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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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Watching Sports by Petersen Potter, Dorian
Life is Like Sports by Pettit, Robert
SPORTS AND KIDS by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Sports Summer by Merrell, Amy
Living For Chocolate in a Purple Sports Car by Salmon, Liza
The Sports by Dy, Alon Calinao
SPORTS CAR by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
SPORTS BAR by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
Sports Scandals--What May Be Next by Camp, Elton
SPORTS RESULTS - FINAL SCORES by Beck, Sidney

View all new Sports Poems

The Best Sports 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.

More great poems below...


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 | |

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' ~

Details | Sports Poem | |

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

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

More great poems below...


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 | |

YOGA

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

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 | |

Catch of the Day

My passion for fishing is well known

But sometimes my catch brings a huge groan

     Octopus clung to my boat

     Dolphins around me did gloat

The queen of the sea had been dethroned



Sadly, a true story for Royal’s Favorite Sport challenge.
It took my 10 minutes to try and pry the octopus from
the back of the boat.  Each time I pulled up one arm, 
it slapped down another one.  They have suction cups on
their arms.  My article “Octopus on Board” was 
published in Florida Wildlife magazine.

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)

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 | |

POETS

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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

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 | |

Spinning Top Toddler

I still have faint memories of the day
When in our small living room I did play
A toddler of three, spinning on my head
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?

Acrobatic talent was freely shown
But I was wearing a dress; grandma moaned
Swatted me, “Act like a lady,” she said
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?

My mother smiled, took a different approach
The acrobat skills she did not reproach
“You may take lessons,” to classes she led
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?

‘Cause mom insisted I take ballet, too
And just the very thought made me feel blue
Dancing on toes caused foot soreness widespread
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?

Eight years of lessons, but ne’er ladylike
Gracefulness failed to emerge from this tyke
To this day, I’d rather spin on my head
Lord, why wasn’t I born a boy instead?


*For Paula's Baby Boo's Shoes Contest

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 | |

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 | |

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.

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 | |

Fritterbatter

No one is more famous than Allo Wishis
Who, with his bat, broke all 108 stitches
Exposing a yarn ball, the leather fell fast
Causing the fans, to rise, with a gasp

Back in a corner lot, below Hamby Square
Was a sixteen year old pitcher, Billy Baer
Had a bad habit, of breaking wind
Because of the force, he’d put on his spin

He’d raise his knee, to meet his chest
Then split the distance, with leg abreast
Stepping off, to shoot the curve, 
as the ball would fire, from Billy’s nerve

Up then down, he’d send them all back
To the dugout they flew, every inning in fact
Till at last as the sky, turned dark royal blue
From out of the dugout, he came, tapping his shoe 

Score was tied, with one more strike to throw
It was Allo Wishis, who succeeded a blow
Breaking the pitch, and ball with ease
Bringing the pitcher, right down to his knees

Up on the shoulders, of everyone there
Rode Allo Wishis, and Billy Baer
Three hours after, everyone had gone home
They received a call, that the ball, was a scone

Seems that the bakers son, went home to eat
Taking his ball, and leaving the treat
But that didn’t matter, a ball or a tart
They play again tomorrow, well, at least until dark

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.