Best Striker Poems
I try not to think about it, my friend.
It's so horrible, and yet,
I'm on beer ten, and I won't see you again -
So, I'll tell you a secret.
No, it's not what happened in Vietnam.
I still see it in stop-action -
If you measured it in inches and seconds,
That moment was a fraction.
A youth soccer game, my dad in the crowd,
It was nineteen sixty-two
When we lost the championship game
As I let the winning goal go through.
As a boy, I never hurt anyone,
Was a friend when needed.
I always helped my mother with her chores.
Mom and Dad, I heeded.
I studied hard, did all my homework,
Followed every rule.
Upon college graduation, I was rewarded,
Accepted to med school.
Today, I am a successful surgeon
Using scalpels and knives.
I make so many people feel better -
Sometimes, I even save lives.
Yet, deep down, I don't have what it takes.
I let everybody down.
What you see before you is a failure.
I should be buried in the ground.
I see it as we speak. My dad was in the crowd.
It was nineteen sixty-two.
We lost the championship game.
I let the winning goal go through.
You see, there's nothing now that I can do -
But wait, I have a little son.
He plays goalie on his youth soccer team,
A great boy who likes to have fun.
When the rival striker takes his final shot,
There's one thing my son won't do.
Well, I hope he doesn't, no, he better not,
Let the winning goal go through.
Argentina's son, a lineage to immigrants
shaped by boyhood aspirations
diminutive left foot striker
taunted "dwarf" in childhood
his growth hormone deficiency
overcome through meds and workouts
a counter to foes physically imposing
Messi's daily slog of skills
agility and balance
slow grind of mastery to mesh the skills to speed
on the football field, Messi dribbles through opponents
pivots round defenders, takes an opposite direction
accelerates
de-accelerates
takes stock of field positions
awareness like a lordly hawk that calculates its prey
a kick triggered whittles through the air
the ball's stinging centre,
flight controlled
at a goal keeper spiralling to the ground
this FIFA World Cup champion
devout in faith
celebrates goals by a gaze upward
a pointed hand to the heavens
another field of his embracing
790 - Messi's career goals for Barcelona clubs and
Argentinean glory
football awards that roll on like credits on a movie screen
on field moves that burrow into memory
through the entanglement of limbs
Messi's footwork, like a dancer's gift
his sprints to fill the field with unheeding power
midst the bulging roar of fans
a homage to glorify the footballer
before he fades
to legend
Poem written January 4, 2023
When it takes certain darkness to truly see light,
or a butterflies wings flap can swing with great might,
Dare say true pleasure's joys purely present through pain,
Too then can we assume even true soul's paired fight?
I have a dear friend who's as loved as a brother,
as quick as a whip with his mind in the gutter
With Me! And that humor sick dark like my mother's,
No never would I ever trade for another!
Small minded to promise our path never falters,
That voices at decibels shake the still waters
Still this small promise kept, that our rage ne'er striker
To you love stays loyal, and always will fight for
On some English grass
On a piece of land forever England
Warriors of the realm
Take holy orders, on their Fathers grave
To defend the honour of their local pub
For this is the noble art of Sunday league Football
The crowds bay for blood
Shouts of foul and blind as a bat
The decision absurd
The referee a drunkard
Shouts of bar steward,
And your mothers questionable character
Cleaned up for posterity
The game goes on
Frank, the winger another yellow card
Another fine, I fear he will be barred
Groans for Bill a night watchman by trade
I think he’s a blade (Sheffield United supporter)
But not a very good keeper I’m afraid
Then there’s the striker
Super king Jack, 40 a day and a cough to match
Will need a penalty to score in this match
What about ken, a beer belly full back,
Rarely runs for fear of a heart attack
And slugger the centre half
Likes to break legs,
And still the only guy to sup a half a keg
Smooth talking tommy pulls birds on the six yard line
Greased black hair, and knobbly knees to match
Still Skill is not this team’s forte, for we are Britain’s
Taking part is our religion
Lost another game two nil
But won three two at fighting, brill
Bottom of the league
Fines galore
First Aid in the pub
A good drink after
Enemies in the field, but forever friends in laughter.
That’s Sunday football league
Home to the wife
And Sunday dinner, roast beef and Yorkshire pud
Another bottle of bud
Feet up, settee calls
Dreams of Wembley, and Sheffield Wednesday
Not a bad life for this Yorkshire clan
Here in Sheffield where football began.
SHATTERED DREAM
Rated the wise and best striker of the under nineteen’s,
On the playing field, left opposing defenders with headaches,
Rival coaches, trainers and fans with heartaches,
And labelled the inspiration for the teens!
As a result, my heart over-brimmed with joy,
For that career was worth and wisely chosen.
With tears oozing now, painfully lie I awaken,
For me, there is no more joy.
With leg amputation, my ability is permanently impaired,
After vehicle capsized, all dead save me.
But my dream to part of the world’s best completely shattered.
``Does God always care?`` I fondly asked the lad,
``Rejoice, being saved and alive shows that He
Loves and cares for you and me,`` he uttered.
Her fireflies eyes ,
Melted my heart of stone and turned it into dust ,
Dust carried by the wing of the wind
from desert sand of the Sahara makes
my heart buried deep into Mole’s habitat ,
My strength and zeal left death in me and vanish ,
In dark alleys , I wonder and ponder ;
When will I be free and be an eagle that flies
unhindered by the wind and weather of the coast ?.
Her Sun ray gaze makes
My lion heart to be weakened and
fluctuates like aneroid barometer,
My barometer heart reads higher than my body temperature,
which makes my stallion being to desire her more ,
Her beauty put the ball into my goal post;
Which I couldn’t stop ; free assess ; free captivity !,
A golden goal scored by a fast and deadly striker ,
When would my Moses’ will be able to
overcome her ester’s beauty ?.
9-21-2018
CONTEST: Verses Metaphor II, Free Verse -sponsored by Laura Loo .
An English goal scorer,named Kane
in Russia '18 found world-wide fame.
With six goals,he has the Golden Boot
for with both head and foot,he could shoot.
a striker,one,Christiano Ronaldo
In the World Cup,gave a one-man-show,
With hat-tricks galore
Goals of skill,never seen,before
https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/plague-presence
Planetary conjunction, behold catastrophe, o’ trembling earthquake
Afore thy outbreak, for terror has struck – omens of bad luck
Of rats aboard large ships of trade
Black Death, Black Sea, what becometh thee?
Rain of fire be seen, plague-ridden body on board
We have reached thy port, yet to attest, how plague affects
Swelling glands, pain of anguish, rats be driven away!
Your mere presence has brought such decay
As we whip, thy iron-tip, our atonement for sin
Carvened Danse Macabre
Such an illusion – dissolutions thee
Charms of protection, a defensive guard
Twas written, twas seen
O’ comet, striker of the sky, what do you signify?
Pepys can testify
Anger from above, epidemic take hold
Wagons rumble o’er cobblestones
Familiar cries, threepence my dear
Our streets form an open sewer, coins in vinegar, avid memoir
O’ do not tarry, empty thy cesspit
O’ waste
Watchers in haste
Yet beyond the square, our city of London, along the Thames
Statistics ever-rising – bills of mortality
Your curing touch, King healeth thee
O’ silent city, cross be marked
Doors marked red, as peoples fled
Orders for health, examine, oversee, Royal Society
Even physicians flee
Of herbs and spices, no cure for thee
A fire, so great as broken out, thy plague wiped out
As events unfold, we shall retain control
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
I write in remembrance of the late Dennis Liwewe (Zambia's No.1 and Celebrated Football Commentator). Here is a short football commentary:
"Ah, this is Dennis Liwewe. We are here in Mauritius, where the two sides, Zambia National Team and Mauritius National Team will battle it out this afternoon. Capacity crowd 40,000.
The referee is from Kenya and match commissioners from Nigeria and Senegal respectively.
At this point in time, the referee blows play on , and Mauritius team take the ball back to their goal keeper. A loose ball pass the centre circle, a bad pass by Zambia we are in deep trouble, Only to be saved by the Goal keeper Efford Chabala. This is no other than Kapambwe Mulenga, defending very well. Ball zooms out for the throw in. We are beaten in the air, Ashios Melu picks up loose ball, he beats a man in a double one two situation, he kicks a tumble, which is well chested by Kalusha Bwalya ( popularly known as Great Kalu). Great Kalu beats two, three Mauritius defenders. Great Kalu within a firing range, hammer. It's a gooooooal 1-0 to Zambia. Back to the studio for our sponsors. Mauritius are coming in a counter attack situation, their dangerous striker is breaking even, Bomber. It goes away. Again and again, Zambia takes control of the situation here, Efford Chabala pumps a long ball passes the centre circle, we are good in the air. Kelvin Mutale dribbles two Mauritius defenders, hammer. It's a goooooal Zambia leading by 2-0 . Second half , Mauritius are very aggressive at the goal, they want to equalize. We are in deep trouble again here, sliding tackle by Kapambwe Mulenga, and the ball zooms for a corner kick for Mauritius. Headed away by Ashios Melu, a little pass to Charles Musonda, passes the centre circle, he turns 360 degrees. He passes the the ball to Kelvin Mutale ( the master dribbler), it's a gooooooal, 3-0 to Zambia. We are in the dying minutes here,
And the referee blows the final whistle. This is Dennis Liwewe signing off. Pick it up ZNBC studios in Lusaka, Zambia.
May his soul rest in eternal peace
Concept by Zambian Sports Lovers
Poetry Chipepo Lwele
Note: Dennis Liwewe made Zambians to love football in the 70's, 80's and 90's when we had 2 band radios and few television sets, we were glued to the radios young and old, less educated and highly learned. He made sure that the message is loud and clear.
They say Im a lover but I know I can also be a fighter/
Im living in darkness today knowing tomorrow ain't going to get any brighter/
Im so heavy in the pain I don't know when *****in life is going to get any lighter/
My *****in life is all crooked and loose I don't think it's going to get any straighter or tighter/
I just need to be useful and not happy is what I lost sight of/
Im a matchbook making matches light up because without me there ain't no striker/
Im just a lost poet trying to find deep within this hard head as a true Writer.....
This night fate had been decided in the moonlight
As the bread winner had answered to the doomed call-
The compulsory striker had kicked to his goal post.
This sure-bet would never miss the net.
Ere his 'lift-off', our old man had whispered
Love words, and sang spiritual songs to our souls.
Not knowing that this full moonlight night trace will gulp his gullet
And he will never babel any more on this land he keep.
Home couldn't do anything but to wonder about
And soak the floor with our tears.
What an unbelievable seizure of the soul!
Do this means our man had parted this world
And we would see him no more until the final world?
This moon mustn't go in
Before his body 's laid (down)to rest
As his faith demanded.
Should this be a bright moonlight night to spare?
Note;
***sure-bet, compulsory striker- death
***home- family
***our man, old man- Elder
You are a fantastic sufferer,
A passionate star striker-heightening my tears to happiness
How I wish for merely a moment, that I could forget all my fears
And allow myself to imagine your warm arms around me
Telling me "Alone you never be in this fight against the maggots"
And I would lay my head against you in peace,
Calmed by your heavenly inhalations
For once knowing, I never fight in the solitary despair of Alone
Reaching peaks of patience, I long to remove memories of the unattainable
Had his green eyes only met my own again...
Yet well I know, the dark intense eyes that see me,
Would admonish and feed me
With wisdom and excitement far superior than the offerings of kings
That claw my back in lust, and promise impossible things
An obsession far more potent than the wines I never drink
Do not make me cling into the furies of obsession again
Let me know you feel the same
Or else I will lay my head against the rocks,
Cradled by unpredictable seas
Laboring in merciful grief,
I seek the truth
Because whatever the answer, I will always admire you
Leave me alone....
Or Forever be my own
"Demons cry because they know your beauty surpasses the ugliest-- the most glorious."
There’s an aborted child at the gate in heaven;
WHO AM I
He’s just been murdered because the woman and government has the RIGHT
Now…
Just
WHO AM I
Knowingly, justifiably
Fulling unrighteous choices
And where are all those aborted voices
Here standing under the tree;
Here beside God and Jesus in
Heaven
Fifty child molester, murderer;
Whom am I to judge?
The final judgement, the final call was
Did he repent did God forgive him
Though his victim was young
One thing for certain he’s gone..
The child has been recited by the master
He’s standing beside Jesus and the Master
WHOSE AM I
Knowingly, justifiably
Fulling unrighteous choices
And where are all those aborted voices
Here standing under the tree;
Here beside God and Jesus in
Heaven
Wife abuser, striker;
Hit her once to often;
Now she’s in a coma;
You said you loved her;
But love, true love doesn’t hurt;
She finally died;
You’re a murder, wife abuser unrighteous man;
An adulterer, your new woman you’ve burned;
So the authorities after you;
You too need repentance and forgiveness too;
He you stand on death roll
On your dying breath you were told
You heard a still small voice in the air;
As you cried and ask God for, forgiveness….
It’s not up to me to judge?
Maybe, just maybe. Like the thief on the cross
Next to Jesus his last dying words we’re lost
In paradise he too shall be
He repented gracefully
Knowingly, justifiably
Fulling unrighteous choices
And where are all those aborted voices
Here standing under the tree;
Here beside God and Jesus you and me in. . .
Heaven
6/19/19
Written by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
When you’re in Africa be African
The power of crocodile is in the water
Life’s a fog; eat the wisdom of the sages
The ineducable carries shame in his buttocks
The dog attacks one with torn trousers
A lion that hunts for rats is no hero at all
However hot your anger is it can’t boil an egg
A boat can’t go forward if each rows his own way
If you’re dancing with rivals close no eye
Ignorance is a form of environmental pollution
A quiet baby dies on its mother’s back and;
Goats collect their debts when the lion breaks its leg
A dog does not chew the bone tied around its neck
Never allow the striker to shave your wounded head
If you wear grass clothes never sit near glowing fire
Importantly, be a lion for a day than a sheep for ever
The mind of a poet, is akin to the inner workings of a big clock,
The thought processes like the gears and wheels that never truly stop.
The clock must be wound, and so must the writers mind,
The events from day to day, feed the process in kind.
A clock must be lubricated, for each writer this happens differently,
The end result the same, the thoughts come very naturally.
When the hour approaches, and the striker gears start to function,
A poet puts pen to hyde, and words flow out in dramatic conjunction.
The ideas in a poet’s head, number more than the minutes in a day,
It is more like the grains of sand on a beach, ever flowing where they may.
The grains of sand cannot be counted, but must be accounted for,
The verses that flow through the mind must be written, or they fly out the door.
The mind of the poet, can be beautiful or dark,
Without the poet, life would be stark!