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.
From the moment we became grandparents we have felt conflicted
at the way, in books and media, grandparents are depicted.
But we’ve been grandparents for a while now
(one grandchild just graduated college)
So we believe it is time to share some grand-parental knowledge…
When a cartoonist draws a grandma her hair is invariably in a bun
If she’s not wearing a sweater…chances are she’s knitting one.
When she walks it’s with a cane and we will forever take offense
how she’s always wearing glasses and has no fashion sense
When a cartoonist draws a grandpa he is never very tall
His hair is a vibrant shade of gray or white…if he has any hair at all.
His plaid pants never match his shirt…his glasses are as thick as a window pane
He could be in a wheel chair or like Grandma…walking with a cane.
If you look around at grandparents today, you’ll find us agile and nimble and spry
In fact you’ll discover to your amazement those old stereotypes don’t apply.
Deborah doesn’t wear a muumuu…her hair is never in a bun,
If you ask our grandchildren what they think, they’ll say their Nana’s fun.
She’s creative, she’s compassionate, she’s patient and I can verify
She’s great with babies, loves to bake and sings a soothing lullaby.
As for me, though I am a little bald, I don’t wear plaid pants, never would.
snd if I do say so myself, I make the clothes I wear look good.
I do not fish, don’t watch much TV, I don’t read the Farmer’s Almanac
When my grandchildren ask to play football…guess who’s the quarterback?
Deborah and I will try jumping rope, playing soccer and climbing trees too
because in this day and age, in our generation, that’s what grandparents do!
We are a mix of old and new, we are much cooler and hipper than before
(Even though I’m pretty sure people don’t say cooler or hipper anymore!)
We embrace some of the traits of our grandparents, yes the good ones have survived
but speaking for Deborah and the grandparents I know, a new generation has arrived!
So cartoonists when you draw Deborah draw her with style, grace and fun
And if you’re drawing her baking cupcakes, make sure they’re funky ones.
And when you take your pencils out don’t draw me in a rocking chair
Instead…draw me climbing up a tree or in a top hat
and if you want…
you can add more hair.
Sunrise today was an ice diamond in a glacial sky
glazed over with a crystalline light.
My dog was making smoke mountains,
my own mouth was an O of chilling fumes.
Dog and I were pulled along
by a beautifully set landscape
that had been chiseled out of stillness.
At the end of the street
the pulse of life was just getting going,
cars were steaming and idling
while ice maidens
hauled kids off to soccer practice.
The freeze-framed silence
melted like a single snowflake
on my tongue,
my dog sniffed the changing air,
then wagged its bushy tail
as if plowing on through
the softening thaw.
Rumors abound
All around town
Lily White
Needs a knight
She is tangled
Being wrangled
By the tricky trees
Planted by Peacocks from Leeds
Wolves are down under
Hearing wraths thunder
Drinking Burnley claret wine
Getting ready to do second tier time
In comes the Hammer girl
Wearing expensive pearls
Bought using Gallo credit
Wondering, ‘will anyone get it?’
Message, ‘relegate’
Easier opponents await
Fans will have reason to cheer
Dousing the same expensive beer
As players work on maturing skills
Crunching numbers, paying the bills
Oh yes, who is going to get dropped
Commentating, ‘our season truly was a flop’
Officially closing the show
Taking the athletic production to parts unknown
Goal now ‘will want to come back’
Claiming healed healthy, surviving a relegation attack
The pies are hot
The beer is cold
It must be Saturday afternoon.
Tomato sauce
Spills down my front
Both teams to show up soon.
The pom pom girls
The footy teams
In uniforms the same
Anticipation
Electrification
The ref's whistle starts the game.
Whether rugby or soccer
Or American footy
The ball is taken up hard
1st tackle made
Blood is sprayed
Tough men now play their cards
Among the sweat
Among the bets
A smile on every boys face
In wonderland
In fairyland
Wish they could trade their place
Exchanging fists
Not to be missed
The crowd now boos then cheers
Enjoying that they
Can have a say
Without retribution or fear.
It's full time now
Don't know how
The fun is over so soon
The pies are still hot
The beer is still cold
It must be Saturday afternoon.
In the heart of Gaza, there lived a young man named Amir.
At just eighteen, Amir had seen the world through a lens of conflict,
with the sounds of sirens and the sights of destruction shaping his childhood.
Despite the chaos around him, he held onto a dream – a dream of peace.
Amir was known among his friends for his infectious laughter and unyielding spirit.
He loved playing soccer in the narrow streets and
sharing stories with his younger sister, Layla, about a world beyond their reality.
"One day, Layla," he would say, "we’ll see fields of green and skies without smoke."
One evening, as Amir sat on the roof of his home,
Thinking of nonviolent struggles aroused by,
Gandhi, Mandella, and ML King to stimulate the masses,
To demand justice, equality and freedom without any violence.
With friends beside him, they gathered to say,
“Let’s march for our rights in a peaceful way”,
Voices united, they shine their light,
Proving together, they can ignite,
They show the world where they belong,
From their hearts, the power is clear,
That peace, not violence, is what we hold dear.
Amir learned that while they may be small against the powers that be,
their voices, united in peace, held the potential to create waves of change.
He continued to dream of green fields and clear skies,
knowing that with every step they took together, they were moving closer to that vision.
Blue memoirs fall from her sky eyes
As blue memoire fall from her eyes
right down where I slept, I picked it up.
My memories, they tingle me,
like flashes of a cinema screenplay, I see;
A field, goalkeeper in orange, a striker
dress in red jerseys, and
a blue soccer ball shot up into thin air
by the striker after raising and bouncing
It incessantly on the green field, tosses it.
though it didn't seem broken outward,
yet wailing inside in silence as it falls
at least for goalkeeper to pick it up
am that goalkeeper, I did caught all
droplet with my eyes--you go on ahead and
guess who the striker be, no not Maradona
or Pele Cos my momma is the blue ball.
I see a red rose, I see my momma
having many thorns on her petals,
Some few bruised weakling spots,
Yet she blossoms singing "silent nights".
I picture her embattled face, a
brownie nightingale, with a bleeding beak
Singing lullaby in broken tones, and though
non can write down her lyrics yet tending
to her nestling---with iced dank brown
camera eyes, painted in the horrors of an
African nativity, in the claws a taboo.
if a woman crosses another man the
gods are left to strike off her doom. But
the man, a moonlit journey walker on other
blank sheets, striding other lawns as he chooses,
but the gods ain't strike no mane So his taboo is but
an illegal legal practice on nativity.
Below a Link 2 watch it on my YouTube channel
https://youtu.be/EVnF_Zusyf4
The guy in me does fine just on my own.
Attention I do not need constantly.
Because I rather like to be alone,
it’s by myself I’d often rather be!
The guy in me is not so nurturing.
Since every babysitting job I had
was tedious and most uninspiring,
to be a soccer mom would drive me mad!
The guy in me just likes to lie around -
to eat and watch TV instead of clean.
At Bed, Bath, and Beyond I won’t be found,
and in a nail salon I’m never seen.
My spouse dislikes the guy in me; this is
so strange, for most of my “guy traits” are his!
For the Animus-Anima Part II--Animus Poetry Contest of Tom Quigley
Hello there my little friendlies
I'm Archibald Denton Frog
I'm here to tell you the story
Of Catherine Clemetine Clogg!
Clemmie as she's always been known
To a bunch of her closest friends
Has a wonderful talent for juggling
While sitting on her bottom end!
That may not sound so astonishing
But imagine the things she juggles
Kangaroos and a big mouth bass
And soap that causes big bubbles!
But awkward things like soccer balls
Or a pair of Grandpa's false teeth
A ten pound bag of Kibbles 'n Bits
Can certainly cause Clemmie some grief!
Let's give this lady a big hurrah
As she entertains all the wee kiddles
Keeps on juggling for many long hours
Till she finally needs to go piddle!
Oh my goodness did I say piddle?
What a naughty word I just uttered
That bar of soap is now in my mouth
Making me choke and sputter!
Archibald Denton Frog signing off
With a moral right at the end
Enjoy the talents of dear Clementine
But never use bad words that offend!
© Jack Ellison 2012
The most holy have called out to the Lord
Lord we have assembled the best engineers
We are with our hands gonna build
A temple to the sky
With the strongest walls to withstand any storm
We have the best architects
That will put idols on the outside
Doors and corners to resist evil
It will be as beautiful as a museum inside
Many will come to see and admire with their eyes
Surely you would not have to walk far
To come and dwell with us
We only have one concern
Would you like it if we
Played loud music and danced around
Or be still and sing a hymn
It is by God's
Grace,Mercy, and Love
He has not kicked earth as a soccer ball
For there is nothing with our hands
We can build to satisfy the Lord
Heaven is his throne
And earth is his footstool
God sent his son
And watched him die a criminals death
The only temple that pleases the father
Is his creation man
And those that believe his son came and died
and rose again in 3 days and defeated death
For when we believe and call out
For God to save us
He will clean out the inside
Then the outside will begin to show
Jesus came so that
He might come and dwell in the hearts
And put the laws in our mind
He wants to be revealed
In the temple
He has created without hands
But with the spirit of fire
That circumsizes the flesh from man
And gives a new body
That by his grace
He might make us acceptable
To the Father
They walk in single file beside the river.
Five young men heads newly shaved,
their saffron robes washed so frequently
that orange has turned a saffron yellow,
a yellow seen in temple lamps at dusk.
They gather under a broad Tamarind tree
for shade and rest.
There was a big match last night.
I overhear the names
of Thai football players lauded or lampooned.
The boys shuffle their feet,
dribbling imaginary soccer balls,
skillfully tackling less nimble opponents -
their excited talk
is birdsong beside the water.
Some playful rib digging --- then off they go
one behind the other along the Klong,
processional once more, reciting
a numinous Buddhist chant;
their beatific smiles
perhaps recalling a fumbled kick
or an easy goal.