My soccer team
I see men standing next to each other
in a line
and they wear yellow and green.
The national anthem plays
and its like nobody honours it
or know the words,
but maybe they are caught by the great moment.
The whistle blows
and the ball is kicked to and fro
and there are men attacking
and others that defend.
The goal is open
and the ball flies past in a wide arc
and it’s as if my team
can’t score any goal.
The opponents have the ball
and shoot it right over the field
and one of their front players
hits it with his head.
The ball flies twisting
and with a swing in the air
and is accurately aimed at the goal
As from the ground
the goalie rises
and the onlookers are silent
and just before it’s too late,
the ball is caught
and the crowd cheers.
It is as if something sweeps into
the men with yellow and green
and they play perfectly,
like only a good team can.
There’s passion to win
and the ball is passed
from player to player
and a mighty kick,
launches it accurately past the goalkeeper
to get entangled in the net.
The crowd cheers and go nuts
and vuvezelas are blowing
and flags are swept to and thro
and the players grab each other.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Let Me Play Football
Let me run on the field
Of a crowded football stadium,
The ball is sticky to my leg,
Let the opponent’s defenders to come.
Let me head the ball with full force,
When my team player does a corner kick,
I want to place the ball in opponent’s net,
That’s an honour more than climbing Everest’s pick.
Let my team’s footballers hug me,
When I score a world class goal,
And I shall preserve my supporters’ celebration
Forever in my golden soul.
poem by Biswajit Ganguly
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rugby football hero
Drive men, drive!
Get the freaking ball!
That’s it, now go.
Fling it, throw the damned thing!
From the reserve bench
the game is rushing by
and both flanks, the centre, the lock
almost every member of the team
are taking huge knocks and still
nobody is really getting hurt.
A dropp goal soars through the poles,
followed by a brilliant try
and the crowd are standing, are cheering
when the confirmation kick
is delivered securely.
The opponents are really angry,
starts to play dirty,
with reckless foal play,
high tackling
and gets a penalty kick
that is on the mark
and then the lock is hurt,
trampled under boots
and the manager
points to me
and while the crowd cheers
I run on to the field.
The whistle blows
and in full pace I run in line
catching the ball that is flung to me
and the game is on,
the crowd roars while I sidestep
two tackles and see the line
and every thing is blurring
and time is fragmented
into splits of seconds
and I am flying at speed
trying to touch down.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Beautiful Game
As you step on to the muddy field,
You feel the joy rise inside you,
The crowd roars as the players take up there positions;
And your team gets ready to kick off.
As the game commence all nervousness is lost,
Replaced by a sudden adrenaline rush,
The play goes back and forth, forth and back;
But you run on still,
nothing else concerns you but the ball.
It goes on as such for many minutes,
Until your rivals get a chance,
Your goalie tries but to your despair the ball finds the back of the net;
The crowd boos in anger and frustration.
The very next play the ball comes to you,
You run up the wing blasting by defender after defender,
You see an opening in the keeper’s defences;
You wind up to shoot and…
TWEET! You’re tackled by a defender,
Penalty shot declares the ref,
To the opposition’s protest.
You place the ball on the penalty spot,
And the once roaring crowd goes silent,
Thousands of eyes are upon you unspeaking and unforgiving,
As you wind up to shoot all time seems to stop;
And Suddenly time resumes to the roar of the crowd
And your teammates swarming around you,
At this moment you think to yourself,
Soccer, the beautiful game.
poem by Joseph Conlan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Analysis Of Baseball
It’s about
the ball,
the bat,
and the mitt.
Ball hits
bat, or it
hits mitt.
Bat doesn’t
hit ball, bat
meets it.
Ball bounces
off bat, flies
air, or thuds
ground (dud)
or it
fits mitt.
Bat waits
for ball
to mate.
Ball hates
to take bat’s
bait. Ball
flirts, bat’s
late, don’t
keep the date.
Ball goes in
(thwack) to mitt,
and goes out
(thwack) back
to mitt.
Ball fits
mitt, but
not all
the time.
Sometimes
ball gets hit
(pow) when bat
meets it,
and sails
to a place
where mitt
has to quit
in disgrace.
That’s about
the bases
loaded,
about 40,000
fans exploded.
It’s about
the ball,
the bat,
the mitt,
the bases
and the fans.
It’s done
on a diamond,
and for fun.
It’s about
home, and it’s
about run.
poem by May Swenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Futbol
There he is standing on the field, looking around and laughing
he wants to see what you see from the stands, himself basking, charming.
The ball slips from the fingers of a dazzled referee and he kicks out,
deftly he is gliding in and out between his opponents, he is glorious.
Then where has the goal gone that it is no longer before him?
So that he spins around and is aghast and desperate with anxiety?
His opponent grins and lives the sport, he breathes the dance,
and he chants in his heart the reality of his passion, as he flies!
You do not doubt that he is dancing, because his eyes are singing.
He floats above the grass, he lifts his knees high and tumbles low.
He watches from afar as his body works his will like an oiled puppet,
and he is certainly a masterful puppeteer, he grins and slides.
Where did our laughing hero go who was so handsome with the crowd?
He is behind, running to catch up and wondering in shock what happened.
His opponent tips the ball into the air with a gentle kick of the toe.
He positions himself and pirouettes slowly, the ball goes flying.
The goalie's heart pumps like a psychotic ocean, he is freaking out now.
The ball parts the breath's of his team mates and loopty loops into the net.
Four tenths of a second after the ball flits into the net, the goalie blocks
and slaps air and is laid out at the post, feeling bested by a better man.
Again and again the dancer, the puppeteer, rides the ball down the field.
Score. Score. Score. Score. Score. There is the clock and the game is over.
Our hero grimaces in angst and seethes at glory lost and wonders...
where was he when he was most needed, where was all his glory and fame?
How was he bested by an up-and-coming punk, he wondered with shock.
When did the cinematographer of this movie decide that his part was over?
He overheard the answer at a news conference after the game
'He knows the rules better than he knows the sport, ' said his opponent
with a grin.
poem by Poet Dragon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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World Cup Dream
I don’t have a world cup dream
But I love to play Football
I don’t have the master technique
But all for the good of my team
Food ball + food ball + food ball
This word is my life
Sweating and passing the ball
Running fast and finding that opportune hole
As a result, we can say “Goal”
poem by Rajan Thapaliya
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You Made Okay To Do It Your Way
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You complained,
That you couldn't take the weight.
And a waiting too late makes it okay.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Greatest
Little boy, in a baseball hat stands in the field with his ball and bat.
Says, "I am the greatest player of them all" puts his bat on his shoulder and he tosses up his ball.
And the ball goes up and the ball comes down swings his bat all the way around
The world so still you can hear the sound, the baseball falls to the ground.
Now the little boy doesn't say a word, picks up his ball, he is undeterred.
Says, "I am the greatest there has ever been" and he grits his teeth and he tries it again.
And the ball goes up and the ball comes down swings his bat all the way around
The world so still you can hear the sound, the baseball falls to the ground.
He makes no excuses, he shows no fear, he just closes his eyes and listens to the cheers.
Little boy, he adjusts his hat, picks up his ball, stares at his bat
Says,"I am the greatest, the game is on the line" and he gives his all one last time.
And the ball goes up and the moon so bright, swings his bat with all his might
The world's as still, as still can be, the baseball falls and that's strike three.
Now it's suppertime and his momma calls, little boy starts home with his bat and ball.
Says, "I am the greatest, that is a fact, but even I didn't know I could pitch like that!"
Says, "I am the greatest,that is understood, but even I didn't know I could pitch that good!
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The greatest goal of all time
I've seen lots of great goals
some to take your breath away
I recall one from many years ago
that has stayed with me to this day.
The player had the ball at his feet
cutting through the defence like a sword
beating player after player with ease
the whole ground stood to applaud.
I've witnessed individual goals
and some created by most of the team
but the greatest one I've ever seen?
was by myself in a beautiful lucid dream.
I was playing for England against Brazil
the crowd was roaring out my name
it was the World Cup Final at Wembley
two all with a minute left in the game.
I then tackled and robbed Pele of the ball
and I went on a long and mazy run
it ended with me hitting home the winner
'What a goal' read the headline in the Sun.
I lifted up the Jules Rimet Trophy
got carried round the pitch shoulder high
but when Pele said my goal was the greatest
I just fell to my muddy knees to cry.
It's been said that dreams can come true
and that's a saying I know to be right
because that 'dream' goal I scored at Wembley
was voted best ever goal on the telly last night!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Woman, The Oranje And The 2010 World Cup
In a bar in Amsterdam,
I realise how football consumes the soul.
Did I care yesterday whether there had been changes to the team?
Or whether one particular player was match fit?
No.
But, today I am swept along,
I feel the electricity in the air,
The hoping, the waiting, the tension,
The tangible excitement as the team walks out.
I grasp the momentary pride as the national anthem plays
And feel the lump in my throat as I see players join in and sing along.
I’m not even Dutch.
But, I’ve bought the shirt.
Then, as the game progresses I feel the air coarse back and forth,
As each spectator gasps, oohs and ahhs when free kicks go astray and shots on goal are deflected.
I watch fingers twitch, hands wring, and nails being bitten - all in the name of football.
Football, the beautiful game.
Football, the life giving ether that unites a nation and makes busses late.
Soon a hush descends,
As a player (who I don’t know the name of) “storms” his way through to the centre,
And slides the ball neatly under the goalkeeper.
Goal! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
Time stops.
In this moment there is no war, no hunger, no pain, no hate in the world,
God is alive and he wears a number 11 shirt.
poem by Teedy Dawn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kick Off Ball
Kick off ball,
Kick the ball to win the game!
But, with fair play.
Player,
Lyricist,
Arranger,
Keeper,
Composer,
Winner! !
But it was only yesterday that i found you;
And like the game ball in the land of your muse.
Face to face,
Again and again!
But pay and take it;
And, play the match to win the game! !
Play the ball,
Kick the ball,
And like the African Cup of Nations!
Race, ace, face, brace, mace, place, lace;
But words are things upon a thought,
And like something long lost! !
However, play the ball into the net to win the game.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Greet, Meet And To Brag
My eyes never left the ball.
Afterall...
I became disciplined to keep my focus on it.
And when I joined on the field with others,
Who made claims they came with aims to play...
In a way to prove with me they could complete.
My eyes never left the ball to reach.
My eyes never left the ball not at all.
And when it was thrown in the air others stared.
But my eyes were right there to catch it...
To run with it and score a goal.
I came on the field prepared to win.
Not to say I just came to play.
Like others who came just to huddle.
My eyes never left the ball. afterall...
I did not come to greet, meet nor to brag,
With embellished exaggerations...
Of what I could do or had done in my past.
My eyes never left the ball...they couldn't.
And I was there on the field to win not pretend,
I came just to play to socialize and go away.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Take A Bow!
When you're feeling way above 'par',
And your golf ball is travelling far,
With a 'birdie' to give you a start,
Golfing is an art.
When an 'eagle' soars high in the sky,
As within a deep 'bunker' you try,
To extricate neatly your ball,
Golfing is the call.
When your 'club' just doesn't impel
Your first 'shot' to go very well,
You can't always 'iron' out the fault,
Golfing is difficult.
Now the 'swing' that keeps the ball rolling,
Will need some careful controlling, .
But then down the 'fairway' it flies,
Golfing is exercise.
When you 'angle' your ball at the 'flag',
And you suddenly encounter a snag,
Once the ball goes straight in the 'hole',
Golfing is your goal.
If you're 'putting' well, out on the green,
And your 'stroke' is one worth being seen,
Then go on my friend, take a bow,
Golfing is a WOW!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Eleven rules of football
I took my little boy
to a nearby football pitch
He said he was tired
of playing hide and seek
He now wanted a football
to play around and kick
As he clutched my hand
I spoke to him
and tried to make him understand
the eleven rules of football
taking into consideration
that he was quite small
Now rule number one
Football is made of eleven strong men
When one or two are naughty
you may still get away
with playing nine or ten
Rule number two
When a member of your crew
hits the ball into the net
A goal is scored
that I can place a bet
For I am very sure
Rule number three
The maximum number of players
you can substitute is three
It does not cost a dime
It is totally free
Rule number four
There are rules you must comply with
When a team commits an offense
named a foul
before the game can commence
A small advantage has to be given
to the otherside
Rule number five
A freekick
is given after a foul
Sometimes awarded after
unnecessary dives
Rule number six
When you are shown a card that is yellow
Its time for your temper to mellow
or you will get the referee quite mad
and he will dismiss you with a red card
Rule number seven
A penality is like heaven
It is awarded
when a player breaks the rule
maybe by using his hand as a tool
to play the ball inside the penalty box
its time for him to go back to school
Rule number eight
A thrownin
Is when the ball is kicked out of the field
It's one of footballs favorite sins
Rule number nine
Offside is
When you are the only one running
alone to score a winning goal
you must hesitate
till you see a single soul
Rule number ten
A game lasts
for ninety minutes
You are beat
When your team has less goals than the other
That is when you must admit defeat
Rule number eleven
when your team is losing
you have to sing something amusing
saying
All we want is a goal
While we are dressed in coloured charcoal
Now my little boy
I said
These are the eleven rules of football
lets go and practise inside the sports hall
Copyright 2005 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God's miracle
Say not
That this is just a game.
As I watch the little boys play
After a heavy school day
He goes straight to the field,
And there he is in his element
Raising up the dust
As he scores that goal.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As the boys make their football
Collecting plastic from the dumps
And cutting ropes that were washing lines.
As the boys create a pitch
Or just play on the road,
They take sticks or stones
And they build a goal.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As these boys return home at night
Return to be whipped after their delight
The ball will be smashed,
The plastic seperated from the rope
And the field will be taken.
To the farmers and goat herders it will be given
But the boys collect themselves, with undying determination
And they go back to playing football.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As the scout sees that young player
And he is sent to England
Maybe he will play with Man U or maybe Inter.
He sees a world far from home
From sunny rays to raindropp beats.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As that girl plays on the boy's team
She raises rumours,
As people see her and say she will not marry
She drops her bucket of water and goes to be goalie.
The boys boo and make fun of her
But they know she is a very good player.
And she is an example to other little girls
Who long for that ball and not for pearls.
Say not
That this is just a game.
As old men sleep in bars
Just so they can see that match
Of their favourite English team,
And when they reach home their angry wives will ask
'What will that team give you if they win? '
The men will go to bed silent
But their minds know the answer
'They will give me pride, and honour.'
Say not
That this is just a game.
As the world cup starts
Linking whole nations.
And in that stadium
There is no such thing as rich, poor, colour or religion.
Because everybody will mix
As they go to cheer their country,
And their players from Eto'o to Messi.
Say not
That this is just a game.
When that player has the ball
At the box for a penalty
And it is the finale
When all hearts will stop.
And all breaths are held.
And when that goal is scored,
Each cheer is louder than the next
Every person with smiles so big
Both in the stands and on the field
There stand a connection of confusion,
But also true happiness.
Say not
That this is just a game.
When the team will hold that cup
And the whole country becomes a champion
Every man, every woman, and all the children.
It's name goes down in history
And it will be known as a cup holding nation.
Say not
That this is just a game.
No, this is football.
This is God's miracle,
To that little boy and girl
To that man who knows the answer
To not one but all,
And to you and me as well
Say not
That this is just a game.
For this, this is football!
poem by Mariam de Haan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Number Eighteen
She, s real tough and lean
her number is eighteen
when it comes to soccer
she, s no talker
its in her soul
to make another goal
when she, s on the field
she plays hard and doesnt yield
it was such joy
to see her take the ball from a big boy
when she kicked the ball
it soared past them all
without pause or toll
it went into the goal
she, s a little beauty queen
but on the field she, s real mean
she, s my little number eighteen
poem by Ernest Clary
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My love is like a Soccer Game....
My love is Like a Soccer Game
the field is my life I am the player
the ball is my heart and the goal
is you, ill keep hitting the keeper
till the ball gets closer to you...
^^..
poem by Henric Kristoffer Miranda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Ball
At home
my dog and child
play the foot ball
Dog kick the ball
Clild also kick
Ball was...
Run to run...
Suddnley dog
Bite the ball
The ball was blast...
Chil was cry
Dog was wow...wow...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Meat Ball
(l. singer-h.zaret)
The little man walked up and down
To find an eating place in town
He read the menu through and through
To see what fifteen cents could do
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
He told the waiter near at hand
A simple dinner he had planned
The guests were startled one and all to hear
That waiter loudly call
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, this here gent wants one meat ball
Little man felt very bad
One meat ball was all he had
And in his dreams he hears that call
Ya gets no bread with one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
Well, you get no bread with one meat ball
Well, he could afford but one meat ball
One meat ball, one meat ball
All he could afford was one meat ball
One meat ball
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Keepin'-Th'Big-Ball Bouncin
Caught up in the nonsense.
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncing.
And waiting for some annoucement...
To stop that loud sound that pounds!
Caught up in the nonsense.
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncing.
Yet hypnotized to the aspect,
Folks stay ready to pounce.
But no one moves to unload the packs,
Stacked on their backs.
Mounting are their burdens,
And some like it like that!
Caught up in the nonsense.
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncing.
Bitten lips,
Bleeding blood.
Taking it.
With the moaning.
Sighing in their pain with pleas...
As if they seek someone to please.
And squeezing sweat from handkerchieves...
In fields they're proud to plow,
But gone!
Caught up in the nonsense.
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncing.
With a dragging of their feet...
To feed defeat on urban streets.
And reminiscing this so easy,
As if this beat succeeds.
And it does.
A nothingness achieved...
Like this does.
Caught up in the nonsense.
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncing.
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncing.
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncing.
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncing.
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncing.
And...
A nothingness achieved,
Like this does.
Ahhhh...bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-b all bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncin'
Ahhhh...bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ba ll bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncin'
Ahhhh...bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ba ll bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncin'
Ahhhh...bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ba ll bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncin'
Keepin'-th'big-ball bouncin'
And nothing gets achieved...
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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