A Comment on the Ethics of Millionaire Footballers
' I wuz innocent' he cries,
his hands upraised in righteousness,
the gun still smoking in his right hand,
a handful of his opponent's shirt in his left,
his arm smeared with mud from the ball's illicit touch,
his boot toecapped in the sunlight,
gleaming wet with his rival's blood
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Smokin The Herb Again
Yo yo yo, yo, yo yo what
Smoking
Were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Damn, I really wish I could find my sack man
Must have got eaten by pac-man
If I had it I could smoke again
Smoke with my friends to the very end
But now Im trying to comprehend
Whens the next time that Ill smoke again
I need to know, please tell when will we smoke again
I got a buddy, his name is ted
Hes got a problem going through his head
He doesnt know how to puff puff give
But I like so Ill teach him and Ill let him live
Everyday we teach him right
When he divides, we have to fight
But at the end of the trying day
We says its ok and we puff away
Just the other night, I saw you, you were smokin not sharing and being tight
But thats ok, you are my friend, well smoking until the very end
The lessons that we put out, we order you to try it out
Its nice to smoke, yea thats what were all about
Smoking
Were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Hey, ho, hey ho, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho
I smoke, you smoke, we smoke, they smoke, smoking everywhere
I smoke, you smoke, we smoke, they smoke, smoking all together
Smoking
Were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
song performed by by Incubus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Innocent World
I used to live in an innocent world
I had a car and a pretty blond girlfriend
We was too young to know what we were doing
And anyway I was just fooling around
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
With a cute little monkey on my back
And a total disregard for the facts
Id run away and never get back
From my innocent world
There aint no reason to tell no lie
When youre young and youve got a lot of pie
Now I slink around like a killer
The things they say are just a lot of filler
In my mind, in my mind
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Running, laughing in the sun
And always having lots of fun
Smoking dope and just being young
In my innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
With a cute little monkey on my back
And a total disregard for the facts
Id run away and never get back
From my innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
Innocent innocent innocent world
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Rondeau
To iron a shirt, first lightly spray,
then left and right hand interplay;
with one to press and one to lead,
the path's prepared, the creases freed
and gathered wrinkles fade away.
The woman's old, in slow decay,
she's taken care of every day,
yet restless hands still feel the need
to iron a shirt.
Her mind now tends to disarray,
yet sometimes skills, long practiced, stay
and though she lacks her former speed,
her family and friends concede,
she's always known the proper way
to iron a shirt.
poem by Diane Hine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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America Cries
America cries.
Her economy dies.
Killed by people you can't trust.
America cries as we bite the dust.
America cries. Now come the whys.
No one could see it?
You've got to be kidding.
America cries as the Neros were fiddling.
The capitalist system is so out of hand.
The capitalists have taken over our land.
What's left for us?
Not much you see
except more taxes for you and for me.
Lending and spending, spending and lending,
the crying and weeping will be never-ending.
America cries and says its goodbyes
to times of financial prosperity.
The financial sting that's played like a game
stock market crashes?
foreclosures to blame?
No. America you played into the hands.
They've dumbed us down so no one understands.
America cries. Where were the wise?
They left long ago and will not return.
America cries for she refuses to learn.
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0158 for FJR; here's to poetry
This is the illicit still of poetry
half hidden in the dry ditch beyond the hedge
firewater drunk from an old tin mug
it takes the skin off your throat
and drops it into your glowing stomach
and you don’t ask but maybe
wild crab-apples, turnips,
a handful of stolen barley, an old boot,
perhaps an incautious rat
who drowned in the middle of
drinking a wild dream
such as rat never had before
this the raw stuff
untaxed by rules
out here in the unfenced fields
not much spelling, punctuation,
vocabulary, grammar,
metre, euphony; if Emily
had been a prizefighter
she’d have breathed like this
but drunk, frozen breath steaming in the night air
seated on an old apple box
the stars never were so bright
the heart so near
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tourtured Child
Tortured child sitting on the window pane
Innocent boy, hurt through inner pain
Bleeding arms cut by serrated knives
Ends in the loss of more innocent lives
Bruised little girl sleeping in her little bed
While she lies she wonders in her head
“Why did he touch me? Why all the lies? ”
Ends in the loss of more innocent lives
Young lonely girl sitting in her chair
All alone crying in her lair
Hanging from the rope as her friend cries
Ends in the loss of more innocent lives
Beautiful little girl covered with tears
Down the stairs lie all her fears
Though she cries she sits alone
Her beatings sting, straight to the bone
She refuses to scream and yet she cries
Ends in the loss of more innocent lives
Black crows sitting on the branches crying out
Dark clouds hovering about like the veins of God
Children screaming like
There is no hope of salvation
Trees swaying in the breeze like life
It keeps going without a care
poem by Melanie Hannon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Liberation
(into) the birth of carnage will you
but watch when innocent life is born
and destined to an unjustified wretched existence?
i refuse to deny their path or ignore their suffering
i fight for liberation.
ashes on ashes we build their fate with bloodshed upon our hands.
cries - oh we whisper of their death in blood,
of their misery to flesh a vicious price
driven to nightmare while we could sleep
i refuse to deny their pain or ignore their suffering
i fight for liberation
ashes on ashes we build their fate with bloodshed upon our hands.
ashes on ashes tread our path to degradation
their blood upon your hands prized with gifts of dominaton.
their blood upon your hands our fall towards defilement
song performed by by Undying
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A moment missed
Remember when I asked you out?
And how you shed a tear.
Remember how I told you.
That I'd stay for all those years.
Remember our first kiss?
Under a moonlit sky.
Remember the fireworks.
That shone in your eyes.
A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.
Remember all the promises?
That we never seemed to keep.
Remember all the times.
I held you when you'd weep.
Remember all the walks we took?
On the beach at midnight.
Remember when we were perfect?
And everything felt right.
A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.
Remember that rose I sent you?
For our schools winter dance.
Remember when we broke up?
And I begged for a second chance.
Remember when you got pregant.
And I stayed right by your side.
Remember how I bought that ring?
And took your hand in mine.
A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.
Remember when I became a dad?
And held my baby girl.
Remember how we fought for names.
And ended up with Pearl.
Remember her first birthday?
And that pretty teddy bear.
Remember her old blankie?
That she carried everywhere.
A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.
Remember how you left me?
With not a word goodbye.
Remember how you took her?
And left me there to die.
Remember all those years?
That you spent far away.
Remember our dying love?
That was ment to always stay.
A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.
Remember the years after?
When you became a whore.
Remember how you took off?
And walked through that same door.
Remember when you got drunk?
And they took our Pearl away.
Remember how I took the fall.
Even though you were too blame.
A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.
Remember how you changed?
And forgot what use to be.
Remember how you hit her?
When our girl had just turned three.
Remember all those moments?
That we thought would last forever.
Remember all our memories?
That we had shared together.
A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.
Remember when you lost your future?
And chose to slice your wrists.
Remember the note you sent me?
Saying please remember this.
Today it's three years later.
And our baby's turning five.
Today she has no mommy.
Because you chose to die.
A smeared kiss.
A moment missed.
poem by Silence Dogood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood on your hands sister
You said you loved him told him you cared
Promised him forever together
Instead you broke his heart into countless pieces
You drew tears of blood from the Prince of hearts
Hurt his pride with your insolent words
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
I saw the pain in his eyes
I felt the bitter tears that he cried
Kicked a man when he was down
You left him a broken man
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
From a loving giving sensitive Prince amongst men
You took your pleasure and stifled his laughter
You took your fill and threw him upon the scrapheap
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
But his precious tears are wasted
Wasted on a dry barren heart like yours
For his heart is alive and flourishing
Whilst yours is dead and lifeless
He is the victor
Whilst you the loser
You may wash your hands of him
But the stains will never fade
Blood on your hands sister
Blood on your hands
poem by Lilac Wine
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Passing Of A Heart
O touch me with your hands--
For pity's sake!
My brow throbs ever on with such an ache
As only your cool touch may take away;
And so, I pray
You, touch me with your hands!
Touch--touch me with your hands.--
Smooth back the hair
You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair
That I did dream its gold would wear alway,
And lo, to-day--
O touch me with your hands!
Just touch me with your hands,
And let them press
My weary eyelids with the old caress,
And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way,
That Death may say:
He touched her with his hands.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sicker Soccer
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,
he pulls the striker’s shirt, of course…; the ref, the commentators
remain silent. We, we were told off at nursery classes,
for pulling little Johnny’s shirt… I mean, for Pele’s sake,
what is this about? ! ..
then at the end of the game (one side’s got to win,
you’d think the fans are like they used to be,
paid good money to watch a good match)
the managers spit out their gum, pat each other on the back
whilst walking away, and not looking each other in the eye…
none of that love of the game stuff, the sparkling eyes
of those who love their sport, shaking hands
with a worthy opponent…ha…
and as for cricket – ‘sledging’ – can you believe it?
making sneery remarks to the batsmen while you stand in close…
never happened when sport was something you
enjoyed, loved to do, enjoyed the challenge and the company…
‘oh it’s all in good fun’… yeah?
tennis, being one-on-one, ain’t so bad; psych yourself up
but put the venom in your shots; but then,
when the match ends, run up to the net (or so they
used to) , eyes meet, shake hands, a few words? not
so often – shake hands without making
eye-contact, off to thank the umpire who's
up there out of reach…
it’s like some sorta natural law: when sport is a game
like life, the game’s the thing, and well-played, sir; pay
your ‘sportsmen’, your mercenaries, in the name
of ‘popular entertainment’ and big business, and
something disappears, as revenues increase;
how long before poetry becomes
a ‘spectator sport’ with a World Slam League out there
and TV rights?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Our stars have trodden all the milk paths
our stars have trodden all the milk paths
spilled like dust for the souls to split
heaven and earth and the hell in stones cast
learn every single pebble in its aftermaths
murmuring through the galaxy that fails
at first whispers stricken by the lip crack - its holes
breathing stardust sucked in the mouth - its halls
mastering the silence and all its ways
still there we stood
still there we could
talk to the trees and survive uncut
by the grass swords wet with a dropp of dew
shivering an early blood
in a nightly touch handful of the blue
they rained they crashed they touched the soil
chained in the castles talking through the walls
settled in our bodies spirit sealed forgiven
the first day of silence the first evil word
just begging for some more time to be given
a silent prayer heavenward heard
to hold a star in the first of its falls
now we wait and wait and weigh the day
when the sky parchment silently unrolls
to gather above all the silent cries
to gather the dust and its silent calls
so that we can
that we can again
talk to the trees and still be uncut
by the grass swords wet in a dropp of dew
shivering an early blood
in a nightly touch handful of the blue
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Execution Day
I stare in the mirror, my eyes refuse to blink
Sympathy for me, hell I cant even think
Send for the iceman, my temperature is startin to rise
Ive heard it before n I know the truth from the lies
Chorus:
Is it any wonder heavens racked with thunder
And all of my dreams go under like the fallin rain
Execution day, execution day (execution day, execution day) - execution day
Execution day
Voices like locusts keep smothering me
Twisting and turning my senses like a cyclone at sea
Dont touch me now, wont let you crucify me
You aint no damn jury, you cant pass no sentence on me
(chorus)
Whose blood on whose hands, wheres the promises they preached for this land
Standin there with bibles clutched in their hand
Whose blood on whose hands, whose blood on whose hands
(whose blood, whose hands)
Execution day, execution day
Father my hands are shakin, I see the light, its breakin
Show me the way to set my soul free, I hope it rains on me
Let it rain on me
Execution day, execution day
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am an opponent of Saddam Hussein, but an opponent also, of the sanctions that have killed a million Iraqi children and an opponent of the United States' apparent desire to plunge the Middle East into a new and devastating war.
quote by George Galloway
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Bequeathed
Illicit trde,
Explained,
Globally;
Shipped from South Africa to meet you,
And the annual value is now recorded in your book.
Bequeathed, bate, heated, at, he, had, tea, eat, ate, heed, hed, head;
And like the muse of your love in South Africa! !
But, this illicit trade is estimated at One Billion Dollars!
Bequeathed, be, bee, beat, bath, head, bathed, bat, tab, heat, hat, had;
With the acts of your muse in this illicit business! !
But, try to think of the people your are destroying;
For, your illicit money will not gain you the heavens!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Yo' Bootay to Hoottang Boot
Youcanbuttonupyourcollarfromthebottomtothetop.
So-no-onebothersyouforwhatyou'vegot.
Pretendi ngyou'vegotsomethingyouhavenot.
Or-youcoul dchoosetokeepitlockeduptight.
So-youdon'thavet odropittofeedanappetite.
It's-yo'bootayhoottan gtopootang,
Whoyouchoosetoscrewandboot.
It's yo'bootayhoottangtopootang,
Whoyouchoosetoscrewandboot.
Letothersm isunderstandyourstimulationindebate.
Inplayerh atecasestheywannamandate.
Letothersdecidewhosi detoride...
Withwideyedliestheytrytohide.
I t's-yo'bootayhoottangtopootang,
Whoyouchoosetoscrewandboot.
It's yo'bootayhoottangtopootang,
Whoyouchoosetoscrewandboot.
It's-yo'bo otaytohoottang,
Whoyoupootang.
Hoot!
It's-yo'bootaytohoottang,
Whoyoupootang.
Hoot!
Youcanbuttonupyourcollarfromthebottomtoth etop.
So-no-onebothersyouforwhatyou'vegot.
Pretendingyou'vegotsomethingyouhavenot.
It 's-yo'bootaytohoottang,
Whoyoupootang.
Hoot!
It's-yo'bootaytohoottang,
Whoyoupootang.
Hoot!
Letothersmisunderstandyourstimulationinde bate.
Inplayerhatecasestheywannamandate.
Le tothersdecidewhosidetoride...
Withwideyedliest heytrytohide.
It's-yo'bootayhoottangtopoot ang...boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
oooowww....
Boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
oooowww....
Boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
oooowww....
Boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
Yo'bootay to hoottang...boot!
oooowww....
Boot!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blotch
I compelled my hand-blotch to be a care
On this soul of mine. So far, my cares
Diminished, as bending was difficult for me
And old tables remained like my skin.
I wore a cardigan that day, and could it be
That my wearing of this item of clothing
Be strict and due to ancient nature,
Or the feature of an old saying
That forbade my age to enter history.
My hands tie meaning with my shirt
Or shall I say cardigan, just the sold one,
The one so forgiving of my age.
Age carries stiches,
I stretch my shirt, or cardigan,
And look at my hands.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oops (Oh My)
Tell u what i did last nite
I came home
Say about a quarter to 3
Still so high
Hypnotized
In a trance
From this body
So buttery brown
& tantalizing
U would have thought i needed help
From this feeling that i felt
So shook i had 2 catch my breath
Chorus
Ooops!
There goes my shirt up over my head
Oh my (oh my)
Ooops!
There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet
Oh my (oh my)
Oooo!
Some kind of touch
caressing my legs
Oh my (oh my)
Oooo!
I'm turning red
Who could this be?
I tried & i tried
To avoid
But this thang was happenin'
Swallowed my pride
Let it ride
& partied
But this body felt juz like mines
I got worried
I looked over to the left
A reflection of myself
That's y i couldn't catch my breath
Chorus
Ooops!
There goes my shirt up over my head
Oh my (oh my)
Ooops!
There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet
Oh my (oh my)
Oooo!
Some kind of touch
caressing my legs
Oh my (oh my)
Oooo!
I'm turning red
Who could this be?
(Tweet)i looked over to the left
(Missy)um i was looking so good i couldn't reject myself
(Tweet)i looked over to the left
(Missy)& i was feeling so good i had to touch myself
(Tweet)i looked over to the left
(Missy)i was eyeing my thighs butter pecan brown
(Tweet)i looked over to the left
(Missy)coming outta my shirt &then my skirt came down
Chorus
Ooops!
There goes my shirt up over my head
Oh my (oh my)
Ooops!
There goes my skirt droppin' to my feet
Oh my (oh my)
Oooops!
Some kind of touch
caressing my legs
Oh my (oh my)
Oooops!
I'm turning red
Who could this be?
song performed by by Missy Elliott
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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