Soccer poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best soccer poems ever written. Read all poems about soccer.
Only teaching on Tuesdays, book-worming
in pajamas fresh from the washer each morning,
I hog a whole house on Boston's
"hardly passionate Marlborough Street,"
I always have liked soccer.
Such a rough game.
Such skills required.
They all ask me to jump
to invigorate and to play soccer,
to run, to swim and to fly.
Lark and rose go mad, even with winter
coming on, the garden beneath the verandah blooms,
the park is dense with sun and soccer balls.
By lark I mean generic bird, God knows
Away from everyday chaos
Where time flew in a blur
From mundane endeavours
Caging our souls
She gets out there and hustles
She does her very best
It’s all about the teamwork
And winning is her quest
Apprehension of the unknown,
In the atmosphere of bar room tension,
Men sitting on long stools, with no time for fools,
On the counter, pint glasses full and half full,
Spring wafts up the smell of bus exhaust, of bread
and fried potatoes, tips green on the branches,
repeats old news: arrogance, ignorance, war.
A cinder-block wall shared by two houses
You can take your golf and the rolling greens
You tennis with manicured courts neat and clean
Your soccer, your swimming, your basketball scene -
None measure up to............FOOTBALL!
those who are standing at the top of the stairs
they know everything
I love you more than my old soccer cleats,
The ones I’ll never give up.
I love you more than the perfect field,
The one I use to warm up.
after practice: right foot
to left foot, stepping forward and back,
to right foot and left foot,
and left foot up to his thigh, holding
The £10,000 a week defender can’t quite
catch the £20,000 striker who's got
the ball at his nimble, expensive feet, the stadium yelling
fit to raise the roof – what does he do? why,
War is a bleeding game of dice
Soccer: played without a goal post
I played goalkeeper.
I coached high school soccer teams:
I lost interest.
I came to the cemetery in the hazy heat of autumn,
where the crosses creak as they split,
to my grandmother-Maria Iosefovna-
and bought flowers at the gate.
Ron, you were to me all a brother could be,
your friendship and memory will always be a part of me. The happy days we spent together are gone, forever lost in time,
but the memories will linger, they will always be mine.
When I was young you used to take me to the flicks, on our way home you would buy me fish and chips, and Ron the times you fixed my tie for school
We were in the cafeteria, having just sat down with our trays. The place, which looks like a modern, medium sized ski lodge, was almost empty. I'm registering more and more faces these days. Most are transient acquaintances from the dorm or classes. There were nods. My little group was my roommate, Leong, myself and a girl named Lucy from our chemistry class. Lucy can solve a chemical equation faster than either of us - she calls herself an idiot savant.
Lucy's one of those overwrought girls who don't believe food is necessary for survival and who stare anxiously at blueberries. Lucy's tray has a spoon, a napkin and one small, plain yogurt on it. I got salmon, a bit of Pad Thai, a slice of pizza and some desert. You could feed a family of four from my tray. I always sit with my back to windows - it's a glare avoidance thing.
in soccer, it is where everything starts, it is a religious
invention for the public, where you knee on your knees for the king or the establish monarch. they add sometimes something to do in the circle, as an excuse for the existence of such big circle (see ufo's crop' section, google 'stonehenge, '
no wonder, in britain, i mean the island, you can see circles everywhere, no wonder Van Gogh's 'the circles, a starry night' is bought by a british museum or precisely a royal collector.)
This zebra shows what I can do
As I practice my soccer skills
Here at home in Lincoln Park Zoo,
Doing various practice drills.
Episode 10 or is it 11: The soccer episode in my Sexaholic Shopaholic Workaholic series
-Gayathri B. Seetharam
Last evening, I was walking down the Bloor West Road
When I saw a bus full of young men singing happily
Beautiful game, crazy game that draws maximum adrenalin
From hypnotized, soccer crazy minds
Glued to television screens to gobble spills and thrills from Russia with hopes lean
Driven to the brink of despair behind Venetian blinds
Monkey chant and fake fraternity front
Brandished on the grand soccer stage
Rush Russian bear invectives to decant
Insanity and indignity rolled into ribald rage.
Soccer stimulates senses
Prolongs sobriety stances
Prevents hordes of odium.
Yesterday we watched Ava's first soccer game of the season
It was a beautiful Florida fall day
and I had a chance to reminisce as I stood and watched her play.
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