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When snow starts falling in Canada
We know winter games shall begin.
Do we just sit around fireplaces?
No, that would be a sin.
Snowball fights daily in our schoolyards,
Till the bell calls them in.
Rosie red cheeks on children,
Mittens with scarf’s and hats,
Snowmen in every front yard,
Put away are the bats.
Indoors a haven for cats.
Ski’s out and waxed,
Skates sharp as knives,
Skating rinks are full
Of children, husband, wives.
Tobogganing so exiting,
Curling extremely fun,
Hockey, number one.
Andrea Dietrich’s Contest
I do not Know
Poem | |
Over 1000 poems and now seventy eye have been searching for a definition of
a rendition if you will of a different simpler time
a fabel maker a story teller not just a robot
You have a unique voice, like natural speaking.
this was given me today at your website
thank you very many fables made in a certain style of accomplishment
the proctor and the related at my home planet were elated and they did not sleep
last nite in anticipation of this antiquation to be delivered by the eye this old
fashioned smith and Wesson oiled typewriter is so old it makes a dot between
each word thank GOD it does not translate to the pages but the missing pieces
of the spacecraft have now been found and tagged. The people of this village
think that eye am just old homeless and so eye can carry on surveillance of the
public eye become a new Jim Dandy very handy with a pen and with a keyboard
flowing thoughts upon the word a document of sponging taking all eye have to
give her she gives something in return she keeps almost every word and turns
the pages in my future book with just a look in my direction and a genuflection
and a big reminisce The Lifer he is so avid of a fan a clear cut game boy game
man he roots for roots and never makes a mental happy statement he is so self
centered the quarter back is sacked and carried off the field and his sarcastic
friend says He died he up and died just to see what the LIFER will now say and
this is what the Lifer says about the dead quarterback. He just can’t do that he
can’t do this to me we have a third quarter coming up the ball is stuck in
centerfield without the quarterback to carry it to third base then we aer ruined he
just can’t do this unto me and while he blubbers while he cries his friend moves
away just out of sight and he the friend is now muttering this thought so dumb
eye did not knoe that my friend JOE was so dang dumb as to confuse the game
of hockey with baseball no its football with a quarterback not hockey what is
wrong with me I’m almost bad as him eye had way too many beers today please
take me to the gym and let me play with tying socks in knots and slamming
locker doors before the next quarter comes and they carry one more quarter back
away. Joe is so dang dumb.
Poem | |
I'm in the locker room,
our team is ready to zoom
Equipment is on,
for there is a game to be won
The music is playing,
nervous, my body is shaking
The game, just moments away,
it's the highlight of my day
Butterflies in my belly,
I hope our team is ready
Coaches go over our strategies,
of course, we don't want any penalties
Last second thoughts race through my head,
I'll make it a game that I won't dread
Coach says it's time to play,
I want a win for my red and gray
Now is my time, I got to go,
see you after the game, when I'm covered in snow
Poem | |
In Canada we do not cower
On ice we have a lot of power
When we're young we know our fates
No booties for us we wear ice skates
We dream of scoring goals galore
We pass the puck we shoot it more
We do not like our politics
In bed we hug our hockey sticks
Our country built around a game
Become a pro and get some fame
My seond home the ice arena
I skate and play so very keena
It's Hockey so Canadian
Some players are Arcadian
The game now ends lets shout it out
Winners cheer and losers pout
Hockey is a national institution in Canada.
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Everybody loves it when the team scores a goal.
This is what all hockey fans extol.
The lights start flashing and the siren sounds.
Cheering is heard from the seats that abounds.
Many fans go to hockey games each night.
However, I go to see the players fight.
After some hooking, slashing, or a mean cross-check,
the victim wants to break the other player’s neck.
They drop their gloves and throw a left hook.
Before you know it, there is a big donnybrook.
Each of the three twenty-minute periods is nice.
It is all like World War Three on ice.
Poem | |
From Boston all the way to Vancouver,
the hockey season may already be over.
Right now, there is quite a bit of doubt.
The team owners have locked the players out.
For hockey fans, this isn’t very nice.
They won’t see their favorite players on ice.
It will take a lot of negotiating and luck
to get the referees to drop the puck.
The two bargaining sides are still miles apart.
Because of that, the season won’t start.
The team management and players should get it together.
On the horizon, I see lots of stormy weather.
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blood on the ice
going for the Cup
who’s going to get it?
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Caleb Smith's “Echoes of the Heart” has inspired me to recall those halcyon days long ago on the frozen ponds of my youth.
It was hockey from early morn to the darkening shades of late afternoon with only a short break for a quickly devoured Campbell's Vegetable Soup for lunch. My closest friend was Ken. You very rarely saw one of us without the other, we were inseparable. Our hockey sticks were battered and thin and only bore a slight resemblance to hockey sticks we got each year for Christmas. The pond was a wide frozen body of water beside a well traveled highway to the distant land called the United States. But in our minds it was The Montreal Forum filled with screaming fans cheering on our every move. We would take turns being the great Maurice “The Rocket” Richard while the other would be all-star goalie Jacques Plante! It could have been minus 20 degrees Fahrenheit but we never felt the cold and icy winds... we were superstars.
On a few occasions I have revisited that hallowed ground where we spent hour upon hour, oblivious to time, our faces frozen as well as our ears and our toes! The cheering of the imaginary crowds was all the inspiration we needed to fire a blistering shot through the imaginary pads each other was wearing. At the end of the day, we literally had to crawl home on our hands and knees, our ankles no longer being able to support our tired legs.
Those sweet memories have stayed with me for a lifetime. I'm sure with my last breath of life, the vision of Ken and me will flash before my eyes. Ah yes, hockey, it was what young Canadian boys lived for back then!
© Jack Ellison 2013
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There's a young hockey player whose mask is all holey
When the puck slaps at his face he's glad he's the goalie
But he ducks and he weaves
And he falls to his knees
The young player then yells, "I've got it - holy moley!"
© ELR 2013
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It starts with an unforgettable roaring sound,
Like nothing I'd heard before.
There's people and protection all around,
while my feet slide on the cold hard floor.
Armed with only one simple twig,
And two knives strapped to my feet.
I move forward like a ravenous rig,
Never slowing or missing a beat.
The wind plays music through my ears,
My heartbeat begins to race.
Losing mind of all my fears,
As my enemy becomes face to face.
There's only once chance for this to work,
So I focus in and take a shot.
As I can hear the enemy allies lurk,
I know I've given it all I got.
Suddenly the sound of a siren,
As I hear and become cocky.
There's no sound of hit iron,
Which is the best when scoring in hockey.
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Each child has talents and Dee always loved to skate
One night at the lake she was called up to the plate
The high school hockey team was “slip-sliding away”*
So call her a chauvinist; Dee wanted to play
But when the coach recruited her for the team
One boy offered a bottle of shaving cream
They couldn’t skate backward; Dee sure showed them how
Stealing their puck, she curtseyed and took a bow
Take it from Dee, men don’t like to be upstaged
By her free-flowing glide the boys were outraged
When it came time for the school’s holiday dance
To find a date, this skater hadn’t a chance
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SATURDAY NIGHT HOCKEY
Saturday night I sit alone on the couch
It's Edmonton at Toronto who face off game one
Bernier for Leafs and Dubnyk for Oilers
Dubnyk's a big lad: 6-6, a big shirt
Bernier at 6-0, won't take too much dirt
But nay, I'll not share any spoilers.
'Tis a well-played game and the puck's flying fast,
A strong game for sure but not too much fists
The score is 4-4 and second period has passed
Now the Oilers score again and the fans they do hiss
So the Leafs pull Bernier and TO fans all yell "SCORE!"
But the Oilers come back and we're in O/T for some more.
With 2:51 left on the clock the Leafs make a run
And with a classic 3-on-one the game they have won!
c ELR 2013
Poem | |
What a disappointment, and not very nice,
when a hockey game is cancelled for bad ice.
For some reason, the refrigeration unit goes on the blink.
Because of it, there is rough and inconsistent ice on the rink.
There will be no slap shots, checking, and scoring of a goal.
It’s just like getting a Christmas stocking full of coal.
There will be no lights and sirens, and not even one fight.
The teams will have to give it a go on another night.
Poem | |
I watched the USA beat the USA today,
Losing a winnable hockey game.
We had a great defense, but then
Chose to give the gold to Canada again.
©2014 Honestly JT
Poem | |
Awake, get on t’ ice, go and enjoy
Stick with your team. We are in, the game is on
Play, have some fun. Put the puck in their net.
Focus, be sharp, fans are watching; don’t forget!!
We are friends, we are friends, we are team, we are team
Game is on, we’re together, we will win, we will win
We enjoy when we’re playing
We are yelling when puck’s lost
We are crying, singing Anthem
We are happy when we won. (We get crazy when we won)
Game versus fight. Shots by hockey sticks.
Playing every night, we are having fate
Free flowing-glide. Referee keeps puck on twixt
Pros are on the ice almost flying between gates (while skate)
Girls admire the winners; you shell do all your best
Do you hear them screaming, they expect you to be first
They enjoy watching you scoring
They’re yelling when puck’s lost
They’re excited. when you’re fighting
They’re happy when you won.
Copyright © Tatiana McCollum, 2013
Poem | |
HOCKEY NIGHT IN BOSTON
Well, Saturday night is here once again
I aimed to write you a puck-by-puck account
It's Toronto Maple Leafs versus Boston Bruins
But it's only first period and I've already lost count!
Both at 6-2 and around 200 pounds
It's Reimer and Tuuka in their respective nets
Alert they'll both be for that little black disc
The game's stats will thus be anyone's guess.
The game's too exciting, I can't possibly write
I'm yelling and shouting, the couch can't take any more
I'm jumping up and down like the fans in the stands
I really must go before the announcer yells "SCORE!"
© ELR 2013
Poem | |
Hyperbole is a spots cast
Announcers have egos so vast
My ears must have rest
From this lambasting pest
Collection of morons amassed
Author's note: Is it getting worse, or is it just me?
Poem | |
They both wear black and white,
Sport’s fans will see some tonight,
As one type skates on frozen water,
The other keeps a herd in order.
The man can get caught up in media hype,
Each has the same angle of stripe,
Only one has them down to the toes,
And tries to out run the foes.
Seeing far away is their asset,
Always watching out for a threat,
While the other kind may need to hide,
Making some calls they seem crossed-eyed.
A zebra is born looking like this,
All the while, hoping their enemy will miss,
Linesmen and refs are known to make a bad call,
In the end, it could be a team’s down fall.
Poem | |
To the most ardent fans, this year has been hell.
There are plenty of idle hockey rinks throughout the NHL.
With season ticket holders, this has not been nice.
They want to see their favorite players roughhousing on the ice.
The team owners have been staging a lockout.
Will there be hockey games this year? There is increasing doubt.
In the National Hockey League, nothing is coming up roses.
No players have been losing teeth or getting broken noses.
Nobody is slap shooting that hard rubber hockey puck.
We want to see the games played, but we are out of luck.
We are stuck with watching basketball games around here.
Perhaps both sides will come to terms and play hockey next year.
Poem | |
OUR BABY GIRL TURNS 21
ON 1ST JULY 1990~ THE ANGELS DID SOMETHING ALMIGHTY
FROM HEAVEN THEY SENT US OUR LIFE-LONG DESIRE-A PRECIOUS DAUGHTER TO LOVE AND ADMIRE.
TRUE TO YOUR NATURE YOU ARRIVED WITHOUT FUSS OR PAIN--THE FIRST TIME OUR EYES MET WE KNEW OUR LIVES WOULD NEVER BE THE SAME
AS A BABY AND TODDLER YOU MADE US SO PROUD
YOUR VERY LONG HAIR, GREEN EYES AND SMILE-
ALL THOSE GOOD LOOKS MADE YOU STAND OUT IN A CROWD
YOU STARTED TALKING EARLY WITH MANY VOICEPRINTS
YOUR CHARM AND GOOD LOOKS HAVE NOT STOPPED SINCE
YOU LOVED YOUR DOLLS AND PRAMS-- DREAMT OF BEING A “SINGER”
AND VERY QUICKLY LEARNED HOW TO WRAP YOUR DAD AROUND YOUR LITTLE FINGER
YOUR BIG BROTHER DEVON--BEST FRIEND AND PROTECTER
MOST OF THE TIME YOU GOT ON PERFECTLY TOGETHER
FROM AN EARLY AGE YOU SHOWED YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING
AGE TWO AND A HALF YOU WERE ABLE AND WILLING
TO SWIM UNDER WATER AND DO MANY LENGTHS
THIS WAS CLEARLY ONE OF YOUR SPORTING STRENGTHS
AT AGE THREE YOU COULD BARELY WAIT TO START PLAYSCHOOL
“MISS INDEPENDENCE”, WAS YOUR GENERAL RULE
THE SLIDE AND JUNGLE GYM WERE YOUR FAVOURITE SPOTS
AND TO OUR HORROR YOU WOULD CLIMB RIGHT TO THE TOP!
AT AROUND THIS TIME, YOUR FIRST BOYFRIEND YOU MET-
HE LIVED NEXT DOOR, AND HIS NAME WAS BRETT
SOON IT WAS TIME FOR PRE-SCHOOL
YOU LOVED YOUR TEACHER--YOUR NEW FRIENDS WERE COOL
‘SPRING BONNETS’ AND THE END OF YEAR SCHOOL PLAYS
THE TEDDY BEAR CLASS GAVE YOU SOME REAL SPECIAL DAYS
NEXT WAS ‘BIG SCHOOL’ AND YOUR FIRST CLASS
WE WERE SERIOUSLY ANXIOUS BUT FOR YOU JUST ANOTHER ‘MISS INDEPENDENCE’ TASK
LETTERLAND, MATHS AND LEARNING TO READ
YOU EXCELLED AT ALL THAT WITH INCREDIBLE SPEED
YOUR ACHIEVEMENTS CONTINUED THROUGH GRADES 2, 3 AND FOUR
YOUR PLACE IN THE SWIMMING TEAM HELPED YOUR SCHOOL WIN MORE
OUR MOVE TO AUSTRALIA… SAD FAREWELLS TO YOUR FRIENDS AND YOUR PETS
BUT, GREAT EXCITEMENT YOU FELT AT ADVENTURES TO BE MET
A NEW SCHOOL--“METHODIST LADIES COLLEGE”
NEW FRIENDS--JUMPING A GRADE-- MET WITH SUCH POSITIVE COURAGE
YOU MADE US SO PROUD IN THE WAY YOU ADAPTED
MRS. WILLIAMSON SAID YOU WERE THEIR NEW CLASS ‘ASSETT’
THE ‘MR BEE’ SPELLING AWARD AND MANY MERITS LATER
WE ALL GOT HOMESICK-- BUT YOUR POSITIVE NATURE DID NOT WAVER
THE DECISION WE MADE TO RETURN TO CAPE TOWN
CAUSED YOU HEARTBROCKEN TEARS AND A PERMANENT FROWN
ONCE AGAIN A SAD FAREWELL TO YOUR NEW FOUND FRIENDS
RETURNING TO S.A. FOR OLD ONES TO MAKE AMMENDS
IT WASN’T VERY LONG THAT YOU PICKED UP WHERE YOU LEFT OFF AT ALL
ADDED TO YOUR TALENTS WERE NOW TEAM HOCKEY AND NETBALL
AS YOU APPROACHED THE FIRST OF YOUR TEEN YEARS
WITH YOUR LOOKS AND CHARM, INEVITABLY THE BOYFRIENDS WOULD APPEAR
SHOPPING, MOVIES AND MANY PARTY SLEEP-OVERS
CHOOSING TRUE FRIENDS AND DUMPING THE LOSERS
DANCE SHOWS AND DANCING EXAMS… YOU EXCELLED AT HIP- HOP
FUN AND OF COURSE THE DESIRE TO SHOP
THE END OF JUNIOR SCHOOL-- THE FINAL ASSEMBLY—AWARDS
TROPHIES FOR SPORTSMANSHIP AND YOUR S.R.C. PRIZE GOT MANY APPLAUDS
SAD FEELINGS AT LEAVING YOUR OLD SCHOOL BEHIND
EXCITEMENT AT STARTING HIGH SCHOOL WOULD SOON COME TO MIND
NO PROBLEM TO YOU, IT WAS ALL JUST A BREEZE
AS YEAR BY YEAR YOU CONTINUED TO ACHIEVE
SWIMMING AND ‘A’ TEAM HOCKY MATCHES ON THE ASTRO TURF
YOU EVEN STARTED TO LEARN HOW TO SURF
FRIDAY AFTERNOON CHRISTIAN MEETINGS AND EVENING CHURCH YOUTH
WE WERE SO HAPPY YOU FOUND GOD AND HIS TRUTH
THE REST OF HIGH SCHOOL PASSED IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE WHILE
YOUR LIST OF ACHIEVEMENTS REMAINED EXCEPTIONALLY HIGH
YOUR ORGANISATIONAL SKILLS WERE ASTOUNDING
COPING WITH TOUGH SUBJECTS LIKE MATHS, SCIENCE AND ACCOUNTING
IN HOCKEY AND SWIMMING YOU MADE THE TOP TEAMS
NO SURPRISE AT ALL THAT SWIMMING COACHES MOVED IN ON THE SCENE.
THEY CULTIVATED YOUR TALENTS FROM STRENGTH TO STRENGTH
EVERY YOUR NIGHT YOUR PASSION SAW YOU DOING MANY LENGTHS
WEEKENDS OF GALA’S AND NATIONAL SWIMMING
S.A.SHORT COURSE, YOUR P.B’S, AND FAIR SHARE OF WINNING
TOGETHER WE CELEBRATED YOUR PLACE IN W.P. SCHOOL CHAMPS THAT YEAR
SO PROUD OF OUR BEAUTIFUL SWIMMER ALWAYS AHEAD OF HER PEERS
FIRST YEAR AT UNIVERSITY YOU BECAME SO INDEPENDENT
STARTING YOUR STUDIES AS A B.Sc. STUDENT
IT WAS ALSO THE YEAR YOU LEARNED TO DRIVE
GOT YOUR LICENSE—DAD SPOILT YOU—NEW CAR—RESPLENDENT
YOUR FAITH AND TRUST IN THE LORD STILL REMAINS FIRM
AS YOU WALK AND GROW SPIRITUALLY DAILY WITH HIM
SO MUCH HAS CHANGED, AND YET SOME THINGS REMAIN
YOU BEAUTY AND TALENTS SO EASILY MAINTAINED
YOUR LOVE OF SWIMMING AND OUTSTANDING ACHIEVEMENTS IN WATER
YOU KNOW WE WILL ALWAYS BE YOUR NO. 1 SUPPORTERS
AND NOW YOU ARE 21, SWEETHEART
YOUR WHOLE LIFE AHEAD OF YOU-- TODAY IS JUST THE START
IT SEEMS LIKE JUST YESTERDAY THAT YOU WERE BORN—
OUR DAUGHTER~LOVES BRIGHT SHINING LIGHT~ WE ADORE
YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND TALENTED IN EVERY WAY
WISHING YOU GOD’S RICHEST BLESSINGS ON YOUR SPECIAL DAY
HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY TO OUR BABY GIRL
TO HAVE YOU AS A DAUGHTER HAS BEEN A REAL PLEASURE
-YOU HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE OUR MOST BEAUTIFUL TREASURE-
(FOOTNOTE: OUR DAUGHTER WILL BE 23 THIS YEAR, HAS COMPLETED HER BSc. AND HONOURS DEGREE’S IN PHYSIOLOGY AND GENETICS AND NOW DOING HER MASTERS DEGREE IN EXERCISE SCIENCE. SHE IS ALSO A PROFESSIONAL TRIATHLETE—DOING SWIMMING, CYCLING AND RUNNING AS ONE DISCLIPLINE)
Poem | |
They called it school
I called it hell
From the huge imposing prison like doors
To the doom like toll of the bell
Everyday the same
Running for the school bus
Full of uncivilized Wild kids
Being pushed and shoved
Countless kids in uniform
Fearing the teachers and the day they were born
Satchel bags and lucky bags
Late for lessons again
Going to the headmasters office
For the cane ooh how my bum was in pain
Teacher at the blackboard
Pupils getting bored thinking about girls
Motorbikes and cars
Playing football in the yard
Playing sports in skirts and shorts
The one too big that moma bought
School desks fountain pens and ink
Boy how some of my classmates did stink
Trying to blow up the science lab
Bubbly gum and sherbert dabs
Giggling girls and bashful boys
Girls jutting out everywhere
Pigtails and ribbon on their hair
Always getting into a fight
Going home with a torn blazer and black eye every night
Lots of kisses on my homework
Rolling about in the dirt
Pouring ink into the headmasters aquarium
Holes in your trouser bum
Crafty cigarette hidden behind a wall
Morning assembly in the hall
School dinners you couldn't pick
Forced down your throat and made you sick
Being punished and kept behind doing lines
I must have wrote 'I must be good' a million times
Frog spawn put into teachers bag
Gas taps left on in the lab
The school nurse giving you a jab
Riot breaks out in class Running a race on sports day and coming last
Pea shooter and catapult Pulling your tongue out and being rude to adults
First love and nervous thumbled kiss
Girls with new sticky out bits
Hair growing in places it didn't before
Limbs aching and so sore
Always in trouble up to no good playing truant in the wood
Letting the tiers down on the headmasters car
Girls wearing training bra's
Exams were such a sham but wrote the answers under the bandage on my
hand Teachers talking about things I didn't understand
What a waste of time I was going to be a pop star and soon a man
Those daydreams of youth that still remain aloof
Hiding in the bushes watching girls playing hockey and net ball on the field
I still recall how that used to feel
Long school summer holidays away from hell
School books thrown down the well
Then back to school again to days of terror
And pain up early facing hell.
Peter Dome,copyright.2014. July.
Poem | |
There are more happy faces,
As we go to different places,
Don’t know what the fuss is about,
Guess, I’ll have to wait till I sprout.
So many colorful lights to see,
They’re all hanging on the tree,
Look at the special ornament,
From far away it was sent.
The icy weather is not around here,
One of the boxes has hockey gear,
In summer, we go across the border,
Soon, Santa will get my order.
Next year should be more fun,
Watch as I open gifts one-by-one,
Until then, I’ll have to wait,
Later, Dad will teach me to skate.
Poem | |
Once a bald-headed man
was holding a can.
He tripped and went down
fell on his crown.
He had a massive sore
but was more than sorry
when he read this and
didn't like the way
that I wrote for you
Dorian Petersen Potter