Free Verse Soccer Poems | Examples
These Free Verse Soccer poems are examples of poetry about Free Verse Soccer. These are the best examples of Soccer Free Verse poems written by international poets.
I want to feel the ground swell
to share it
Saturday, comes too soon
drowns the afternoon
and see City demoted for fair play
10,000 plastic cups
a river of lager streams
Its not that I'm afraid of fencing
but these stadiums hem me in
The teams from all over the world,
Met down and under the world,
They came from Asia, Africa, Europe,
Latin America, North America, and all over the world.
The Women were young girls, stout and healthy,
In every game, they showed their vigor and muscle,
The expressions of scored goal were portrait kept in heart,
A missed goal was a heartbreak, they still tried their best.
Every game was delightful to watch,
The faces showed the expression of kicks,
Size and stature did not make any difference,
Tackle, passing, headers, and shots, what made all the difference,
Being a sport fan, I salute all the teams,
No matter who won, you all were my winners.
Knockout stage
Women’s World Cup
Sweden
versus U. S.
In regulation
nil-nil score,
ditto
extra time—
P Ks
To decide—
U. S. A.
three missed kicks seal fate
Kudos to Musovic
and
The Blue and Yellow!
Ponytails
Swishing madly,
Hurdling across the pitch.
Beads of sweat
Spraying in spirals
As fingers point,
Shouting directions
To strikers, wingers, and defensemen.
Defensewomen, really.
Get back!
Push it!
Don't lose form!
Take the shot!
Grazing past the clown gloves.
Concaving the thick nylon.
Back of the net glory!
Now run around like giddy school girls
For exactly 8 seconds.
Now mark your man!
Woman, really.
No whiners here.
No floppers allowed.
What's this look like,
Men's soccer? Pansies.
The beautiful game is proof that
The real soccer men
Are women.
You know what soccer football needs?
Bigger Goals!
An extra meter on each side of the posts.
Bigger Goals means More Goals!
With goals shot from wider out,
the game then would be far less defensive
with less endless back passing,
and shuffling the deck at the back.
Going All in for Goals,
would produce fairer results,
with less flukes and freaky results
holding the sway.
Imagine scores of 5-7, 10-8, 3-7!
What fans want to see is more goals!
What players want is more attacking football
and fairer results,
with more goals from their great shots, some from wider out.
Its so easily done, just shift the goals posts
out wider by a meter on each side.
What the World Cup Needs Now is
Goals, Goals, Goals!
Teenage girls, glow like mall-fountains.
Their sweat saturates senses, nourishes
male pattern baldness.
We avoid looking directly, talk game plans,
look through mind-veils.
The boys spit and hawk,
rub themselves against
invisible fans called Rita.
Splatter the ground with oaths,
dribble as if they had long hair
and this is steamy Rio, not Ohio.
A lick of green drips
from each spilled water bottle.
Soccer moms hand out signed glances
to the coach;
he smirks and pats his own ass.
Frustrating
Bad tasting
Bitter
Heart pumping
Bile rising
Tense
Sh*t team
Bad dream
Awful
Supporting
Supporting!
Supporting!!
Why!!!????
Time to move on
Divorce my club!
If only I could
If only I could
Forever depressed
Watching sh*t
Week on week
Year on year
Manager after manager
F*ckin rubbish
I hate to watch and
watch to hate
Occasional glimmers
But generally DIRE!!
The beautiful game
FFS Hahaha
Right, who we got next
on the hell carousel
A daytime in Madrid
Gray sky overhead
The mist forms rows
Eyeing, hesitating
As spectators in a field
Hovering for kickoff
Masses of zealots
Shining bands of fans
In the style of a royal army
The sound of shoes trampling
Moving to a specific ground
Hovering for kickoff
The reals of Madrid are tough
They defy tooth and claw
The adrenaline level is rising
Blood of steel ran in their veins
Artistic knives are at the ready
They hurt the stadium
The reds of England look anxious.
To do this, a hero must be called.
A savior in times of peril.
A leader to rally the troops.
A Liverpool that flips the tides.
Halftime is near
Relief for the Spanish is near
But there is a last terror spell
One final shot towards glory
A clip-on their lips
A blow on the Reals' souls
The fate of our heroes is unsure.
What lies next for the Reds?
But one thing is certain.
They seek victory.
Will they master the chaos of war?
Written: June 2, 2022
A Brian Strand Premiere Choice Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
My team lost – 32-0.
But in my defense
It was just me
Against the whirring windmill
Of a seven year old.
I told her I was
70 years older than her
She laughed and said
“just play the game Papa,
Just play the game”
John G. Lawless
©3/23/2022
A short stout figure in the forward line of attack,
dribbled with the darting ball on the green turf.
With the magnetic pair of fleeting legs like a wizard,
spearheaded the formidable formation of the team.
The opponent defenders had to invent new strategy
to thwart your crafty moves leading to the goalpost,
but you could make your way foiling all their attempts
to see the ball flash and hit the net behind the bars.
You were the backbone of your country’s team of fame,
that you led to winning many prestigious tournaments.
A legend in life time, you were the pride of Argentina,
in the history of football you’ll live forever, Maradona.
December 24, 2020
Contest : Maradona Obituary
Sponsor : Mohan Chutani
A hero is a villain
to the side that just got beat.
Great futbol heroes score big goals,
most use their head or feet.
(anti-tribute to Diego Maradona)
Written 22 Dec 2020
Playing tired
Went to rest today
Maradona
Son of Arge n tina
Married to soccer
Father of goals
Children kicks
Relation of claps
Maradona a shocker in soccer
COYB
R.A.D
Rodriguez
Allan
Doucoure
The new modern day Holly Trinity
Thank you
Mr Fantastico
Sir Carlo Ancelloti
Liverpool's real people's club
are back baby
And we bleed Royal Blue
not red
It's in our D.N.A
In our heart's
In our soul's
Everton born till we die
The dog stops often to sniff
the scuffed turf,
it smells last Sundays game
tracing the play, the points
where the intoxicated ball
slid crazily,
through layers of musky exertion.
The man of course smells none of this,
he only smells a ghostly perfume
now buried in another place.
Yet even here
deep in this rucked and rutted earth
like a dog on a remembered scent
he follows her.
All goals
set down at schools
kicked down on the grounds
in soccer