Best Soccer Ball Poems
Like the sun lights up the sky,
A little girl when she was born,
She snuggled right into our hearts
With heaven's sparkle in
Her eyes stole her papa's heart.
He became her nanny and cradled
Her to sleep, there was no bed
Comfortable enough,
but only in his loving arms
Until it was time for him to leave.
He was "mama" until she was two.
He would try to correct her;
"No, Papa."
She'd say, Mama with a smile.
He nourished her little mind with
Nursery rhymes and songs.
He taught her Math, English, and Spelling.
Taught her to ride her first tricycle,
To hold a baseball bat
And keep her eyes on the ball.
To kick and pass a soccer ball back and forth,
He cheered the loudest when she outran the boys.
Love between both of them unconditional.
She's now thirteen, with a smile that beams like sunshine
And eyes like stardust glistening, our greatest joys;
A garden scent where mums and sunflowers flow.
Having outgrew grandpa, it was grandmas turn;
Grandpa encouraged.
Her extra sunshine, giggles, laughter, and happiness
That come from deep inside when we shop
For party dresses, make-up, and
Once in a while a bookstore.
A photo-shoot on a footbridge or garden,
Lunches at Olive Garden or Gringo's for Mexican food,
And ice cold-fruity slushy drinks before going home.
She would text and still does to say,
You and grandpa or the best grandparents ever.
This little girl that that lights up the sky rules our hearts.
11/11/2019
In Thrall
I’ve scooped plasma from the sun
To cook meals and heat my bath,
Moved Mount Everest just for fun;
None can ever walk my path.
I’ve had dinner on Saturn’s rings,
Kicked the moon like a soccer ball,
Plucked light rays like guitar strings—
I should adorn the walls of great halls.
I’ve swum the depths of every sea,
Journeyed to the center of the Earth,
Drunk molten magma like green tea;
My mind suffers no dearth.
I am the Law, the Order, and the King,
Free! Only to my mind am I in thrall.
I relish the escapes its figments bring,
Finding ways out of my every fall.
I’m a minstrel with an unchained mind
Or some raving loony in sanity’s cloak.
It’s no matter to what you are aligned,
Life is easier if seen, in part, as a joke!
Sept. 23, 2018
First Placing : Poetry Marathon 2025
Sponsor: Mark Toney
{ FREEDOM “We may want to linger, to stay, to arrest the flow and talk about it, photograph it, lyricize it. Yet this beauty is mercurial and we must let it go, for it is already slipping away to be replaced by the new.” -Stuart Sovatsky }
YELLOW FIELD OF WHEAT
Angel of Death skims blacker than tar
a skeletal knock overturning bowl of oats
smelling of frankincense and ashes
to carry you to a yellow field of wheat
where you will dance radiant waltzes
haloed free
your laughter pranced across blue walls with
Michael Jackson, Spider-Man, cheeky elves
relishing Kentucky Fried Chicken as you
played scrabble with forlorn neighbour
bony body birthing revolutions of
roulette with green life and grey death
how you endured those precision needles
wanting to drum tapered fingers on
waiting desk overflowing with car sketches
your thirteen year old bald head smiling
veins on an enchanting spring moon as our
hidden tears crystallised hospital sheets
we tried to keep up with you scoffing
encyclopaedias, Dickens and muffins alike
cancer like a chess game mastered chemo
doctors and nurses becoming kings or pawns
time was now or endless pathos stalking minds
Laurel and Hardy keeping hearts unlocked
on Merlin’s star-patterned couch you will
jokingly converse with Pele and his team
soccer ball silent under quiescent table
my ink cannot pen sad lines as I feel
your lips still sucking dripping nipple
freedom moonwalks on a
yellow field of wheat
The soccer ball thy shall kick to that place
where there is a net hung on the crossbar.
Thy shall play hard with my power and pace.
I take that free kick and score from afar.
Forwards and midfields need a lot of speed.
Without strength the body will take its toll.
There is one more thing these players will need.
The desire to shoot and score the goal!
The goalkeeper has to be very tall
to keep the ball out and to save the game.
He will need to get up fast if he falls.
The goalies job will always be the same.
As you can see soccer can be real tough.
To play you need to be quick or real buff.
I love to stay involed with my community.One of the ways I do that is by playing
sports. Playing sports is a great way to meet new people. It’s fun because when I
go to some of the other high schools I see people from our old teams who you
are playing against now. Everyone involved in sports here at Mercy High is
encouraging and supporting. The sports I am involved in are cross country,
basketball, and soccer.
One of the sports I do is cross country. This is the first year I have
ever done cross country. It has been extremely fun being on the cross country
team because all the girls on the team are super nice. During every race they will
be there cheering me on, even if I am the last one too cross the finish line. I think
that running can be boring, but my parents, coaches and other runners always
encourage me. The main reason I am doing cross country though is to stay in
shape for basketball.
My favorite sport is basketball, which I play in the winter. I have been
playing basketball ever since I was a second grader. Basketball is my favorite
sport because I love the way the game is constructed.. Basketball is a team
sport. You could be the best player in the world but have awful teammates which
could results in a loss.
During the Spring I play soccer. Just like basketball, soccer is a team
sport. You need to be able to communicate with the other players. I have been
playing soccer almost my whole life. Soccer is a great sport for anyone to play
because when you are younger the soccer ball and fields are all smaller. Some
sports are to hard to play when you are young because you don’t have the
strength.
At night the sky
Becomes an entire new world
To the human eye
The moon
Sometimes as round as a soccer ball
Appears as it begins to get dark
A million tiny bright lights
Called stars
Appear like specks of dust
Out of nowhere
And soon I am outdoors
Observing the planets like mars
And also the Milky Way galaxy
With my trustworthy telescope
Once upon a time, there was a boy called Tyler playing with his soccer ball. He was a ten years old boy with black hair and green eyes. Every afternoon, Tyler played with his friends, imaging they were famous soccer ball players playing in a stadium. Near Tyler's house was a river with rapid streams. Tyler's mom, Debra, advised him and his friends to do not play near the river.
One day, as a challenge, a friend of Tyler told him to play near the river. Tyler disobeyed his mom warning, and went to play near the river. Tyler slided and fell
in the river. He had a dog called Lolita, who started barking. Debra heard the
barkings coming from the river area. Tyler was grabbed to a rock. Debra rescued him from the river. Tyler promised to his mother to never play again near the river.
Ten years has passed. Tyler is now twenty years old. His dream came true. He was a succesful soccer player known worlwide. Five years later, he met a young lady called Heather. After one year of dating, they married. Two years later, when Tyler was twenty years old, Heather had a baby boy called Spencer. Fiveteen years later, when Spencer was fiveteen years old and Tyler, fourty three years old, Spencer was a famous soccer player as his father.
The End
4-23-2016
I watched my son at his soccer game
Run away from the soccer ball;
I watched my son strike out four times
In his game of Little League baseball;
I watched my son at his football game
Sitting still on the end of the bench;
I watched my son dribble the ball off his foot
Helping the other team, the game to clench.
I watched my son at the holiday chorus
Never move his lips when the class did sing;
I watched my son at the school assembly
Not get an award for anything;
I watched my son at the science fair
Display a project that came out wrong;
I watched my son at his piano recital
Play a totally unrecognizable song.
I wake up every morning and thank the Lord
For making me such a proud Pop;
That boy of mine, wouldn’t you know,
Is a regular chip off the old man’s block.
O'er the undulating prairie where grows soy beans and corn,
Generations of premier basketball players have been born.
The Hoosier State of Indiana, where budding talent is so replete,
Where small towns can conquer titans, shocking them in defeat!
Long before lads and lassies leave the cradle to crawl upon the floor,
Dads have hung a backboard and hoop above every garage door.
Seldom is seen a Hoosier home without this indigenous adornment!
The flame begins early in Indiana, stirring souls with excitement!
Ah! The exuberance builds as high schools begin a brand-new season.
Not to support the hometown team is almost akin to treason!
Creative cheerleaders perfect frenzied gyrations honing their skills.
The marching bands look sharp having perfected intricate drills!
Moms, Dads and coaches take pride in their young men and women,
As they mentor, teach and train them to develop their acumen.
Young warriors opposing each other upon friendly fields of strife,
Strengthen character to meet the challenges facing them in life!
A Canadian invented the game using peach baskets and a soccer ball.
You daren't mention that to a Hoosier fan - you're apt to start a brawl!
But Hoosiers don't bother themselves about that, caring not a whit.
Basketball is an inbred thing in Indiana, everyone is happy to admit!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Written at the request of the Indiana Basketball Hall of Fame, New Castle, Indiana,
for publication in their Winter 2004 publication, "Indiana Basketball History Magazine"
Johnny played video games till his mouth was dry
He never glimpsed at the midday sun
Or turned his head to see the star lit sky
He would have seen a world for the taking
Just a couple steps outside
But he never played outside
He played every sport on a gaming console
Every sport he never tried
Maybe he saw the shots he could have scored
Through his dilated eyes
Through his bloodshot, tired eyes
His parents were as wealthy as could be
But life was spinning and they were dizzy
Maybe him and his father would have thrown a football
But life was just too busy
The law firm was just too busy
On parent teacher day at school
There was a limousine waiting after the bell
With a chauffeur to inquire
Whether Jonny was doing well
But he wasn't doing well
They found out about those b's and c's
So they tried to give him hell
Driving straight into the heights, straight into the ghetto
So he would know what could happen if he did not excell
But when he stuck his head out the window
He didn't mind the pungent smell
He saw kids his own age kicking a makeshift soccer ball
And that air conditioned lexus
Felt like a prison cell
By Kyle Kriticos
I sit calmly in the state of shock, disgusted by my generation.
Precious life that so many struggle to have, kicked aside like a soccer ball.
Abusing the temple of our body.
We the youth, blinded by stardom and greatness, not stopping to realize what is more important.
The laughter, smiles and cherished moments a time capsule of many years ago.
That we once relished and held so dearly to our heart, melted away by the hot blood in our skin.
Step back, and take a look within, not just in ourselves, but of our past.
Life is moving too quickly, we need to stop and smell the roses.
That night when we laid with our backs on a sleeping carpet of grass, we looked up at the
night and explored the vast sky. The star speckled sky stretched across the universe like
wallpaper over an infinite wall. The planets shot across the sky as we played with them like
marbles. The stars decorated the wallpaper in a patterned form. We broke their pattern as I
used a tree branch to shoot them like pool balls into black holes. The planets swirled and
spun blurry like dancing Easter eggs. We satiated our thirst as the Milky Way spilled out onto
the wallpaper. We used Saturn’s rings as monkey bars to dangle above the night. I hid
behind Mars and relished its warmth as we played hide-and-seek. You kicked the earth like a
soccer ball, you sent it rocketing out of the solar system and made a goal into the opposing
galaxy's net. You never liked earth anyway, it was too dirty, so you sent it cutting across the
sky with an airless effort. When we finished, we had changed the universe. The stars were
splattered on and the planets globbed on like a Jackson Pollack painting. The moon had
come to watch, half of his face lit up and the other half was dark and undefined. It looked like
someone pinned up the phantom of the opera’s mask. The moon watched with delight. It
smiled at us because tonight his sky was our playground. We tired out and I rested my head
on your firm shoulder. You looked at me with the sky reflecting back through your eyes. With
a fading breath, the words, “I love you,” floated out from your rosebud lips in a warm breeze
that cloaked my body. With those words the paper sky peeled from its wall and fell with slow
grace like a leaf from a tree. Then the paper landed and the sky blanketed our embraced
bodies. We drifted into an undisturbed sleep, warmed by the relieving glow of the stars.
(May 7th, 1945 Germany)
In a gothic Nazi bunker
Where Hitler's son is taken
He is strapped into a pod
Then placed in strange cannon
A red light begins to glow
A relic from a ancient alien base
The fears of the child unheeded
Shot to a new dimension of time/space
(fast forward to present day)
An enormous spaceship
Shaped like a child's soccer ball
Appears in Earth's atmosphere
A whole planet looks up in awe
A shuttle quickly dispatched
Ambassadors in shock to see
A five-year-old child awaits
Screaming, I want my mommy!!!
With a wave of his arm
As an infantile deity
He brushes aside any opposition
Showing his invulnerability
With a stomp of his foot
Mountains tremble and shake
And with the slightest nod
Causing a devastating tidal wave
Where is my mommy?
Rings throughout the Earth
As governments search for a candidate
With the tact and with the nerve
To say the magic words
And appease this child god
Praying he will not discover
The presentation will be a fraud
The door slowly opens
A professional woman appears
The young boy looking up
His eyes spilling with tears
Are you my mommy?
Child, where have you been?
I've been looking all over
I'm not letting you away again
Taking him in her arms
Trying to complete the sell
But he notices her trembling
And the ruse can only fail
You are not my mommy!!!
He screams out in anger
They told me to do this, she says
Pleading back into a corner
Disintegrating the woman
Childish fury unleashed
Armageddon from a toddler
Like a mythology from Greece
Looking at the moon
Then a fling of his head
A temper tantrum afoot
Earth becomes a fireball of red
So if someone shows up
Flexing their "God" muscle
Perhaps is just another life form
And simply pulling off a hustle
A mind from another plane
Simply having more force
Perhaps is no better than us
Perhaps is possibly worse?
Just because someone has power
Does not make them divine
And anyone who desires worship
Perhaps has the mind of a child?
And if we bow in obedience
Just because they can dazzle
Can we face the possibility
That maybe we worship pure evil?
Listen to the school bell
Ring
Distant plaintive
Wail
Beyond anything the mind can
Comprehend
And return to a deserted field
Where spirited girls and boys
Once played
Before
Becoming mature
Women and men
When I hear the laughter
Childish screams
And ghostly
Cheers
I can feel a world at
Peace
Overcoming my
Fears
Of a future without
Love
And the solitude I
Chose
Of a future without
Birth
And the terminus
Imposed
Didn’t I hear a sprightly piano
Plinking through a
Window
Near that faded
School yard?
Reminds me of you
Bright girly radiance
Dressed in
Black
Leotard
Dancing all the time
We were carefree
Back then
Before the days of
Wrinkled
Women
Defeated
Silver
Men
Can I return to that time
With my old soccer ball?
Play with young spirits
Long passed away
Can I redo the errors
Stamped upon my life?
Recapture
Lost hopes
Yesterday
That’s a sharp
School bell
Ring
Distant plaintive wail
Beyond anything the mind can
Comprehend
But there’s no return
To a deserted field
Where spirited girls and boys
Once played
Before
Becoming mature
Women and men
There’s no return to
The beginning
No return
When you’ve
Reached
The
End
A farmer's son was once tending to his mother's hens,
Collecting their eggs to sell,
At his family's road-side market stand when,
He found a purple egg with a rotten smell.
The boy looked around at all the female foul,
Perhaps a mutant hen had delivered this egg,
Although it wasn't gold, perhaps the egg could wow,
Some wealthy hobbyist who would for the egg beg.
The peculiar egg was polk-a-dotted with greenish spots,
And reeked like a port-a-lu,
But for some reason that the boy knew not,
He decided to make it into a stew.
For the egg was massive, maybe one foot tall,
And in width the same as its height,
It looked like a putrid soccer ball,
Played with maybe by witches in the night.
So the boy grabbed from a cupboard a large pot,
And lit a flame beneath the oven's coils,
And poured in some water when he thought,
"Should this egg be poached or hard boiled?"
He decided instead to make an egg-drop soup,
With this heinous egg that was sitting in heated water,
For the boy was tired of farming and wanted this goop,
To prove that magic was real as it was in Harry Potter.
He stirred the rotten concoction with a branch,
Of hazel for added dramatic effect,
Added some salt and vinegar from inside the raised-ranch,
Where his family had been obliviosely kept.
The vinegar dissolved the flourescent shell,
Whose hues of purple and green had swirled,
Into a mauve-colored vomit solvent from hell,
And steamed an odor which made his hair curl.
Giggling to himself, he ignored the stench,
As he fancied himself a warlock,
And once it was done he pulled up a bench,
To sit as he added in some chicken stock.
After a few tireless minutes the boy decided it was done,
So he grabbed a bowl and a silver spoon,
Ladled some up and ate it with a cheeseburger bun,
Which he dipped into the disgusting soup.
The boy soon realized that the egg was not magic,
As his breath stopped and skin turned red,
For the goopy soup he had made led to the tragic,
End of this boy who dropped immediately dead.
Had he realized that magic was the power to make plants grow,
And the strength to care for your cows and chickens,
He certainly would have seen the egg and known,
That whatever ate it would surely be sickened.