Long Soccer Poems
Long Soccer Poems. Below are the most popular long Soccer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Soccer poems by poem length and keyword.
Honest work
Loyal partner
Happy children
Satisfying and ethical passion
Healthy sex life
Interesting hobbies
No pat downs parole probation type
Paying bills on time every time
Dude's night out when girls have night out
Real BBQ
Dancing and meeting new friends
NOT going crazy because of loss or ego
Being who the Divine could see me as
Using up all potential and going kinetic
Speed racer in crisis grandpa in a school zone
Running a mile a day
Coffee with Baileys just to have fun
Support and being supportive for the church
Becoming who I or (we) always looked up to and doing the same
Loving with passion
Cooking like an internationally rebound chef
Ability to go on vacation or at least take the day off as needed but still be valuable to a job because important skill set and motivation to make work better
Friends
Block parties
Bicycle rides
Legos comic books soccer balls and baseball bats whatever Sean needs
Maybe excusing horrible behavior because of her period but still being able to all night when a he is in the mood
Being open and honest about sexualit6
Being open and honest about philosophy and religion
Not giving a about politics but actually becoming an activist planting trees etc. neighborhood watch whatever walking someone else's dog or making sure their mail got to them.
Becoming the lifeguard mentality and being a brother's keeper
Not caring about fashion but being happy to look myself in the mirror
Being okay to be okay
Eating contests
Drinking with friends
Comedy
Romance
Flowers for her
Shopping for her
Nice surprises
My son's first words
My son's first steps
An overwhelming sensation I can't explain
Being less of an ******* or need technically
Hating less
Accepting mor3
Losing but still winning
Disease free
Donor without a ***** b/c more mature
Going to church and not catching on fire
Passing by Satan or whoever the and getting right on the stairway to heaven
Being the best Dad I can be
Best bassist
A little less racist
A lot more carefree
At the same time responsible
Sharing everything
Owning my faults and good qualities
Not being possessive or materialistic
True story guys... True story
I wondered why he didn't peak
As my dress would hit the floor
I pondered why he didn't speak
Of wanting something more
It seemed a bit strange
That he maintained a state of flaccid
Unless I'd rearrange
He couldn't seem to blast it
Boobs and bush weren't his thing
He would rather play soccer
Since I didn't have a ding a ling
He was a vagina blocker
As years passed by I became bitter
It seemed I couldn't please
In the rare event, he he made it flitter
I found myself on my knees
A "funny" man, was he
Also known as a butt pirate
surely didn't want me
Blew out every candle I lit
Now he resides over the rainbow
Holding hands instead of guns
A place where all the funnies go
When they decide its time to run
Zillion supporters screaming, a loud buzz,
Yearning to return home cheered by victory.
Xerox machines preparing the next day’s papers; Max
Wit for the shame or fame of a member of the show.
Violent vitriol from commentators like engine rev
Unites with supporters’ glee at likes of Eto’o or Kanu
To spur skill at each minute to get even one stunning stunt
Spirits soar, sink, so it is, for here serenity bores.
Roulette, lifté, counter-attack by one party raising the roar.
Quick kick! Oh no! Replay?! Why not? That must join the FAQ
Pray the corner kick slays the opponent; oh that header was sharp!
Oh he missed that goal again! No replay?! Hell no!
No! Now he’s channeled that ball too late for the man,
May the coach coach correctly and call him to quit the team!
Leave the pitch you little loss-bringing imp! LOL!
Khaki-wearing “messer” I can even get your reek!
Just as our jests are about to milk out laughs, I couldn’t find a word to end with “J”.
Instead I had a whole lot of them J-starting words. So I
Hunched to think, but then looked up at the BROOHAH:
GOAL GOAL!! Oops the scorer is the "Mr. Bug"!
Fooled? No, I’m still for him leaving,( Scoring oaf!)
Even though this elation, release and joy, came from his device!
Defensive tactics, offensive backing up, I can almost get mad
‘Cos the best defense is attack Doc!
Bye losers, we took this easy. Supporters bob
Away, and the whole stadium sleeps in the starlight bathed by mother Luna.
(c) Nyonglema
Sixteen-Eighty was brutal on saints and their hissing cats.
A turgid June, thickened as it was by an immature sanguinary wine
failed to quench the civil mob.
Above the birthday cake façade,the pink and cerise porticos,
the heavenly-frocked casements, the stucco -
a tiered sibilance rises were the throng, in a sportive sweat,
begets its feverish desires.
The accused stand center-stage, as hairless as Sphinx
garnished by sheens of fear.
Some contemplate the ornate state of their theatrical ruin.
Some already lash their minds behind unfocused eyes.
That was then; I see all this through a painting,
yet I am here now, and the square still seeps
through a varnish of time.
Suddenly eveing flaps a checkered flag.
The plaza is suddenly a pitch for celebrating revelers.
Real Madrid fans have surged out of the barra.
Soccer balls are dribbled over cobbles.
I imagine my hapless head plunging in and out
of the heedless crowd.. I am their sport,
a candidate for a mocking inquisition.
Meanwhile, the cats stare patiently,
squeezed as they are into strips of sunset,
a pink Iberian tongue of light that streaks the floodlit scene.
This place could be a place for only jubilation, were it not
for the sotto voce hissing of these time-stretched
hissing shadows.
“Dads at work”
“Wait till he comes back”
But now it’s all
“Who watched you growing up”
“Who watched you when you were sick”
Dad…,
You won’t ever see me do amazing things,
Because all I’ll ever be is just a shadow to everyone,
I can’t play instruments like my school friends,
I get grades like your friends kids,
SO WHY CANT I JUST DIE…,
Why am I just around to be compared,
W-why can’t I do good to you even once,
Your were never at my soccer games only one,
My performance nights,
My poems readings,
Not even wanting to help me get a job,
And all you can do is lecture me,
Y-YOU COULD NEVER KNOW,
How much I struggled,
How much i suffered,
JUST BECAUSE YOU LEFT THE PICTURE…,
You gave me money,
You gave me lots,
But you act as if I owe you my life..,
And if that’s the case…,
ID RATHER…live on as a spirit then a shadow.
-Kitsuko Dragonstar
What you say is not what I hear:
You say card dealer, but I hear car dealer,
--Unless you mean card healer,
A Tarot card healer
Who deals in Aces of Cups
And Fours of Swords.
What you say is not what I hear:
You say a nice man, but I hear an ice man,
--Unless you mean anise man,
Yet another healer,
A medicinal healer-dealer.
What you say is not what I hear:
You say next door, but I hear next store,
--Unless you mean neck store,
Neck dealers being the next dealer-healers.
What you say is not what I hear:
You say soccer, but I hear Sock her.
You say flipper, but I hear Flip her.
You say Stick 'er up, but I hear Sticker up,
--All of which can get quite sticky,
Especially if you call me Mr. Karnicki,
And I hear you say, "Car, Nicky."
The bottom line hear,
When all's said an done:
Eye had fun;
Ewe had nun.
The hustle of the
Khyber pass
Dusty
Dirty
Traffic chaotic
Pori’s border
Like the ground
Soaking up my foot prints
We move beyond
The bus is silent
In this barren landscape
I look upon the discarded
Shells of war
Interesting
I identify shells
From many wars
Like a walk
Along a beach
After a storm
An high tide
But the storm
Still thundering
The vision scape
Has pockets of green
So many gums
I could be back
In Oz
A brief stop
Jalalabad
The men Decant
I stay
Watching
Looking
Out the dusty window
Engrossed in what I see
The woman and children
All start talking and laughing
At once
The sudden noise
Makes me Jump
I look around
But all I see are ghosts
But free
The influence
Of men
The men return
So does the silence
We move on
We pass a check point
Then stop
Beside a green river
I sit on the bank
Smoke some hash
With old Coco
He looks just like
The old cameleers
From the pioneers
We can’t converse
But I feel
A gentle heart
War tired eyes
Mountains loom
Around us
We are about to make
The push up
To Kabul
We join a convoy
Of trucks
So many trucks
All going up
And up
And up
Never been on such
A huge mountain
And such a narrow
Road
I look down on the
Shells of trucks
That didn’t make it
Up or down
Horns blare
Dust stings my eyes
But I want to see
If I am
About to die
We plateau
And loose the convoy
Cruse toward Kabul
We stop at the
Biggest refugee camp
The atmosphere is
Stressful
Angry
Suffocating
Claustrophobic
Like a humid
Wet season day
I can’t wait to leave
Continue we do
The end is here
The infamous
Soccer stadium
Blocks an blocks
Of rubble
The end
Of the road
To Kabul
Every Tuesday on the dot,
I would be off to the newsagent like a shot.
A solitary sixpence,all my wealth
to pick up my favourite comic from his shelf.
Not the Beano,Beezer,Dandy or Eagle...
the Hotspur and Wizard were my kings regal.
To read of my hero W W Wilson,the wonder man,
sporting giant extraordinaire,batted bowled and ran.
Soccer ,cricket were a piece of cake,
he left all others in his wake.
Give him the ball and the game was soon over,
he even outscored Roy of the Rover.
Bowling right armover,on a sixpence seven times from eight,
well above average Wilson was incredibly great.
He'd bowl all day at one twenty an hour,
never stopping to take a shower!
In futuristic black body suit,
an English record breaker without dispute.
My inspiration,this imagined prince,
never bettered then,before or since!
Thackray thought up a plan
To get three points for the west hams
Called upon Antonio to do a task
“Fetch my friend a theatrical mask
Tell the canary meet for a luncheon
Of course at his dungeon
There will be no bubbles to burst
Only an answer to why Miss Thackray was cursed”
Antonio took the orders
Did contact a reporter
Hornet Daily decided to decline
Meeting with the royals from the new castle on their mind
Evenly spread out
Antonio very calm no need to shout
Four across the board
Before shutting the door
Royals in the new castle
Felt this get together was a hassle
Found a goal early
Surely,
This would separate the west ham from the buzz
Staying united as they always was
Claiming two fouls
Hornets’ staff went to print with a howl
Still on the hammy’s heels
Not investigating if Thackray will ever get another deal
Antonio returned
Successful not burned
Thackray now felt at ease
No longer relegation a tease
Taking a shot of Claret wine
Things getting a good sign
“I will not stalk alone”
Thackray reminder herself in a British tone
How long before I can drive a car?
You always say I'm much too young
So what if I can't actually feed myself
And you still have to change my bum
Times are a-changing dear sweet mother
The new age of majority is two
Us guys have brains like soccer balls
And the balls to try something new
I know my size might be a problem
But with all the new gadgets that exist
As long as my young brain is functional
I can still do most things on the list
Like keeping track of my finances
Making sure I've got enough to retire
As I reach the age of two hundred and ten
With enough till the day I expire
I know it's difficult for you to grasp
And I realize to you this is new
But so many advances have taken place
Us wee folks can live longer than you
So next time you look at us grandkids
And feel sorry we missed what you had
Each new generation has it's own advances
A product of our time, good or bad
© Jack Ellison 2013