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Best Sports Poems

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

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New Sports Poems

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INDOOR SPORTS by Grenness , Julie
Sports or Church by Monihan, Rhoda
Are All Sports A Load of Balls by Kelly, Sean
Rugby Balls One Liner Sports by Chircop, Charmaine
Jet Skiing - Sports One Liner by Dietrich, Andrea
One Liners 4- Sports by Wigley, Viv
One liners 4 Children's Sports by Roper, Eve
THE SKY SPORTS BLUES by Ashton, Darryl
Watching Sports by Petersen Potter, Dorian
Life is Like Sports by Pettit, Robert

View all new Sports Poems

The Best Sports Poems

Details | Sports Poem | |

The Dart Chalker

He threw the dart,
it missed the board,
it hit my foot instead.
The next dart flew.
it hit a wire
then ricocheted t'wards my head.

It's a dangerous thing,
the game of darts.
Not for the faint of heart.
"Cause once they're drunk
they miss the board
and try, your hair, to part.

I can add
and I can subtract
so I don't mind keeping score.
But when those darts
miss the board
they don't always hit the floor.

I have scars 
and I have bled
from darts, like missiles, thrown.
But if they don't stop
aiming for me
they can bloody well score their own.

Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sports Poem | |

The Truth About Truth -

Truth burns at the center of all occurrance,
it is a heat that motivates appettites to enlarge,
truth is a multiplier of quests, 
satisfaction always arrives at the porch of a new path,
truth does not reveal endings, only beginings that behave
like currents pushing towards a shore,
truth demands stamina from the finder as well from the seeker,
it dashes in delight from the tired,
indolence receives no invitation from truth because laziness is a debtor,
a fish with no gills,
credit walks not from the bank steps of truth,
one must exchange, transact with it, as wanting is to worth,

Truth holds strength in one hand and suffering in the other,
He gives quarter and meal to surviving artificers who are organizing
their talents for future enterprise,
to the brigand and beggar He puts on a pewter plate
bland beans representing distance,
disillusionment preceeds the knowledge of utility because
new truth means fallacy is an ancestor,

an anthropologist is truth, observing your traits,
orbiting the ability of your judgement,
some of Truth's revelations are more expensive than others,
sometimes He will take your Past and grin like a haughty antique dealer,
truth will invest in your Future as a gambler revisits old glory
speaking fresh fortunes in cold ears,

He is an opportunist incessantly offering information for spirit,
without the ignorant truth becomes a vagabond in a vineyard of sweet rust,
the secret of truth is that it is ours
if we wish to be honest with ourselves,
truth is the inheritence of the strong who know how to make it,
oppossed to those waiting for it -


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sports Poem | |

Note to a Lady in Waiting

The white charger's belly is bloated with hay
The helmet helm's rusted quite shut
The tack room door hinges are tearing away
The leather's un oiled  and dry
The lance is still good
It is bracing the fence
but  I traded the sword for a pen
I am presently seeking a page
So if you're still waiting
and anticipating 
A Lochinvar ending of sorts
I shall purchase wild oats for the horse
I recall how to sow them of course
With hardly a shred of remorse

Copyright © Donald Meikle | Year Posted 2006

Details | Sports Poem | |

Fantasizing a little one on one

There's a certain somebody out there
i'd rather not name......
showed a little interest , at playing a game ,
she's bold in her talent's ,
say's she'll put me to shame....
such big talk , from such a tiny frame....
smiling inside , being challenged by this dame
a fine lady , no doubt , but game is not lame
you're quite the find  " BABY " , I'll give you your fame........
until then , i must warn you , this game won't be tame !!!!!

                        { ciao bella }

Copyright © jay del fierro | Year Posted 2007

Details | Sports Poem | |

A Golf lesson

Over fifty years have passed,
Tho’ it seems like just the other day;
My father gave me golf clubs,
“It’s a game you need to learn to play.”

He said, “It’s very difficult, but so is life.
There’s more to learn than grip and swing and rules,
Like honesty and dealing with adversity;
Then, pointing to his head, “… and how to use ALL your tools.

Play the Course… and Mother Nature…
Focus on just one shot at a time;
Try to learn from each of your mistakes;
Then, do your best to leave them behind.

These clubs will teach you more
Than our ‘man to man’ talks.
This you'll learn for yourself,
So you can “walk the walk.”

“Practice makes better, but not perfect.
And always remember what they say:
‘”Golf is not a game that we can win.
It’s just a game we play.’”

His lessons served me very well,
Took them to heart and play the game.
And life is much like a round of golf.
Despite the bad shots, I’m always glad I came.


Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sports Poem | |

Future Superstar

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

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sports Poem | |

A golf limerick

While a man was golfing in Fife
a funeral cortege was arife,

       his head bowed in prayer
       at this somber affair

to pay last respects to his wife!

Copyright © Thvia Shetley | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sports Poem | |

Sir Jack And The Outside-Inside Basketball Attack

The incredible shooting display put on by "Sir" Jack, 

Teaches a basic tenet of basketball that remains still, 

You can expand your game from the outside 

and considerably broaden your skill, 

With accuracy you can keep defenders off-guard, 

You can shake 'em or hit one in their grill, 

By working the game outside-inside, 

You can score on any defender at will.

Copyright © Donald Reith | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sports Poem | |


You’re in Palm Springs, not much to do 
But golf and get some sun
Hop on a cart, still almost dark
Get out and have some fun

Line up your shot, you’re feeling hot
You try hard not to push
But half the time, like you were blind
It ends up in the bush

You curse and swear like no one’s there
Dig up a chunk of dirt
You hit a house, feel like a louse 
Thank God no one was hurt

You hack around, rip up the ground
The hole seems ’way too small
You miss your shot and swear a lot
This is no fun at all

Every shot’s worse than the last 
No matter how you try
They don’t go where you want them
It makes you wanna cry

Your buddies laugh, you stand and chaff
You ask them what’s so funny
They grin and say, “Looks like today
You owe us lots of money”

Finally when you make a shot
You think you’re getting hotter
You rip the next shot long and hard
Straight into the water

Every shot makes someone smile
Somehow it’s never you
A foursome comes up from behind 	
Asks if they could play through

You shank and pull you slash and slice
You finally get around
The only part that you enjoy 
Is when you’re homeward bound

You practice ‘til the sun goes down
Determined not to fail
The more you try the worse it gets
You just groove your slash and flail

Today I had a real good day
I’m happy as could be
Had lots of fun, me and my Hon
Stayed home and watched TV

Copyright © Vic Pister | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sports 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' ~

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sports Poem | |


Casting his line, a love affair,
despite charcoal clouds and damp air,
my father would patiently wait
and trust in his favorite bait
for sweet solitude was rare.

Heaven, to him, was a low chair
by water, mouthing a prayer,
mom would gripe he’d stayed out too late
          casting his line.

Dad’s tall tales were beyond compare,
one pike was no match for a bear,
I miss how he’d ruminate...  
now, his rod I appreciate, 
so I take the greatest of care
          casting his line.

*written Dec 6, 2012

Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sports Poem | |


Flailin’,  flailin’, flailin’;
There goes my ball sailin’
Into a trap, the water or the woods.

Flailin’, flailin’, flailin’;
You can hear me wailin’,
“Why won’t that damn ball go where it should?

Drives go right.  Putts go wrong.
I shank my wedges or ‘skull’em’ long.
My golf game’s just no damn good.

I’m swingin’ too hard & lookin’ up;
As if I’ll actually see it go in the cup….
As if it ever really would.

My alignment’s too far left or right.
My ball can find the only tree or trap in sight,
Even if the shot starts out lookin’ good.

These days, I carry some special tools:
A handheld weed eater with extra spools
And a pruning saw, in case I’m in the woods.  

I’ve even tried to ‘buy’ a better game.
No matter.  My scores were just as lame.
Those new clubs didn’t do what they should.

Bogies & doubles...even triples... are common scores.
I very rarely get pars any more.
Believe me, I’d change it if I could.

My buddies said it must be me,
A teaching pro I should go see.
They said he’d fix my game…..if anybody could.

The pro said, “Hit some balls while I watch you.
Just set up and hit’em like you normally do.
We’ll see if I can do your game any good.”

After the first bucket of balls I hit,
He calmly said, “Take two weeks off…then quit.
Take my advice.  You really should.”

Now, what really has me vexed,
I’m wondering what I’ll try next.
That pro’s advice was no damn good.

So, I struggle along with my flailin’ game;
But, strangely enough, have fun just the same,
Finding hope in rare shots that are actually good.

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sports Poem | |

Silent Running

The coolness of the morning air, rushing over me,
Silent running, sunrise, peace, tranquility,
Heart is pumping faster, breathing getting deeper,
Stride’s becoming shorter, as the hill grows steeper.

Rain is gently falling, cool upon my face,
Refreshing me all over, quickening my pace,
This therapeutic feeling, flowing through my veins,
It overtakes my tiredness, as I start to feel the strain

Run is almost over, slowly homeward bound,
Silent running through the streets, making not a sound,
Endorphins start to surface, I feel like I can fly,
An energy comes bursting out, must be the runners high :0)

Copyright © Claire Bowl | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sports Poem | |


Blake was chosen keeper,
For massive hands had he  
Yeats the classic sweeper
And Keats at number three 
Whitman wore the five shirt 
With Masefield to his right  
Thus they had a back line 
Of energy and might  

Rimbaud had been brought in 
At quite enormous cost 
To complement the midfield 
Of Byron, Burns and Frost 
Up front two boyhood heroes 
Whom I revere today  
The tortured Wilfred Owen, 
The brilliant Thomas Gray  

And so it became clear to me  
When first I entered Heaven 
That I would have to go somewhat  
To make the First Eleven.

Copyright © Louis Spence | Year Posted 2009

Details | Sports Poem | |











Copyright © TIFFANY EVANS | Year Posted 2005

Details | Sports Poem | |

The Chair Lift

I slide in the chair as it begins to rise.
Legs hanging with heavy feet,
Bang them together, watch falling snow.
Brisk wind hits my face turning red.
The metal cold and wood wet,
Holding my poles dangling skis,
Nose gets numb during the ascent.
The view surreal I feel so blessed,
See them push off at the top.
Just in time I jump off
Then glide through dusty snow.

By: Greg Stanley

Submitted into Brian Strand's "Upto Sixteen lines" Contest

Copyright © Greg Stanley | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sports Poem | |

Usain Bolt

Jamaican Usain Bolt
Was found to be at fault
When he dashed off on a whim
No one kept up with him.

Copyright © Paul Callus | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sports Poem | |

You Know

You Know

By Elton Camp

The conversation has only begun
When I realize it is with a moron.
On every thought he does bestow
The foolish phrase, “You know.”

Just how could I possibly know
Until he proceeds to tell me so.
“I really like sports, you know.
They just put my heart aglow.”

“I met Joe Montana two years ago.
It was just such a thrill, you know.”
How could I know just how he felt
When with his idol he had dealt.

“I like baseball pitches, fast or slow.
That’s the throwing speed, you know”
To learn that I simply couldn’t wait.
On word meaning he kept me straight.

Then golf he includes among the rest.
I learn that it is the sport he likes best.
“I just love to hear Tiger Woods crow.
In playing golf he’s the best, you know.”

His praise of sports continues to flow.
About all he may say, he thinks I know.
“Once, to the World Series, I got to go.
And there I had so much fun, you know.”

For sports tickets, I spend lots of dough,
But it’s well worth it to me, you know.”
I wonder if it is well-spent to his wife.
And how about the children in his life.

Into all of his chat, he continues to throw
His favorite phrase, one that I do know.
“Well, I guess that it’s time for me to go.
It’s been great meeting you, you know.”

Copyright © Elton Camp | Year Posted 2011

Details | Sports Poem | |

Golfers Beware

If a golfer who’s clumsy and falls
Loses grip on the clubs that he hauls
	He'd trip on a trap
	With wood in his lap
And have problems in finding his balls!

for Craig Cornish's limerick contest

Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sports Poem | |

No Triple Crown Winner

California Chrome’s bid for a triple crown was a no-go. He didn’t win, he didn’t place. He didn’t even show. The owners of the horse were hoping to pop the cork at the Belmont Raceway in New York. Down the drain went the hope for history with fortune and fame. Many said the horse that won the Derby and the Preakness was not the same. Loads of betters were disappointed. What a shame! No thanks to another horse by the name of “Tonalist”, another bid for a triple crown winner was missed. Nobody will ever see me at the race tracks rambling. No matter how you look at it, it’s still considered gambling.

Copyright © Robert Pettit | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sports Poem | |

Bowlers Poem Award

You bowled the ball...that made them fall...
'twas done in games and pleasure...
Many saw... with thrill and awe...
as you bowled with skillful measure.

Copyright © Lawrence Ingle | Year Posted 2008

Details | Sports Poem | |

Wrangler Favre

Brett Favre looks hot in his Wrangler blue jeans

You know that cool dude ate his spinach greens

     Has the perfect TV face

     With the girls he scores first base

If only he could master passing screens

* For the sports limerick contest

Copyright © Diane Locksley | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sports Poem | |

Tennis Undies

Gussie Moran, a tennis star,
Created quite a stir
When she wore lace-trimmed underwear,
Created just for her.

In 1949 this was,
On Wimbledon’s staid courts;
The British folk were scandalized,
According to reports.

Designed by Teddy Tingling,
A tennis pro and Brit,
The all-white skirt (above the knees!)
Had newsmen in a snit.

They said she brought “vulgarity”
And even, more so, “sin”
Into a sport that prior
Only let the proper in.

Along with her obit, there was
A photo of her wearing
These very clothes; to us, today,
They’re anything but daring.

But bravo to this fearless gal!
Her charms she did assert
When she gave fans at Wimbledon
A shock beneath her skirt.

Copyright © ilene bauer | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sports Poem | |

Rahul Dravid

Rahul Dravid is called "The Wall",
A true servant to the game of Bat and Ball.
He is nicknamed Mr.Dependable,
since his dedication is Remarkable.
He displays a lot of commitment,
with his great temperament.
He is a man who is selfless,
and the number of runs he scored is countless.
He has played consistently against all nations,
indeed,with a lot of patience.
Though his game looks quite simple,
opponents have to do a job which is ample.
Everytime he comes out to bat in any session,
he seems to be like a Man on a Mission.
His technique to budding stars is like a guide book,
the footprints of Dravid in Indian cricket have the best look.

Copyright © NIKHIL GOPAL KRISHNA | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sports Poem | |


Yoga is the union 
Of body, mind, and soul -
Guarantees you lasting peace,
And freshens you up whole

Copyright © Sneha RV The literature lover | Year Posted 2015