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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

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

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

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Ghosts of the Sun Dance-Part 1

Ghosts of the Sun Dance

1. The Path

A quest dating back through our history
Surpassing the flesh, a spiritual path
Human endurance, road to mystery
Dark trail winding through the gardens of wrath

It echoes through me, this deep ambition
Half century of miles, lifetime compressed 
Much more than a race, a sacred mission
With light of hardship I hope to be blessed

To outsiders, an act of madness pure
What motivations could compel this feat?
Past limits of human strength to endure
Pushing the body well beyond defeat

Mind and sinews outlasting the firestorm
Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform

2. Sun Dance

Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform
Once, Plains Indians embraced the Sun Dance
Sacred solstice ritual to perform
Life’s rebirth to the sound of drums and chants

Young braves fasting in their preparation
A stout pole connects the lodge to the sun
Days of reveling unite the nation
Dancers’ exhaustion, they seek to outrun

Animal spirits drawn in by the rhythm 
Forked tree with bison’s skull, hooks in their chest
Buffalo, bringer of potent vision 
Delirious dancers complete their quest

The Spirit Quest resounds through history
Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery

3.To Endure and Transcend 

Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery
Japan's “Marathon Monks” of Mount Hiei
The key to their spirit quest victory
To walk a Marathon one hundred straight days

Famed spiritual leader Sri Chinmoy
Believed hearts and spirits could be mended
Through self-transcendence, and he did enjoy
Countless long quests before his time ended

Chinmoy’s best, a fifty day epic quest
A journey thirty-one hundred miles long
Few are those who have ever passed this test
His famous Self-Transcendence Marathon

Darkest night, the gateway to a new morn,
Through painful trials, seeker’s soul reborn

4. The Spirit Is Willing

Through painful trials, seeker’s soul reborn
Deepest pain kindling the soul’s ignition 
Follow the path supplicants’ feet have worn
Transformation’s crux, soul transition

Our defenses and walls cannot let in
Sacred blessings of the gods and spirits
Impenetrable, much to your chagrin
They cannot touch your heart if you fear it

Mortification, a tribulation
Humble display of the supplicant’s worth
A spiritual emancipation,
Pain always accompanies any birth

These transitions in few modern nations
Our world, rare rites of initiation

5. The Fall

Our world, rare rites of initiation
Deconstructed, traditions have been burned
Soulless life breeds infantilization
Perpetuating the puer eterne

To make our lives easier is progress, 
Yet soft life an inadequate mantle
We can also suffer when life lacks stress
True transformation is never gentle

Safety, the goal of civilization
Eliminate risk, its increasing role
Safety’s bitter fruit is stagnation
Comfort cannot forge a resilient soul

Building true human vitality starts
With substance to satisfy questing hearts

6. Aimlessness

With substance to satisfy questing hearts
We dream to build greatness from the humble
Miseducation, meaninglessness start
Intrepid young souls questing for trouble

Drawn to drugs and gangs, tobacco and booze
No deep satisfaction do they contain
Oft mistaken for paying adult dues
But lead instead to spiritual chains

Youthful misadventures, trouble and blues
Sterile environment will generate
Tribal belonging they mark with tattoos
Clumsy efforts to self-initiate

Conquered world without initiations
Life’s road of genuine tribulations

7. Warrior’s Quest

Life’s road of genuine tribulations
Awaits our youth, whether they are prepared
Or not, we note with building frustrations
Future leaders, we see grow up impaired

The warrior within’s heartfelt yearning
A righteous cause in which to do battle
Meanwhile, the subway turnstiles are turning
Young champions doing time as cattle

Quests can be found for the searching young soul
Alas, the focus of education
Not on the development of the whole
But fashioning subjects of this nation

The challenge of living with one’s whole heart
Yielding to those who have mastered the art

5/19/16
Copyright by Author
For contest: Heroic Crown of Sonnets
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Syllables confirmed by howmanysyllables.com


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

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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

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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.


Copyright © Justin Bordner | Year Posted 2012

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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

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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

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Ghosts of the Sun Dance-Part 2

8. Transformation

Yielding to those who have mastered the art
Of grasping one's place in existence's grand scheme
Life’s constant challenges never depart
But humble diligence will grow the dream

In passing from childhood to adulthood
Innocence to responsibility
Firm new role can be grasped and understood
In life, pain’s inevitability

A mother birthing new life through the pain
Dad slowly works his fingers to the bone
Soldiers trudging all night though frigid rain
Bearing remarkable burdens alone

Accomplishing in life what must be done
In this day’s heat or ere the morning run

9. Volta: Race Day

In the day’s heat or ere the morning run
Resolve has hardened in preparation
For this sacred journey under the sun
Through the land of the Navajo nation

Race morning is upon us, we prepare
Patient dawn waits below sharp horizon
Last meals and supplies, shoes and garb we wear
Gather together, our spirits rising

A convocation and tribal blessing
In the solemn shadows of the mesas
Final rituals, tying and dressing
Spirit warriors in garb of racers

The starter’s gun sends our bodies lurching
Footfalls queuing the inward eye’s searching

10. Inward Journey Begins

Footfalls queuing the inward eye’s searching
A harmonious quest will not fail
Meeting the spirit hawk inside perching
Melding feet to the undulating trail

Smooth hand circles driving arms swinging free,
Shoulders relaxed, rotate forward and back,
Trace three-dimensional infinity.
Every sinew not involved, loose and slack.

Countertwist rotation, thrust straight behind 
Muscle springs compress, explode, power grows
Whipcrack diamondback wriggles down my spine
Through my circling legs, last snap through the toes.

With focus on moment in longest run 
Our life’s greatest challenges can be won

11. Meditation

Our life’s greatest challenges will be won
With the spirit and not by the sinews
At times next to you the Dance’s ghosts run
Other times they can be found within you

Smooth, rolling strides become my rhythm and rhymes
Subtly pick open my heart and mind’s locks
At peace, I'm inured to passage of time 
A slack-jawed Buddha floats between the rocks

Sun-baked vermillion cliff, eternity 
Spirit of the wild, you are the portal 
Stretching out to you, encompassing me 
Melt, intertwine, these moments immortal 

Fallen angels, my soul is expurging
When the body, mind, and soul are merging

12. Crucible

When the body, mind, and soul are merging 
Million drops of agony are the test
Pail overflows, vitality purging
Time spans both horizons, forgotten rest

Flesh hooks of my own Sun Dance dig deeper
Through muscle and bone, draining resistance
Standing face to face with soul’s gatekeeper
Grasping the barest threads of existence

Inside, my withering heart starts to burn
Black crucible over the white-hot flame
Ethereal hands grant me their return
By my side, shadows dance, whisper my name

Body aflame, yet not longer burning
Through sacred quests, our spirits returning

13. Resolution

Through sacred quests, our spirits returning
Wan smile as I reach the final milestone
The line is crossed, strangely without yearning
From the summit, we always return home

The Spirits have won, silently rejoice
Spasming leg muscles announce their first clue
Weary soul may have found its deepest voice
But penitent’s flesh will yet have its due

Dusty column of exhausted racers
Shuffling past hallowed final marker
Sun Dancers’ ghosts fade into the mesas
To echoed drumbeats our spirits harken

Our guides to the Spirit World returning
This modern Sun Dance, an ancient yearning

14. Aftermath

This modern Sun Dance, an ancient yearning
With Spirits’ help, my soul has passed this test
Feet caressed the trail while muscles burning
My abiding need, this challenging quest

This long day ends without ceremony
Racers festooned in laurels internal
The trail run’s own spirituality
Modern Sun Dancers’ reward eternal

While the roads to the summit are many
One means up the mountain for those who seek
Life’s spiritual rigors aplenty
A runner’s path may also find the peak

Deep within us, we need this victory
A quest dating back through our history

15. Ghosts of the Sun Dance

A quest dating back through our history
Transcendence, to shed our skin and transform
Beyond mundane, to sacred mystery
Through painful trials, seeker’s soul is reborn

Our modern world lacks initiations
With substance to satisfy questing hearts
Life’s road of genuine tribulations
Yielding to those who have mastered the art

In this day’s heat or ere the morning run
Footfalls queuing the inward eye’s searching
Our life’s greatest challenges can be won
When the body, mind, and soul are merging

Through sacred quests, our spirits returning
This modern Sun Dance, an ancient yearning

5/19/16
Copyright by Author
For contest: Heroic Crown of Sonnets
Sponsor: Craig Cornish
Syllables confirmed by howmanysyllables.com


Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

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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

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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

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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

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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

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GOLFING

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

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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

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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


Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2012

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Flailin'

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

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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

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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

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POETS

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

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SUPERBOWL SUNDAY


There’s a new American Holiday, guess what it is my football loving friends,
It’s a classical sport of champions, where helmet headed, game geared
Warriors challenge raw brawn against skill’s swiftness, to conquer and win,
With screaming fans, cheering on these gladiators’ in this deadly modern
Arena of clashing titans!
On Super Bowl Sunday, the pigskin faithful gather, around the big colored screen
Altar of entertainment, divided team factions residing on living room sectionals,
Ready to cheer for their favorite NFL sporting champions!
  Golden Trophies of victory’s honored bound glory, to conquests shinning
Athletes whom have surpassed all rivals in competition field of battle,
On this sacred Super Bowl Sunday! 
Endurance's brutal game of physical strength and agilities stamina,
Pit raw natural force against skills mental intelligence, placed upon
Each line of defensive prowess exudes bravery’s finest, producing
Distinguished, and extraordinary ability’s athletic mark of excellence!
Lit are the flames of American glory, as flash bulbs flicker from every
Fan filed level of this modern televised colosseum, above fly’s the
Goodyear blimp, flashing messages of sportsmanship to millions
Aboard!
Within thousands of U.S.A. homes views watch with awes quiets hush,
Awaiting for the next plays excitement to take place on this massive
Green turfed stage, locked gazes of stern concentration as hearts beat
With accelerations thrilling anticipation, the rooms explosive force erupts,
With one words announcement, field goal!
It’s the half times rock party festival, while tunes of fans recover,
For the next thrill ride, to victory’s finest moments of achievements
To occur, for legacy’s future generations state of remembrance recall,
In yesteryears to come, fathers unto sons, and mothers unto daughters,
Will say, “Yes, I saw that play, and I’ll never forget it either!”
At the final battle line drawn the rival warriors take to their marked
Positions, fierce animalistic growling is heard as these diehard gladiators,’
Prepare for the ultimate collision point of no return, again anticipations
Hush returns, the silence is deafening, as a nations heart rate is set
On maximum overloads racing pace!
What earthquake shake could rattle more severely at a continental
Seam, as the underdog team wins the final championship, the victory’s
Golden trophy is placed within the grasp of these athletic giants,
Whom have proved themselves true winners once and for all!
There’s a new American Holiday, guess what it is my football loving friends,
It’s a classical sport of champions, where helmet headed, game geared
Warriors challenge raw brawn against skill’s swiftness, to concur and win,
With screaming fans, cheering on these gladiators’ in this deadly modern
Arena of clashing titans!

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
DEDICATED TO: LINDA THE POET DESTROYER









Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016

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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

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PASSION

TO WANT SOMETHING SO BADLY
YOU OBSESS OVER IT MADLY

DRIVEN BY YOUR OWN DESIRE
ITS JUST WARM UP TILL YOUR DROWN IN PERSPIRE

ALWAYS THAT CRAVING IN YOUR SOULD
NEVER TAKING YOUR EYES OFF THE GOAL

I WANT THAT KIND OF PASSION
I WANT TO GET UP AFTER CRASHIN'

PLEASE SEND ME THINGS TO INSPIRE
I NEED HELP RE-LIGHTING MY FIRE

THIS TIME I WILL NOT LET IT BE PUT OUT
I WILL REMEBER WHAT BEING MY BEST IS ABOUT

EVEN WHEN I AM TIERD AND BEAT
I WILL PUSH THROUGH BECAUSE TO CONQUER THAT IS A TRUE TREAT

CLOSE YOUR EYES AND DARE TO DREAM 
YOU'VE ALWAYS GOT GOD ON YOUR TEAM

NOW IS THE TIME TO MY OWN ADVICE
NOW IS THE TIME TO MAKE MEN OF MICE


Copyright © TIFFANY EVANS | Year Posted 2005

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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

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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

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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

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THE DALLAS COWBOYS

THE DALLAS COWBOYS

Can you not hear the rumblings of that distant herd coming,
The loud thundering of destiny’s champions crossing, the NFL
Field of dreams, beware the rampaging lightening team known
As the Dallas Cowboys, for they are the hail storms victorous
Breed, the eye of the hurricane riders, searching for their
Well-deserved trophy of fortunes honor! 
Remove your cowboy’s hats of respect unto them, ladies
Curtsy with reverences motion, for these athletes are
Endurance’s best, and they shall overcome against
Any opposing finest challengers, these rangers of the
Old western traditions, that carry this country’s time
Honored name of the cowboy to the ultimate extreme,
Of skill and strength’s dexterity!
Dallas all plain drifters of purity’s valor, head to head
No bull horns about it, these are the champions of the
Gladiatorial games in the world of sportsmanship!
Yielding unto no oppositions combatants, these warriors
Hold their ground with distinctions sheer magnificence!
Let those world famous cheerleaders scream with every
Field goal achieved, for these beauties know that no
Other team in footballs annals will score, to the level
Of these good old boys, named by fame's hall of records,
The famous Dallas Cowboys, heehaw and God bless hum!
Now listen you city slicking team of sports hall of fameing
Seekers, you’d better go back to your home fields of 
Advantages, for hear in this lone star state, we take no
Prisoners, and show no mercy to out lander's!
Here in the ALAMO state of freedoms calling,
We remember our heritage standing tall and 
Proud against all odds, blazoned in bullets
Historical legends, our grand team barres
The name of fore-barriers proudly, those
Pioneer’s men known, as the all American
Cowboys!
These six-shooters whom rode the die hard tails,
Across a new world creating a country of freedom,
Where only the tumble-weeds rolled, and desert dust,
Coached a man’s thirst almost to madness!
Now in traditions sport of men, a new team of desperado’s,
Threatens this lone star state, but have no fear my fellow
Texans for our Dallas Cowboys will send them packing,
With a good old boy’s field goals smacking, so I’ll cheer
Them on, waving my hat in the evening air, yelling heehaw,
Go get hum boys!

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
FOR LINDA THE DESTROYER
ROCK ON SISTER POET









Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2016

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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