Short Coaches Poems

Managers and coaches 
think quiet
money talks...

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TIGER TAKES TO THE WOODS

Tiger’s coaches are to blame
If he isn’t on his game
He’s too lazy to compete
And too proud to take defeat.

Clinics have become his style
Fans pay big for Tiger smiles...

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I could have been a golfer
If I listened to my coaches
Who foretold it
But what sheer talent cant buy
Is the hours put bye
Bye those who try
And end up succeeding
Because talent early
Is so often misleading...

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Lovers' secret tryst 
Highway men hold up coaches
Hirsute werewolves howl and hunt
Hairy lovers howl
Kiss and hold up stage coaches
Dinner date with passengers

Jack Horne for Russell's Full Moon contest, 15th October...

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Chilly chilly boo
I love wee cockroaches
I will take them to
Ride in phantom coaches. 

Chili chili bean
I love flying foxes
You know what I mean
Here's some in black boxes.

Chile Chile high
In the frozen Andes
We could slip and die
Eating poison candies....

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1. The purest form of charity is anonymous.

2. Kindred are the coaches who know their mistakes.

3. A cup with a handle is worth more than a bowl.

4. If you’re drinking alone, it might as well be something sweet.

5. Once a poem is written, the reader is the only one that matters....

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Rein me in,
a hard leather pull in,
would help,
restrain me full,
whenever direction is astray,
to have a coach man,
to the coach,
you are horsing,
very few coaches have,
that luck,
that you are there is luck,
but relax the rein,
all the way,
untill my mein,
when I am allright,
and giving a true honest fight....

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blackmoorgate
to 
     trentishoe down
&
   over the road
    along
            the greenlane
to heddon mouth
                      below

imagining
  yesteryear
      coaches
where
     primrose   grow

follow the
             track
with
   the spectacular view
down
  the path
         to
             martinhoe...

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Just like football* i am very old
so if I may be so bold
this memory I'll unfold

each day,when school was out
off to a green,hereabout-
the teams often numbered seventeen!

with our jumpers as posts,
no boots ,referee or
coaches ,you'd see

back and forth we'd be
'til tired out,and ready for tea

*you call it soccer over the pond...

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A football memory
Just like football* i am very old
so if I may be so bold
this memory I'll unfold

each day,when school was out
off to a green,hereabout-
the teams often numbered seventeen!

with our jumpers as posts,
no boots ,referee or
coaches ,you'd see

back and forth we'd be
'til tired out,and ready for tea

*you call it soccer over the pond...

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Those sparse promises are put to bed
Yet they ripen like a lie
The County Kingdom
is made from last years chancers
Darkened coaches reach their destination
Our smokey trails
are honed like marbled mantles
Predictable success are nothing
compared to the chirping of the birds
Call Summer a lie
Those bright mornings
folds its wings and flies
I cannot sleep...

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A football *memory
Just like this sport I am very old
so if I may be so bold
this memory I'll unfold

each day,when school was out
off to a green,hereabout-
the teams often numbered seventeen!

with our jumpers as posts,
no boots ,referee or
coaches ,you'd see

back and forth we'd be
'til tired out,and ready for tea

*you call it soccer over the pond...

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They are what they learn,
and they've learned so much
from their coaches and teachers  
when mom wasn't there,
and dad was defining himself.

They are loved second hand by aunts 
and second cousins twice removed,
from the back of a hand to the stroke of a cheek, 
confusion curdling self-esteem.

They are what they love,
it depends on the fist or the glove....

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They are what they learn,
and they've learned so much
from their coaches and teachers  
when mom wasn't there,
and dad was defining himself.

They are loved second hand by aunts 
and second cousins twice removed,
from the back of a hand to the stroke of a cheek, 
confusion curdling self-esteem.

They are what they love,
it depends on the fist or the glove....

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repost inspired by Phil contest

Just like football* i am very old
so if I may be so bold
this memory I'll unfold

each day,when school was out
off to a green,hereabout-
the teams often numbered seventeen!

with our jumpers as posts,
no boots ,referee or
coaches ,you'd see

back and forth we'd be
'til tired out,and ready for tea

*you call it soccer over the pond...

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They are what they learn,
and they've learned so much
from their coaches and teachers  
when mom wasn't there,
and dad was defining himself.

They are loved second hand by aunts 
and second cousins twice removed,
from the back of a hand to the stroke of a cheek, 
confusion curdling self-esteem.

They are what they are taught to love...
it depends on the fist or the glove....

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Many, foolish decorated things
Coaches trouble every street,
They shall be forgotten, whom no poets sings,
Well wrapped up in their winding street?
Where to eternity shall give?
When nothing else remains these days,
Here after we shall be glad to live
Upon the alms of superfluous praise,
Virgins read these rhymes
So much delight with thy story,
They grieve and not live in these times....

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Pitchers pitching. Catchers catching.
Balls are in the air.
The smack of leather, bonding together.
A spring time love affair
Coaches coaching. Trainers training.
Stylish Unis, socks and hats.
Gatorades, fresh cut grass blades.
Soon hitters with big bats.
Fans are fanning, Radar guns scanning.
Baseball careers are born there.
Raise a beer. Praise The Jays and cheer
Springs just around the corner....

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A football memory
Just like football* i am very old
so if I may be so bold
this memory I'll unfold

each day,when school was out
off to a green,hereabout-
the teams often numbered seventeen!

with our jumpers as posts,
no boots ,referee or
coaches ,you'd see

back and forth we'd be
'til tired out,and ready for tea

*you call it soccer over the pond

Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2011...

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Luminous is the flame, 
Olympic Games need no fame.
Nations standing by to compete
Dauntless athletes refusing defeat,
Obsession with metals is growing,
Nagging coaches are shouting.
Omission is a threat
Luck is everyone’s bet 
Yearning is a drive that keeps,
Pushing all for feats.
Iconic is the city of 2012,
Calling for its trophies to shelve 
Summer bodes well for every winner of gold. 



© Atef Atyaoui
19/07/2012...

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Kids are creative, made in God's image;
we parents are just coaches on this earth.
God has prepared for them lines of scrimmage;
kids are creative. 

Kids demonstrate a great challenge at birth.
We take pride; their "great"ness we envisage
forgetting their Creator grants them girth. 

We focus on our lines of lineage 
and give God small credit for their real worth.
Is that why they rebel in alienage?
Kids are creative....

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 Boo Hoo Lincoln
Miracle Man
7-4-2022

 Today Lincoln Riley might be missing O.U.,
for the ship he jumped to is going big time too.
His wish was to be a big fish in a small tank,
but in the big 10 he’ll walk the gang plank.

He showed his true character in the way he left,
taking players and coaches was next to theft.
But everything has a payday or so they say,
I wonder if Southern Cal he will also betray?
...

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What I'll miss about elementary school will be recess!
Fun in the sun, I love this place,
I have to confess.
Recess was the the best space.
I'll miss my old teachers,
and all their awesome features.
I'll miss all my coaches and their advice.
They were all very helpful and nice.
To high school I go,
All my talents and skill I will try to show.
I'm leaving you now, for this I know.
The next chapter in my book....Ready Let's Go!

By: C. Thomas...

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Wishing and wanting to be

An

Olympic Triathlon Gold Medal Winner

Knowing full well in order to succeed

This specific individual feat requires

3 different apposing skillets

So I went in search of 3 of the very best
coaches in each individual particular
event and discipline

So I got Memo to teach me how to run

Forrest Gump how to swim

And Lance Armstrong to teach me how
to ride a bike

And most of all how to cheat at all 3...

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Headlines
He was going to write his masterpiece
“The road to London” but the coach from
The airport had a blowout.
When he finally came to London, and it was
Morning and reading the headline
which asked several coaches have suffered
blowouts, could it be the Russians?
Another more sober paper said the accidents
were due to poor maintenance but that is
not a word that makes headlines.
As for the poet he didn`t like London and
never wrote anything about this great city....

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