 minutes to try and pry the octopus from
the back of the boat.  Each time I pulled up one arm, 
it slapped down another one.  They have suction cups on
their arms.  My article “Octopus on Board” was 
published in Florida Wildlife magazine.

Details | Sport Poem | |

A Sport for Gold Diggers

Sookie said (as she stood at the tee), "Though this golfing is boring to me, the odds can't be beat. Of golfers I meet, for each woman, the males number three!!" *Note: Female golfers number fewer than 23% in this sport. With the many doctors and lawyers that seem to enjoy this activity, I can't help but think it would be a great place for a single lady to meet rich men! For the Golf Limerick Poetry Contest of Craig Cornish

Details | Sport Poem | |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 

Details | Sport Poem | |

Lady Legend

A battlefront benefactress,
She has her fortress, a fortified Princess, inside the dungeon of distress,
Tiled with the bone chips of ingratitude colored in pigments of black bright & rugid red,
An arrowhead chandelier illuminated by wicked tears, wet with woe,
Everybody saw her wedding dress, they all knew the warfield wardrobe,
But how many cared to touch her sorrow gown, how it hung on those exhausted shoulders,
The lilac one piece she wore for private pain,
Gain gauged by perseverence of self defense, vengence on Victory's tombstone,
How many visit that ceremony, where love is isolated amidst jealousy's cackle,
Do any of them frown with sympathy for the debt of her crown,
For every jewel in the tierra there exists a bruise upon her beautiful body,
An assault levied by the 'learned', the rape of a writer wrought by the wretchedly wanton,
Honors earned ransomed by pitiful rivalry, kindness taken in the grip of disingenuous delight,
Some say her very name is a curse, an anethema from some God foresaken moon,
Poet Destroyer, 'Too much nerve, too much passion' they exclaim,
Its only natural for her ingrown thrown to be a thorn
In the fingertip of the editorial 'elite',
They know we will bleed for her grace like the children of wild sport,
The Poet Destroyer shall not hurt us as educators of deformity do,
She will not impose false limits on our brows,
She will not strike our eyes with rotten ink,
And look now you vultures of vice, we are Legion,
We are Brothers and Sisters of the Quill, raise your sight and behold our Worshipful Queen,
She rests not long in the sanctuary of her inner star, here we are,
Leading the war march towards you with captured & dried quills
Of impozter poets lashed to her sheild of cauterized parchment
Imprinted with the blessings of all literary Titans who have warred before,
We step forward. While chanting in crazed concentration,
Oh woe to you,
Victors of vanity, victims of sanity!!!

This composition has been made in honor of the Poet Destroyer, aka. Linda,
A beautiful woman, a guiding Light, a warrior of liberated and Divine Art.
J.A.B.

Details | Sport Poem | |

Daniel the Conqueror

In a land far away was a family with two boys
The oldest loved sports the youngest only toys.
You should be like your big brother the father would always say
It’s time for you to toughen up and leave this childish play.
Yes Quinton was a fighter, loved games of every sort,
But nothing did he want to do more than play a sport.
Daniel he was meek and mild a softie like his mother
He hated when his dad would say, “Be more like your brother.”
Hurt and down he took a walk up on a rocky hill
Throwing stones hard at the water, he let his anger spill.
Why doesn’t my dad love me? Into the air he cried,
Kicking rocks with fists curled, tight against his side.

Meanwhile on an island far across the sea
A leader spoke to the animals, almost like a plea.
Legends say a leader from mainland shall appear 
A strong and faithful warrior, a boy that has no fear.
How shall we find this man child? Asked the animals out loud,
We’ve never seen a human said a yearling really proud.
The Albatross said strong and brave, I will bring him here
I know he isn’t very far, I feel his presence near.
The bird flew out across the sea searching high and low
Wondering where he’d find him, the boy they needed so.
There; high up on a hill side a warrior stood so tall,
He knew it was the chosen one, for he could hear him call.

Now in a flash he swooped down, grabbed Daniel real fast
The albatross was thinking, I’ve found the boy at last.
Daniel he was screaming as he dangled by one leg
Flying over water yelling let me go I beg.
As they neared the island, the animals all gathered round
Watching as the big white bird, let their hero down.
Welcome said a racoon, we’ve waited here so long
Today we’ll have a party, let’s fill the woods with song.
They sat all night telling horrible tales of an enemy they feared
And all felt a little safer now that Daniel had appeared.
I’m not the hero you think I am, there’s been a bad mistake
And a little bunny looked at him, you must be for my sake.

Daniel fell in love that night with all his new friends here
None of them made him feel bad, they made him feel so dear.
For their sakes I must beat this foe, an enemy, a disgrace 
Making sure he never comes back to this peaceful place.
For days they planned together, what everyone would do
And when the varmint showed up they stood up to him too.
Instead of running and hiding, they stood together tight 
The badger lost the battle and ran home fast that night.
The wise old owl thanked Daniel for ridding the beast at last
Conquering their worst enemy, who now is in the past.
On wings of love the hero left his friends on the islands strand
When Daniel went back home that day, he had become a man.

The moral of my story? With a little love and trust,
Everyone can be a hero, we are more than clay and dust.
 
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 
10.18.2014
Carol Eastman’s Contest: 
Fable to the Rescue 
1st

Details | Sport Poem | |

Royal Crap

King Pin and Needle Queen
Sitting  in their court
The jester tosses coloured eggs
To amuse them with his sport
The king will catch a red one
The queen, she grabs a blue
But when they crack them open
They’re filled with chicken poo.