Long Footy Poems
Long Footy Poems. Below are the most popular long Footy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Footy poems by poem length and keyword.
Our Terry was a wonderful Lad,
today the family are so sad
He passed today and we don't know why
the angels have taken him up to the sky
He was a cracking son, who loved his mum
a brother, a friend, to everyone.
but most of all he was a cracking Dad
and now his daughters are so so SAD.
He was loving and gentle and a practical joker
ohhh yes he was a smoker
his wit and humour put everyone at ease
always willing to help and please.
Sport and gaming were his passion
occasionally keeping up with fashion
in footy training you could hear his voice
But Man United was his team of choice
I'm sorry Terry i have to say goodbye
but save me a place in that sky
watch over us that you've left behind
its a sad sad loss you were so kind
All the best Marra in your new home
and i know that you are not alone
Your memory will always remain in our hearts
in reality we are not apart
God bless you Tez or is it Wigwam
tell you what mate you were a real good man
now don't you be laughing at us up there
i know that you really do care.
Sometimes if you have mild Cerebral Palsy,
You don't ever need to admit that you have it,
‘Cos it's not obvious, only you feel the tension,
In your arm, your hand or face, so you bliss it.
James was born with mild CP and did walk,
Even though the doctors said he might not;
His parents made him do exercises and try,
At all the right ages so that life he would pot.
But he didn't tell most of his friends about CP,
That he had it, was born with it, and had exercised;
Only his family and a few close friends knew,
Such that with his fiancée he his facts prioritised.
He only told his fiancée that he had Cerebral Palsy,
Two months prior to their wedding, and he did so,
By saying that he was gonna play 7-a-side football,
Football for Britain’s CP team, footy skill to know.
James has always played football with enthusiasm,
But post-London 2012, Ibs Diallo, a 7-a-side Paralympian,
Played against him in an ordinary County League match,
Such that he decided to enquire into CP footy, to scan.
He had played before in his youth for many junior teams:
For Arsenal, Coventry, Sheffield Wednesday, for Cardiff;
But now he had joined the England CP football squad,
And was involved in the 2014 CPISRA Europeans stiff.
Then in 2015 he competed in the CP World Champs,
Where England came 5th, their qualification secured,
For Rio, but James then unfortunately broke his neck,
Only to jump back and make Rio: 5th place procured.
David is Northern Ireland’s very first representative,
In a Cerebral Palsy 7-a-side Paralympic footy team;
He was so impressed by London 2012 assertive,
That he asked his managers about the GB team.
Just graduated from Queens University, Belfast,
In Computing and Information Tech, he’s a ‘90s child,
He captained the Northern Ireland football cast,
At the 2015 Worlds in St Georges Park - he’s a mild.
“Football had a big influence on my life growing up
…It helped me overcome [the] difficulties I [had]
growing up with a disability. It taught me to [rise up],
not to let my disability get in the way [of what I had]”.
July
July saw the end of school, the kids were winding down,
We spent our holidays abroad, plenty of drinks gratis I did down.
We had some time on the beach, in the warm golden sand,
Making the most of family time before heading home we had to land.
August
August was the peak for us, with barbecues in the sun,
Water pistols in the garden, children laughing as they run.
The footy season back, new replica shirts are all around,
I was so excited for my first match this season at the ground.
September
September saw the schools return, and normal service did resume,
shorter nights started to creep in, it was the beginning of the gloom.
September saw the seeds and leaves of Autumn start to fall,
Kids trying to knock the conkers down, into the tree they threw their ball.
October
October saw the dark nights return just in time for Halloween,
Where streets were filled with zombies and witches and ghosts who loved to scream.
On Halloween we carved the pumpkins and then it was trick or treat,
knocking on neighbour doors and collecting sweets – as many as we could eat.
November
November saw bonfire night – a penny for the guy,
Fireworks at the plenty, we saw those rockets fly.
The sky lit up with as many colours as you can get,
It’s not for everyone though and we had to reassure our pet.
December
December brought us Christmas, a time for every woman, child and man,
As for Santa, we saw him in every shop, mall, street or place, and he also drove an Amazon van.
Christmas Day arrived, presents opened from underneath the tree,
And nobody was happier than the kids playing with their toys for all to see.
I hope next year will be good for you and yours, and also that of me and mine,
Wishing you all the very best, I’m off to have some wine.
I don’t get it. They confuse me. The psych of a woman.
Her needs, her wants, her desire.
One day she’s happy, content and in bliss.
Then the next, she’s a blazing wild fire.
My questions: Chocolate or ice cream? What’s her likes in food?
And what does she want in a date?
But then, just as importantly, what does she dislike,
What does she actually hate?
I bet she hates unemotional men,
Men that think love’s a violent war movie.
I bet she hates the guys that love footy,
That think horse racing is natural beauty.
At the bar does she like her vodkas for shots,
Then at home her coffee or tea?
Does she like not being judged on her choices in books?
Does she want a man whose a bit more carefree?
I guess, in a man, she wants ambition.
She wants optimistic, funny and smart.
She probably wants a conversational guy,
That’s well groomed with a passionate heart.
Does she want a man whose sharing and caring,
Who understands how to hug, kiss and hold?
At the end of the day, I think she wants a beautiful relationship,
With a ring that’s made out of gold.
In the heart of Melbourne's bustling streets,
Lies a club where every footy fan meets.
Black and white, their colors fly,
A magpie's pride, soaring high.
Collingwood, oh Collingwood,
Where dreams are chased, and understood.
With every kick, mark, and handball,
The Magpies stand, united and tall.
From Victoria Park to the MCG,
Their history rich, for all to see.
Legends have graced the hallowed ground,
With roaring fans, their cheers resound.
They fight, they strive, with all their might,
Under the floodlights, every Friday night.
With every goal, the crowd's roar swells,
Echoing through the city, a story it tells.
So here's to the Magpies, black and white,
In their quest for glory, they take flight.
Collingwood, oh Collingwood,
Forever strong, forever good.
By Robert (Bob) Moore (©2015)
The gun shearer has gone now, like many other things
the shearing sheds are empty, and wools no longer king
gone now like the drover, and the brumbie on the plains
but we still have the scorched brown earth, and droughts and soaking rains
The aussie language has almost gone , the things we used to say
fair dinkum sport, and ridgie didge, and hello was “G’day”
no “its your shout” “snakes in your pocket” “he’s a bonza bloke”
“Bloody oath” and “Dinky Di” and “can’t you take a joke”
no footy shorts and tshirt, an Akubra hat was neat
now its baseball caps and hoodies, and Nikies on your feet
you don’t drive a Holden car, you drive a Nissan tank
the aussie way of life is gone, you can take that to the bank
once you could walk along the street, anytime without a care
bread and milk delivered to your door, the money you’d leave there
upon the step, with empty bottles, people just walked bye
no way that you could not do that now, and you wouldn’t even try
no bangers on the barbie, with a great big piece of steak
Hoges even calls a prawn a shrimp, the Americans to placate
used to say “a barbie out the back”, but now its “al fresco”
with emu, ostrich, and crocodile, and some you may not want to know
now everything is different, but did it all go wrong
can we say that it’s just progress, and we are where we belong
multicultural, many Nations, trying to live as one
no manufacturing anymore, all of that has gone
Is it still a Western Culture here, an Anglo-celtic race
or has it changed, to something else, at a slow, unnoticed pace
there’s Catholics, Buddhists. Muslims, there’s Anglicans and Jews
in every tier of government, and controlling all the news.
So we only know what we are told, and pretend that we don’t see
what’s happening to this Country, ‘cause that’s just not PC
so soon the Lucky Country, may not be lucky anymore
and we’ll find the life which we once knew, has walked right out the door
In days of yore when I was four, in my memory I'm sure
there was nothing that you could buy called low fat
you got meat from a cow, and pork from a sow,
pound of lamb from NZ and that was that.
Butter from a pack, there was nothing that it lacked,
spread it thickly and then top it off with jam
or on it's own when times were hard,
and cook your chips in a pound of lard
and deep fry lots of lovely fritters made of Spam.
On the high days and the holy finish off with roly poly
burn it off by playing footy in the yard,
as we kids all stuffed our faces the majority of cases
found that doing up our laces wasn't hard.
So I think it rather strange how the times they've slowly changed
in our best interests to make us really thin
that the products we are buying really must be surely lying
as so many are now bursting out their skins.
In the papers every morning there's a scientific warning
of the problems that we store up for ourselves
as we go off on a jolly with our supermarket trolley
desperately trying to empty all the shelves.
As I sit and watch the fuss as they struggle on the bus
using scooters sticks and frames to get along
all I'm seeing is human beings and before my thoughts start fleeing
in my head they ask 'where did it all go wrong'?
Down under in Oz, over here,
There is no football, my dears,
This is a tale so drear,
A footy champion, once held dear,
He died of no football, no cheers,
We buried him at the ground, so austere,
His tumulus amounded each year,
We'd drive by, pouring a libation of beer,
The tumbleweeds blew,
Grass long and shaggy grew,
At the bar, no bevvies or beer,
The bar fridge empty, also austere,
The BBQ so cold and so drear,
His ute rusted away, so near,
We'd pass by, pouring libations of beer,
Sad, to die of no football, my dears,
A tale from Oz, somewhere over here,
F...it, on the other side of Covid, we'll all have a beer........
My body tenses.
The soft padding of footy pajamas
approach
tiny fingers grip my eyelid
lift it....
Bright eyes gaze into
the freshly opened eye.
A voice shouts....DA!!!
The other eye opens.
Yes I'm in here.
......And he knows it.
His PJ's had that
"potato in a pocket" hang.
I close my eyes...
reopen them...
he's still there...
he shouts again....DA!
Milk dribbles from his chin
as he struggles
to master the spoon
Cheerios dot his forehead
as he throttles a banana.
The "eye" sips coffee
tries not to laugh.
The dog laps up
his portion of sharing.
It was a good morning.. until
he pried my eye open
then....it became
.......A GREAT MORNING
John G. Lawless
2/15/2021