Poem | |
They're playing in the bowl tomorrow
and we are so very proud.
We Seahawk fans are loyal
and also very loud.
We'll be settled by our TV sets
before the game begins.
We'll stay for the fifth quarter
no matter which side wins.
I'm thinking of my men folks
who had cheered them through the years.
Are they watching them from Heaven
and applauding with loud cheers?
The Seahawk's franchise was formed
back in Nineteen Seventy-Six.
My husband and four brothers
would yell like lunatics
when the Seahawks added to their score
And it seemed as though they'd win.
I would look at them all yelling
and would shudder at the din.
Then when my son was older,
he joined that happy crew.
I threw in the towel and recognized
I would have to join them too.
They taught me all about first downs
and field goals and touch downs also
and many of the games intricacies
that a good fan needs to know.
My husband and my brothers
and even my loved son
have all gone on before before me
Their cheering on Earth is done.
I wish that they could be here
to see their loved team play.
Daughters and grandchildren will cheer with me
tomorrow on Super Bowl Day.
By: Joyce Johnson
Poem | |
To be called ..
~ Grandma is a Honor ~
I have been blessed with 4 Grandchildren
~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb " He is God's Angel ~
~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~
For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
Time passed another gift to see
we are " Mickes" and Loved
Our Dad held the title in Baseball
~ that's how we roll ~
those children are Grandmas hero's
The Irish they love big and Family is everything
The brothers will protect the beautiful sister
~ as many lads will be calling ~
Every time my Grandson hits a home run
There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand
It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs
~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
either baseball or Art ~ you shall find your gift given
These children have been blessed~
~ a beauty to hard to describe
If you think not ~~ Take a look at the Mom
That girl can stop Traffic
after raising three and still~
"Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "
May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell
Poem | |
written by Jan Allison and Tim Smith
Poem | |
It was war
Blood and gore
One by one they lined up and took their designated places
They stood across from one another with their war faces.
Battles are dark
I wear the mark
The General yelled for ammunition
Loaded and released without hesitation
His aim is sure
But less than pure
The wounded are removed from the field
Both sides are determined and neither yield
Young Teenage boys
Playing with toys
One side will win this hard fought battle
Bodies will fall and treated like cattle
No one blamed
The winners get one point for their effort
But both teams leave covered in dirt
Except for one youngster
Decides he's no soldier
Even in the worse of instincts lays hope
Not everyman smokes violence like dope
Our folly continues
With few breakthroughs
Playing high school football can be futile
So many young boys lie on a broken pile
That is the crime
Cut in their prime
One boy will be forever called wimp
As he bravely leaves with a life long limp
Just like war
Blood and gore
Poem | |
IN THE DENTIST’S CHAIR
Lean back and just relax
Put on these protective glasses please
Injection - this will not hurt at all
He says in fluent dentist-speak
Man with goggles and mask like an alien
Probing me like an insect aboard a UFO
God I‘m starving - no breakfast
Oh , from the x-ray looks like
We need a couple of fillings
And It was cornflakes and fried eggs and bacon
I’m afraid it will cause some discomfort
But just relax
I look at the legs of his pretty assistant for comfort
I was afraid to come here at all
Coward for pain in dentist’s chair
Put off and put off six months, till now -
April is the cruellest month*
Month of early cherries from Spain
And lettuce from the greenhouse
And a cucumber salad upon a table in the garden
Like a patient etherized upon a table*
As the alien probes my molars
And asks me about football on tv last night
Oh for a melon big as a football right now
Sold by the shop on the corner where the woman
Is so full-figured....watch her as she gives
Cucumber to another customer
Yes a bit of voyeurism sometimes is fun
Dental assistant’s legs show nice muscles
As she reaches up tip-toed for a tall
Pile of green plastic rinse-cups
Rather similar to a cucumber
I try to answer the football alien
With a mouth full of metal
I stutter and garble out a reply and the alien uh-huh s
Disinterested interest as they say
She looks into my face, concerned, and I am flattered
But she only sees my horrible decayed tooth
Now spit, and again, rinse, spit
I am helpless like a beetle on its back
Wearing plastic goggles
Use this tissue
She’s so helpful, like mother
Don’t eat for six hours even if you have a good appetite
Oh those melons….appetite
I am a man of appetites
No ! I am not Leopold Bloom nor was meant to be*
My appetites are mostly for learning, for humor, for sorrow,
But maybe a melon tomorrow.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
*These lines are quotes from T S ELIOT and J JOYCE, both masters
of the stream of consciousness technique.
Poem | |
I sat in church listening to the preacher
Without hearing a single word he said
I was thinking about the football scores
And my favorite team instead
As they passed around the collection plate
I put my money in
Wondering just what was the going rate
To have God absolve you of your sin
When it came time to share a sign of peace
I turned to the pretty lady in the red dress
Giving her my most pious smile
Trying real hard to impress
I shook the preacher’s hand at the door
Saying I loved his sermon that day
Anxious to get out of my tie
And to be on my merry way
As I stopped at the traffic light
With the windows down in my new car
A homeless man walked up to me
And started talking real bizarre
He said, “You know there’s nothing special about Sundays
Nothing special about the building they call a church
By simply going through the ritual
You don’t improve what your soul is worth”
“If you would rather be watching football games
You can talk to me some other time when you are free
And twenty dollars in a collection basket
Doesn’t buy your soul out of poverty”
“That lady in the red dress
Is much too young for you
And you have to fix the relationship you are in
Before moving on to someplace new”
The cars were honking from behind me
Because the traffic light was green
I turned around to shout at them
Then turned back and that man was nowhere to be seen
I drove the rest of the way home in a haze
Wondering if I imagined the whole scene
But when I turned on the football game
That man was in a commercial on my screen
“So think about the words I said
And talk to me on your own time
In a location of your choosing
When you are in the right frame of mind”
“I am always available to hear you
And provide guidance along the way
But the outcome of these football games
Is not a thing for which to pray”
So, I gave up church on Sundays
And I donate to other charities instead
And today I am a more religious man
Always conversing with God inside my head
Poem | |
To play as if today
Is your only chance.
Some say, “It’s just a game.”
Have they done the Victory Dance?
When hard-earned Victory
Was finally at hand,
Have they felt the glory
Raining down from the stands?
To do or not to do….
No one wants to hear, “We tried.”
Effort and dedication will be rewarded…
And ‘Sooner Magic’ is on your side.
Yes, to fall short is still an option;
But much better to succeed.
Heroes are made and remembered
Only by their deeds.
So, just go out and win.
Give your all to each and every chance.
Persevere and achieve…
And do the Victory Dance.
Poem | |
its a game
has a name
you need the tools
to kick over the wall
Poem | |
Mighty Ducks win the game
Pass the ball perfect the play
There's so much riding on your fame
Men clad in armor win the day
The crowds are grumbling they've all gone wild
The stripes bad call has hardened your trial
Yard by yard your penalties mass
But you'll take the lead with a touchdown pass
86 yards with a kick return
Your rival now should show concern
We love your power your drive your speed
The beer the bets the company
Football Game day
Phones be texting
Tailgate fun scores projecting
Simple fun that's life affecting
It's more than manly testosterone
That compels us to the game
It's teamwork pride the thrill of the fight
How the underdog pushed and overcame
Sports and competition have always been a way of life
Revealing the mighty but also the contrite
Teaching lessons of brotherhood
More victory together than alone we ever could
So when we gather scream and shout
Seemingly insane over a meaningless thing
Remember this on Game Day proud
When from the rest of life we simply check out
Is it really so bad to drink too much
With Oregon's O displayed
Colored faces worshiping the Duck
When they fumble we yell O F_ _ _
Be it victory or cruel defeat
There's more to this than meets the eye
It's about families, lovers and the best of friends
Gathering to play to laugh and to cry
Game Day for the Oregon Duck
Of our team we're so damn proud
As a fan have you made the cut
Or resigned to just miss out
Poem | |
Super Bowl Sunday is finally here
same excitement as Staubach and Griese
drinkers have an excuse to drink more beer
today’s Super Bowl not sure if I’ll see
the Super Bowl is much more than a game
those commercials bring excitement also
Fritos and Pepsi will also get fame
for many the game is the only show
I’ve have been to two Super Bowl parties
last one was the Chargers and the Niners
I worked those Mondays without a tardy
I’m not granddad I’m not with those miners
so eat drink and enjoy the game today
once the work week starts there is no more play
Poem | |
(Every year I write a charge for my team at the beginning of football season. It is a joy to combine two of my passions and I encourage you to write about your passions, whatever they may be.)
Now in the hills of Morgantown there was a football team
Starting a quest to be the best that most would call a dream
And how they did, "a dream and more" said the pundits on TV
The Mountaineers can't win this year - but soon the blind shall see
Because when one team rises up and dons the Gold and Blue
They bring the weight of our whole state and there's NOTHING they can't do
So believe with me once more my friends - the hills are gonna sing
From mountain to valley, we'll start up the rally, our battle cry will ring
Take heart to hope and believe again; set those expectations higher
We'll have some fun and when we're done we just might start a fire
Let's flood the field with thunderous shouts, let the earth quake with our cheers
Come on, who's in? We're going to win!! LET'S GO MOUNTAINEERS!!!
Poem | |
Pain in Spain
Shame in the game
Who do you blame
When your approach is lame
Three lions or three blind mice?
Poem | |
The world welcomes a newborn baby boy.
To the mother and father, he is a bundle of joy.
Right now of course, he is so small.
It won't be long before he is big and tall.
As a defensive lineman, he will hone his attack.
The boy will have no trouble sacking the quarterback.
He will control the boards, slam dunk, and grab every rebound.
I'm sure a sports superstar will be found.
Inspired by another member's poem
Poem | |
Dancing all around
Frolicking through fields
Just like you!
Poem | |
Soccer really sucks.
In real football they kick butt.
And what’s with the shorts?
Poem | |
In the field of life-
There’s a cause to strife.
For us to thrive-
We all must strive.
There are oppositions-
Beware of commotions.
Give no suppositions,
Attacks are no assumptions.
As a team we play-
With a goal every day.
The drive to win,
The play all have seen.
Every tactics with a pass-
Is a marriage with the grass.
The children of the couple;
Others it can topple
With hands on deck
There’ll be no wreck
For a goal-
Is a radiation of every role
Poem | |
Dedicated to every young man bestowed the honor of wearing
the glorious Oklahoma Sooners' Crimson & Cream
Over sixty years, boy and man, I have been a Sooners fan;
And always hoped to be among the truest in the stands.
And while I don’t remember all the Players’ names,
They’re my Heroes, each and every one, because they play the game.
When they’re on the field of battle, my Sooners surely give their all;
And when they’re on the sidelines, just waiting for a Coach’s call;
Visions of Glory must be dancing in their heads;
The Glory of the moment and our cheers, the Glory of playing for
the mighty Big Red.
And for those Sooners who rarely played, whose names were
known only by a few,
Make no mistake my friend, each of them is my Hero too.
Like Soldiers waiting in the ranks, but never called to fight,
They ‘re ready and they’re willing, their spirit and their sacrifice
add to Big Red’s might.
I stand in awe of Sooner Magic. No, I never doubt it.
My Sooners could have never won so many Championships without it.
But don’t misunderstand when I say Sooner Magic won those games;
It was Sooners players who, once again, rose to the occasion and
glorified the name.
Sixty years of college football and my Sooners have won the most.
Their fierce pride and performance inspire this simple toast:
“My Sooners Team goes on and on, different faces, different names;
But my Heroes, Each and Every one, for win or lose…
They play the game.
Poem | |
Have you ever written anything without sub combing to tears ?
My Family portrait in my mind , 2 older sisters , 2 brothers
My Mother caring about all five in different ways
Just with Mom & Dad there having the best of Holidays
My sisters laying out on the deck of river bank for 4th of July ~
Listening to " Honkey Chateau " and all by Elton John.
music a great memory ~Disco , Donna summer , Grease ~ Jaws !
Dad's records to Tony Bennett , Hank W Sr. , Count Basie & Louis Armstrong.
The music takes me home in a wagon filled with children and a dog "Lucky "
My Older brother , athletic , always fishing & hunting.
My younger , my Rock , Swimming and netting for fish,
feeding our Fat cat Perch off the rocks patiently awaits her food
the yelling , slamming of doors , tempers Flare , passion
Our Parents , passionate love yet passionate Hate .
After being a Family of Seven , Divorcing their fate ..
Why did that show " Dallas " bring out the Divorce in all ?
Scottish ~ Irish ~ French Iroquois ~ Cherokee
No matter what the mix ..Our curse Alcohol ~
the Screaming , Drinking , this memory I wish to shut the door on .
Going to A & W or making Cheerleading ,The Bears of course~
Excited in Chicago ! seeing Elton John in the Summer of 1976 ~
Cubs , museum of Wax , Museum of science & History , Pizza !
Expeditions of discovery ,little brother & I finding arrowheads on the Shore.
Our Grandparents Faithful Celebrations ! Chiffon cake , Apple strudel `
Our Cousins on Holidays , going for ice cream cones ,
scent of wet rain on oak leaves ~Before Halloween was bought in stores.
~ That is the Family I Love ,
that is the Family I choose to miss ~
Poem | |
A new dawn has come
He showers and puts on his lucky tee
Sits and waits in his lounge chair
Times has come
He kicks and runs
Catches and tackles
His blood pressure goes up
All from his recliner chair
He cheers and howlers
Rants and raves
Oregon Ducks 48,
Wyoming Cowboys 14
By Eve Roper 9/25/2014
Poem | |
You've all heard about our Seahawks,
The Super Bowl winning team.
Their twelfth man... their faithful fans,
Who come to the games and scream.
Their seats are always sold out.
Ticket holders won't miss a game.
Watching them win on television...
The thrill is not the same.
One game day I saw an empty seat.
I could not believe my eyes.
I asked a gentleman sitting near
If he knew the where and whys.
"That seat belongs to me," he said.
"Every game my wife sat there.
But she passed away and on game day
We no longer are a pair."
The tears ran down his wrinkled cheeks,
As he spoke of his dear wife
Who was just as avid fan as he
And a football fan for life.
"But couldn't you have brought a friend
Who would like to see them play?"
"Oh yes, I asked, but no one could come.
Her funeral is today."
Poem | |
Out in small town Texas, a handshake is a deal
Folks go to church on Sunday, say grace at every meal
Men open doors for ladies, kids say sir and ma'am
Boys can't wait to join the Corps, and serve their Uncle Sam
But if you were to go there, come autumn Friday nights
The place might be deserted, when the whole darn town unites
Upon a spread of hallowed ground, a grassy green expanse
To celebrate their civic pride and watch the six man dance
Now this dance is not for sissies, and I think you would agree
If you knew a bit about a man by the name of Jack Pardee
Yep, they call it six man football, and they don’t get much acclaim
They don't play for scholarships; but for the glory of the game
Three up front and three in back, any lad can be the man
To pass or catch or run the ball, and kick it if he can
A first down costs you fifteen yards; a field goal gets you four
You’ll hardly wait two minutes there before another score
Because for those without some speed, this game is not contrived
And if one team can't keep it up, they might get forty-fived
That's what they call the mercy rule, 'cause scoring is so fast
No point in running up the tab when one team is outclassed
So if you want a taste of life the way it used to be
Where folks can trust each other and kids can still run free
And there’s a game where little fellers surely stand a chance
Drive out to small town Texas, and watch the six man dance
Click "About this poem" above the title to see the notes.
Poem | |
Translating ideas through energetic muscles
and calculative minds
is his doing
knowledgeable tricks and wise options
converted to the physical for the honour and glory
is his aim.
The one at the top of the chain
possesses his own repertoire.
A personality with tactical onus
is the one and only expectation.
Catastrophic it is;
when such a charisma is tempered with
An effective philosophy gives him fame
but ambiguity in strategy wins the point
a winning atmosphere brings out his etiquette
a loss- he treats so diabolical.
Every attack is a litmus test
mental kunfu blended naturally
with physical dynamism in display
closing down angles, tight markings
speed injection, courage cultivation,
identity-showing formations with opponent-neutralizing weapons,
massive onslaught, defensive solidity and quick counters
all for a harvest of victory
coming from the equations of his thoughts
watered by distinctive motivational skills.
A team player who's always outside the line
The football Manager is he!
Poem | |
Our heroes roar
There they are
Flags held high
Voices raised too high
Eyes raised so high
Heads up in the sky
The spirit of football so much
They are our heroes
To play it all
All mouths are wide open
Throats always yelling out
Our heroes truly roar
Our hearts stir to the rhythm
While we watch the ball
We widen our souls in the stadium
One world on the pitch
We catch the ball in our eyes
We all kick it
‘****in **** we goin to do it’
The cries of victory make us sane
The laughter for the goal
The red card curse
The yellow fuss
It’s in the news ;’what a hurray’
They win or lose
The heroes kick up the wind
And kick up the sun’s rays
Till the sweat reminds us of the power
We want them to get the cup for us
When they do we promise to hail them
Though not all of us can have it
Those who lose want to kill
But we remember more excitedly
It’s better than the world war three
It’s the world cup
Those who put their lips to it
Will play it and play it
Because our heroes roar! And roar!
Poem | |
Some people would say that Football is just a game,
Others say life and football are the same.
That it is more than just making calls,
And throwing a funny shaped ball,
Some say its about the intensity and passion above all,
Its a feeling they get on the field after they win a game.
It does not matter if it rains or snows,
They will be out there,
Because football is all they know,
So if you ask them is football just a game?
They will answer that quick and without any shame!
Poem | |
Zillion supporters screaming, a loud buzz,
Yearning to return home cheered by victory.
Xerox machines preparing the next day’s papers; Max
Wit for the shame or fame of a member of the show.
Violent vitriol from commentators like engine rev
Unites with supporters’ glee at likes of Eto’o or Kanu
To spur skill at each minute to get even one stunning stunt
Spirits soar, sink, so it is, for here serenity bores.
Roulette, lifté, counter-attack by one party raising the roar.
Quick kick! Oh no! Replay?! Why not? That must join the FAQ
Pray the corner kick slays the opponent; oh that header was sharp!
Oh he missed that goal again! No replay?! Hell no!
No! Now he’s channeled that ball too late for the man,
May the coach coach correctly and call him to quit the team!
Leave the pitch you little loss-bringing imp! LOL!
Khaki-wearing “messer” I can even get your reek!
Just as our jests are about to milk out laughs, I couldn’t find a word to end with “J”.
Instead I had a whole lot of them J-starting words. So I
Hunched to think, but then looked up at the BROOHAH:
GOAL GOAL!! Oops the scorer is the "Mr. Bug"!
Fooled? No, I’m still for him leaving,( Scoring oaf!)
Even though this elation, release and joy, came from his device!
Defensive tactics, offensive backing up, I can almost get mad
‘Cos the best defense is attack Doc!
Bye losers, we took this easy. Supporters bob
Away, and the whole stadium sleeps in the starlight bathed by mother Luna.