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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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Definition & Discussion of Sports Poems
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See also: Best Famous Poems

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 -

J.A.B.

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.

Details | Sports Poem | |

Boxers

Boxed lures lay: belly-up, forlorn, caste off,
sinkers, line-less, relics of peaceful bygone days.
In vaudevillian colors of corny-orange: their hooks   
rusty, their prongs dull, in an unalluring
huddle; the bait lies unused even with
their drawers low. Like father they recall
summer days with their flies down fondly.
Boxed lures lay belly-up forlorn, caste offs.

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

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 }

Details | Sports Poem | |

Swell Time

SWELL TIME

It was a day of thrills and spills
The time for swells that make or break
Moments of skill that can fulfil
It was a day of thrills and spills
Adrenaline pumped stunts that chill
Body and life are put at stake
It was a day of thrills and spills
The time for swells that make or break

Penned by: Ronald Zammit
Dated: 03.11.14

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!

Details | Sports Poem | |

Winter

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.

Cold feet,
Hot chocolate.

Winter.

10.14.2014
Andrea Dietrich’s Contest 
I do not Know
7th

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

Details | Sports Poem | |

POETS DREAM TEAM

Blake was chosen keeper,
For massive hands had he  
Yeats the lanky 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.

Details | Sports Poem | |

Hoss Race

Long shot prospect
named “Reject Hoss”
bedecked with sweat.

He fell to last
‘till he passed gas
so fast, he flew!

He ran with ease.
At Jockey’s  prod,
he squeezed in front!

Forty to one,
odds he won was
pure fun for Hoss.
 



Inspired by Dr. Ram's Than- Bauk contest.
written 8/6/11

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

Details | Sports Poem | |

CASTING HIS LINE


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

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.

Details | Sports Poem | |

A Deeper Divide

Dreams herein, our progeny, still birth sometimes inside,
blind and rigor twisted, formless foetuses upon
the terrace steps where innocence bled and occasionally died
screeching for salvation when every shred of hope was gone.
Yet also soared in glorious flight, monstrous span
of righteous flapping wings in the stadium sky,
drummed thunderclaps, exultant fear insurgently began
inflaming souls and lifting living spirits heaven high.
Externalised, the primal chants and streaming scarves,
the goading, cheering, praising adrenaline infusion,
the fluid rush of gameplay, of two dovetailed halves
painted on an emerald canvas with fleet of foot profusion.
In a cloud of air horn banshees and muddied leather vapour
where studded feet slap pigskin like a hated face
spins a salt and vinegar smudged result newspaper
telling tales of holy triumph or damnation and disgrace.
Abused patriotism, the easy asylum of the scoundrel cur
whose omnipresent wield of slick wet Stanley blade slashes
carves desired resurgence of the way that things once were,
for Nazi flags, stiff arm salutes and pencil black moustaches.
Yet overriding all, the team and the game, the beautiful game
and the chasm rift between each side as deep and wide as forever,
the team is all, all is the team and will always be the same
and whatever divides team from team let no man draw together.

Details | Sports Poem | |

The Non-Marathon

Today the New York Marathon's
Become a non-event.
The runners' opportunities
To race both came and went.

At first the mayor said it's on,
Despite the storm's destruction;
And then, last minute, pulled the plug
And gave a new instruction.

The racers coming to New York
Most likely were confused;
And those who paid for flights and rooms
I'm sure were not amused.

It's sad that all that training
For this race has come to naught,
The miles of pavement pounded
On each sneaker that was bought.

But certainly the mayor
Could have hurrried his decision.
His turnabout last-minute call
Has earned him great derision.

The city wasn't ready yet
To up and celebrate.
The mayor should have known that,
But discovered it too late.

Details | Sports Poem | |

Gold-Trochee

If my horse on the race course
a winner for me
then the course for my race horse
makes me debt free.

So the beat of the mare's feet
makes me debt free
gold such a treat for this feat
a winner for me.

Details | Sports Poem | |

The Women's Winner

I watched the New York Marathon.
A woman held the lead;
And everyone expected her 
To win the race, indeed.

Another racer tagged behind
But halfway through, dropped back
And then the coast was clear – 
To win, the leader was on track.

The race goes on for miles – 
Twenty-six, to be exact;
When she hit twenty-three, we saw
A view the leader lacked.

Another runner’d closed the gap
And soon had passed her by,
With energy and confidence
In limitless supply.

The one who’d had the lead at first,
Ran fast as she would dare,
Yet in the end she lost,
A tortoise beaten by the hare.

I feel so bad for number two,
Whose spirits had to sag
When she saw slip away
What she was sure was in the bag.

But life is filled with elements
Of let-downs and surprise.
It’s foolish to trust certainty
Though it might tantalize.

Details | Sports Poem | |

Of a Bad Ping-Pong Player

          Playing Ping-Pong now,
The ball hits the glass- which the 
                    murky pool shines through.

Details | Sports Poem | |

Barbagello raceway

Barbagello Raceway.

We live in a place
Just up from the track
Barbagello raceway it be
The cars and the bikes
They race there all day
And this is exciting to me.

Every weekend
They gear up their motors
 Making din that disturbs all around
But me, I just love it
Oh, I really I do
From these races such joy can be found.

The wonderful roar
That these motors create
Oh, how it thrills me to bits
Bikes are my favourites
But I love the cars too
I adore it, I love all of it.

When weekend is over
Everything goes so quiet
Until the next time comes along
And me, I can’t wait
I love it, it’s great
The noise makes my heart sing a song

Vera Duggan, 11 June 2014.




Details | Sports Poem | |

Harness Racing

Harness Racing ( Poem )

Horses pull a two wheeled cart
If it breaks you will depart

Place a bet before it starts
Good wager wins if played smart

Riders ready at the gate
Fans no longer have to wait

Athlete sport with high speed
Is a skill you surely need

At times a horse can fall down
Sad to see that come around

Last turn has crowd in a roar
We wait to hear close end score

If your looking to explore
My playlist has so much more

http://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLWSq_PMWxD9qWvCBxeC8ROFuuf8kPmmaN

By: Doris Anne Beaulieu

Details | Sports Poem | |

The Song of the Game.

The sound of Leather on hardwood
Classics, jerseys and sneakers on floor.
These instruments accompany the
Chorus of fans and haters
In unison they roar.

Deftly we move, we manouver
You can call it a dance 
With a wish
A common goal,
A spheroid of gold,
This bomb explodes with a swish!

This dance we've created 
Mastered, debated
We're pumped
We're inflated with pride
You've seen how we roll 
Got that gift of control
And as Ballaz we stroll 
This stride.

We divide and we conquer
We detect the undetected
The master strategy
We expect the unexpected

Deviously we play
No one tells us how we do
I'll have ya bodies movin'
By the time that I'm through

You may think this poem is tight
May think this poem is lame
But one thing you haven't listened to 
Is the song of the GAME.

Details | Sports Poem | |

The Battle I Crave

In the box with overpowered silence
Dripping with sweaty tension
Wanting glory…fearing three

Those eyes precise measured quarry
Javelin of Ash loaded at the ready
Stilly prepared…ironed gripping

White pale streak of the assailing foe
Red seamed threads spinning unseen
Coursing in…aimed true

A crack that exhales the collective breathe
Eruption within the faceless crowd
Cacophony…movement’s flurry

Charging towards the much sought prize
Just for the chance to be victorious
Guarded…standing strong

Diving headlong toward canvas safety
Outstretched beyond human limit
Colliding wreck…jarring hard

Percussive thump of stitched tooled leather
A thumb shot skyward yelling failure
The cheering…mixed jeering

Screaming sighs…and whistled respect
God I love baseball…  

Details | Sports Poem | |

My Rodeo Cowboy

papa said 
son what you going to do 
with your life

now that you have 
no money job 
or wife

he said papa
I'm going to 
leave this town

think I'll
join up with the rodeo 
and break them bulls down 

Maybe even rope
me a stallion or
even a clown

Son you better
take another 
look around

for theres no money
for bull riders
thrown to the ground

or being stepped on
by a horse or bull
weighing over eight hundred pounds

Papa I promise 
Ill make you proud
of your rodeo cowboy when I'm done

And promise 
not to be thrown or bucked off
to the ground

So papa please come
visit when our show's
in town

for I'll be 
the one riding high on 
the biggest bull that's found

hanging on for just 
eight seconds while I'm
listening for that bells sound

just kicking those sides
of horses and bulls
jumping up and down

with coming out your
top rodeo champion and
bull rider found



Tribute To
The Rodeo Cowboys 
and Cowgirls


Hang Tough

Details | Sports Poem | |

Never In My WiLdEsT Dreams

Never did I dream 
No never.
At ALL.
That one can be controlled 
By something so small.
You think you have handles
You think you cant fall.
But my life is controlled by a 29 1/2 inch ball.

                                                           Hypnotized
                                                 By the sound of rubber
                                         On wooden floor. The squeaking
                                      Of shoes that enter through the door
                                     Entranced  by  flying   down  the  court
                                     Ninety miles per hour,  I love the sport
                                      Flash  back  again  to   that  one  day
                                        You made the most   amazing play
                                          "I want   to  relive it",  what we  all 
                                               say.   We    want     to   press 
                                                    start   for   an  "instant 
                                                               r e p l a y"
                                                 
Never did I dream 
No never 
At ALL
Not in my WiLdEsT dreams
Would I be controlled by a something so small.
Can YOU control it?
Can you?
At ALL?
Beware.
Of the 29 1/2 inch ball.