Long Athlete Poems
Long Athlete Poems. Below are the most popular long Athlete by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Athlete poems by poem length and keyword.
If I could have any profession in life what might that be
Perhaps a world leader so I could fix the economy
Maybe an astronaut, but probably not because I would look down on everyone
Although traveling through space might be a whole lot of fun
Or perhaps a tech leader to help advance new technology
Not going to work, I would be wrapped up in constant government bureaucracy
How about a doctor who tries to save people's lives
Long hours and stress, not sure I could survive
Being a professional athlete sounds like an exciting thing to do
But then a bad injury might occur, than I am through
So many choices out there I could choose to explore
In the end, I think I will just grab my lunch, head off to work, and not think of this anymore
Irene went for her usual morning walk around six;
the August breeze was dry and fragrantly crisp,
one could tell she was injured as her aching hips
made her miss a step as she bit on her weathered lips.
Not far from her stone cottage, there was a cave never hit by sun rays,
it was hidden from sight by shrubs and weeds that almost
covered her cavity and at nighttime it seemed a ghost;
wasn't it the refuge of persecuted Christians when Celts were pagans?
The streets were very narrow and cracked cobblestones
made her slow down...using caution could have prevented a serious sprain;
an athlete is known for strength and endurance and she fought pain
by looking down and running downhill towards the treeless hills.
Irene had two wonderful kids: one was a gorgeous boy and the other a pretty girl,
and they both had hair as golden wheat and eyes as the wild Irish Sea;
and whispering to herself, " I will miss my walks in the Fall with Kelly and Bill...
and after the baby is born, wouldn't I stare out of the window with melancholy?"
While pondering that thought, she heard a puppy's cry coming out of the dark cave
that gave her goosebumps and searching carefully she saw the pitiless animal
struggling on three legs, but the fourth leg was badly injured or broken by the fall;
rapidly she grabbed the long rope and started her descend as a coffin into a grave.
Helen hit the ground hard and that startled the poor puppy laying on a plate of chrome,
" You are safe with me and because I've found you in this cave, I'm going
to name you Cavy, lucky pooch! This bad accident was a turning point for you!"
And he barked for approval, being happy to have survived and found a new home.
"I look at Uncle Roger as a blessing to our family, for he taught our family to view all people with more humanity." (loosely quoted, paraphrasing what my cousin Sylvia said to me at my dad's funeral this summer)
Here is a picture of my father, Roger Miller.
See how brightly he smiles; how sweet his eyes are.
My mom met him in the Navy before he left for Korea.
She tells us he was Valedictorian and star athlete in his high school.
When she met him, he was very personable, but the man in this photo. . .
I hardly knew him.
This is the best picture I have of him because I have so few!
I hardly knew him.
When he returned from war, mental illness followed; it consumed him.
In those days there was no decent treatment for schizophrenia.
My dad grew sicker and my mom was forced to leave him,
taking her four daughters back with her, far away, to Iowa.
Responsible and kind, my dad sent money monthly for his daughters.
He corresponded with us by mail and drove out a few times to see us.
However, I felt detached from him; I had so many questions for him.
I visited him as he lay dying this year in a hospital, hoping for answers.
He said little. His eyes - so much like mine – were still beautiful, but
I hardly knew him.
Sept. 21, 2019
For Writing Challenge 2, September 2019 - The Photograph - Poetry Contest
Sponsor, Wiishkobi Ode
With all my soul redeemed by Your precious blood wondrously
With all my heart imparted by Your divine nature completely
With all my mind renewed by Your transformation powerfully
My God, may You find me loving You sincerely.
As I seek first Your kingdom and Your righteousness
As I submit to Your leading through Your wise keenness
As I sacrifice for Your work along Your divine business
My God, may You find me loving You, devoid of selfishness.
In communing with You for Your approval in my decision
In fellowshipping with You when I have my Bible-meditation
In walking with You every time for my holy vocation
My God, may You find me loving You by Your granted compassion.
Thru Your righteous footsteps guiding me so I won’t stumble
Thru Your sacrificial deeds training me like Your disciple
Thru Your gracious communication correcting me when I grumble
My God, may You find me loving You midst challenges I must trample.
Since You always prod me to be obedient by Your Holy Ghost
Since You remain faithful in instructing me to trust You to the utmost
Since You keep me safeguarded to dwell inside Your sovereign post
My God, may You find me loving You, whatever the cost.
While I watch for Your coming in Your glorious flame
While I run for the prize as Your athlete in a divine game
While I serve You according to Your standards’ biblical fame
My God, may You find me loving You, exalting Your name.
For You love me as I am, sustaining me in Your mercy’s certainty
For You correct me to acknowledge humbly Your authority
For You empower me so I can do Your work by Your ability
My God, may You find me loving You* with wholehearted humility.
*And thou shalt love the LORD thy God with all thine heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy might.
August 27, 2018
The athletes marched in waving flags,
All decked in matching clothes.
In all of the Olympics,
That’s the way it always goes.
Some countries showcased dozens,
Others had but one or two
And two hundred thirty proudly
Wore our own red, white and blue.
As medals are awarded, though,
There’s one thing that’s for sure –
And that’s the fact that many nations
Will be medal-poor.
There are eighteen like Zimbabwe,
Paraguay and Mexico,
Who have just one single athlete
To compete in Sochi snow.
Still, they all looked thrilled and hopeful
As the games prepared to start;
Though they can’t all take home medals,
Getting there sets them apart.
It takes a lot of time to master such skill
There are lot of downtimes but I climb on my hill
There are days that my body is strained and about to give up
But I go back to self- determination and rise up
The passion to play runs in my veins
I will train myself hard though it rains
My discipline is as scorching as sun
But I still make my sport a sort of fun
This game is worthwhile and is something even more
The confidence it gives can make my dreams soar
Every accomplishment that I made, my modesty becomes better
Each time I face defeat, my dedication becomes stronger
Winning and losing are faces of reality
But it changes my entire entity
So I keep myself motivated and listen to my coach
The God Almighty Himself will hand me His torch
There is something more than a gold medal hanging on my neck
It is something that no one can ever wreck
This whole meaningful experience makes me complete
I am very proud that I grow to be an ATHLETE
I didn’t feel like running today
Some days I don’t—but I do.
I’ve never finished a run thinking,“I’m sorry I did that.”
I always feel empowered, powerful and ready to deal.
I have blisters on two toes but that doesn’t matter.
Pain is an administrative problem—I just wrap them
with paper surgical tape and run.
I also buy these 1" Polyurethane foam sheets (from Amazon),
that I cut to fit my feet—stuffing them in my socks for padding
—as if I were a professional athlete.
We don’t flinch beneath the heat, cold or rain,
and we don’t prevaricate or complain.
While I believe that life, otherwise, is pretty much nonstop compromise,
I reserve a protected territory for self-respect—where I practice small acts
of discipline—which I can track.
.
.
Songs for this:
Born to Run by Bruce Springsteen
Somebody's Going to Get Into This House by Jane Wiedlin
Since the earliest Olympic games, history
Has provided the players in dramatic scenes.
Where the acts would command the physical,
As they performed to the kings and queens.
Their display of strength and speed,
Gives rise to power that would adore.
While leaping and throwing to the heavens,
As if they no longer touched the floor.
The early games bred many great warriors,
Whereas today they create better diplomats.
Even though they may not be the best role models,
They're often effective in dealing with aristocrats.
As a seventeen year old competitive swimmer,
the other swimmer I looked up to was Mark Spitz,
he was a multiple gold medal winner,
a wonder in the water, a swimming blitz.
I had Olympic dreams,
my element was the aquatic,
but life took me in another direction, it seemed,
the lure of going to practices seemed less exotic.
How I loved the smell of the pool chlorine,
I sliced through the water as if a dolphin,
I so cherished the marine,
but other obligations needed to fit in.
The working world was calling,
and aspiring for the Game's gold had to
be retired,
but I was elated Mark had world records
falling,
and I still feel inspired.
As another Summer Olympics comes to
a close,
I'm proud of the athletes who devote their
time and sweat to their sport,
and I surely suppose,
I'll always treasure my long ago youth
in New York. ~
His parents moved Ed to a small town his senior year of high school.
He had always had buckets of friends and was a popular athlete.
We already have a team the new coach told them.
No one knew him here, and no one wanted to know him.
They refused to sit next to him, speak to him, or acknowledge him.
He was alone, banished, confused, and lonely.
His classmates were beyond mean.
They bullied him.
He did not learn the reason for ten years.
Two weeks before he moved to this small town there was a car wreck.
A popular senior boy perished.
His name had been Ed.
They did not want to have another one.
Every time his name was said it was a sword in their hearts.