Soccer Prose Poems | Examples
These Soccer Prose poems are examples of Prose poems about Soccer. These are the best examples of Prose Soccer poems written by international poets.
A cool Autumn morning we caught the bus,off at eleven without much fuss.One
and half return from Croft to Leigh a birthday treat from Dad to me.Hopped on a tram to Burden park to see Stan Mathews make his mark.Through the turnstile into the town end,crushed and crammed like cattle penned.
Mathews, Mortenson versus Nathaniel Lofthouse,a match for connoisseurs to watch. Wembly star Stan playing on at thirty eight still making inch perfect
crosses on a plate. Shimmy,side-step,feint and dazzle,leaving the defenders in a
right frazzle. Our ageing hero displayed all his twinkling skills,the complete pro
without modern-day frills.Most pundits considered Stan an aged has-been but no better talent had ever been seen.
I bought the Aztec Spirit Shield and an ancient voice began to speak.
She gave me information about the Mexicas, as they called themselves.
Did you play racquetball? I asked her. She said they had a game.
It is a combination of racquetball, soccer and basketball.
The feathered serpent on the shield stared me down.
Did you have slaves?
She laughed.
We could be slaves, and we were.
We could sell our children, and we did.
I tried to not look horrified.
We sold ourselves too, like you do.
We do not sell ourselves! I retorted.
Oh, yes, you do, she told me. You sell yourself up to eight hours a day.
You are as much I slave as we were.
We could buy ourselves back, too, like you do.
Did you like to sacrifice humans?
Of course, we did!
And you had a god?
We had hundreds of them. We borrowed gods from many cultures.
Were men faithful to their wives?
Yes. All of them.
Did you have dentists?
How else could we have filed down our teeth and replaced them with gems?
I gave the shield to a museum soon after purchasing it.
Not wanting to hear more.
Your pet is welcomed at the Bridge, by one of my cats.
In my version, each cat or cat family, has a home.
Ours is called "Romios House."
It has bedrooms, a kitchen a huge living room and a telephone.
I can call any of my cats, anytime.
You decide the number.
Especially, when they leave this earth, and you are lost!
You are free to call them at any time as often as you like.
You create the number!
Your pet isn't standing by a bridge, waiting for you...
They are too busy enjoying life.
For one thing, they go to school and wear uniforms.
They learn to read and write.
To add~ there is a shopping mall, they love to go to.
And a movie theatre!
There are 22 animals at Romios house with lovely bedrooms.
A living room, where they have story night, parties and dancing.
A swimming pool and a soccer field!
They are active and not mooning over those left on earth.
Their lives are full and happy and no cat or dog gets ill.
So, my friends, if you have a cat or dog that is very ill~
Let me know?
I will call one of my cats or dogs to meet or greet them at
Rainbow Bridge.
They will be amply loved and cared for.
Love,
Panagiota
When I was little, I enjoyed further more
soccer than today ... I liked it so much
every day I went to my uncle's house who
subscribed to a magazine.
There I tried to read Times magazine ... to find out
of the football teams ... but to my misfortune it was written
in English and at that time there was nothing like that
tongue ... i read, read and nothing...
i did not understand a thing...
but left with
the impression that football was a very
really important ... an entire magazine talking
of "teams" .... of football ... "
Ps. Time in Portuguese we pronounce team,
so time (team) means football team,
I didn't know it was about time (tempo))
Have you ever checked your face in the mirror?
Whom you used to play soccer together
Excitement from the huge and vibrant kites in the sky!
A mother used to feed you with same fondness of affection,
How could you target the nozzle of the gun?
Who set an impermeable layer in your eyes?
There are roaring armed convoys patrolling on the streets with nose upward
Bombs are shower like torrential downpour from the sky
There is even no tiny space to hide
The lungs fill with smoke and dust of the debris
Mother's silent body is under the wreckage of the walls and roofs.
The hands of the babies emerge beneath her chest with a desperate desire to live.
The torn body flies like a burned piece of paper.
Come back and see— no one is the enemy!
The blood is warm, the exact same color like you.
Have you ever checked your face in the mirror?
A merciless butcher, without any sympathy takes the life away,
Are you one of them?
Are you really one of them?
Common lizards and cockroaches love my room nowadays
They are especially in love with the terminal winter season
They are so severe that I cannot see Messi with a little ease
In the Argentina, France live world cup soccer on television
The moment the first French goal brought me to my feet
A lizard bites near the knee making me croak in a sharp pain
To infuse a few children in the blood I give up on the football
Get into writing this eight line prose poetry on the lizard age
June 30, 2018
For Eight lines of fate, when you wonder if it is too late Poetry Contest
Sponsored by : Silent One
Bricabrac. Old and sick in Krakow, Czeslaw complained of his to a fellow (Irish) Nobelista. My fate too (though I am not a poet, I think, and so do I deserve it?)? Like alphabet soup. Lots of letters. Enough to make a small book. Swimming, refusing to join others in the sparest, most economic, incarnation - a monosyllabic word. Let alone a sentence that might be read front to back. Bricabrac.
2016 June 29
Imagine a Super Bowl
Feeding fly infested, starving mouths
Yet feed bloated egos of the affluent
inspired by the Super Bowl event
Headed for Mexico with his suitcase and a ton of beanies was my 16 year old son
He joined his youth group for the adventure of a life time
Dozens of orphans and a handful of exhausted workers met them at the orphanage
Just waiting for an infusion of new energy
They came with the gospel of Jesus Christ and they came with rejuvenating smiles
They came with bubble gum and bright colored soccer balls
Jesus would have come in the same fashion
Showing the orphans how loved they are
And spilling his heart out at the end of a long day of games
He would preach a kid-friendly Sermon on the Mount
And then sit and watch cartoons with them
This is how to show love
This is how you serve your God
Give ‘em everything you’ve got
Til you can’t keep your eyes open at the end of the day
I hope my son goes back there again one day and shares his heart with them
The ones that were there when he was there are all grown now
There is a new bunch of orphans with a new set of hearts to be won
He served them well
By Gwendolen Rix
10-11-14
A legend was sent
October 1, 1966
Far from above
To the nation of Liberia
While angels celebrate
He played with his peers
He grow up in the land
He tasted the bitter side of life
While great treasures
Lay silently in him
At the right times of life
Heaven directed him
With his legs
To kick the ball
In his yard,
In his community,
In his school,
And over continents of the world
He made his country name to be heard
He made his country to shine
The flag of the Lonestar weaved over nations
His name was sung in many languages
With great love for his country
His people has a portion in his heart
Hail the legend of soccer
A true son of Africa
Reconciling his people
Putting every tribe together
To eat the meal of peace
To enjoy the love of liberty
That brought us together
I see him on the park bench, his red soccer shirt
No pain, no anguish and no deadly hurt
He flickers like a hologram, finishing its show
Clouds emerge above him, shadowing his glow
I run across to meet him, my footsteps have no sound
Before I stop he disappears, he's nowhere to be found