I Cannot Whistle Now Like In My Younger Days?
['I 'll pour out my spirit upon all men
your sons and your daughters will prophesy;
your young men see visions,
and your old men will dream dreams.'
This is what I will do in the last days,
God says; Jesus would be handed over to you;
and you killed him, by letting sinful men nail him to the cross.]-The New Testament
When youth practise football in the ground
I just watch them sitting on this wooden bench.
I feel like an old Referee and they don't hear my
broken whistle even if I blow louder?
O I am a colour blind instead of the green flag
I wave the red but they don't mind
and play their own game.
I walk towards the goal post
Remember those days my strong kicks
Ball that flies through the eyes of the net
But now I entangle in the whole net
and no strength to loosen the knots?
I left home and my beloved wife says
'Don't worry I love you so much.'
'I love you too! ' I replied.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Visions
Prove to me, what I see
What I hear, my God
Prove to me, what I see
What I hear, my God
Take my pride, capture my flesh
Take my flesh, capture my pride
Take my pride, capture my flesh
Take my flesh, capture my pride
With the righteous wisdom
Spiritual insight
Check the knowledge
And it shall come to pass
Afterword
That I will pour out my spirit on all flesh
And your sons and your daughters shall prophesied
Your old men shall dream dreams
And your young men shall see visions
Jesus Christ is what I see
Jesus Christ is what I see
Jesus Christ is what I see
Jesus Christ is what I see
Prove to me, who I see
Who I hear, my God
Prove to me, who I see
Who I hear, my God
song performed by by P.O.D.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Old Man's Comforts and how he gained them
You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
The few locks which are left you are grey;
You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man,
Now tell me the reason I pray.
In the days of my youth, Father William replied,
I remember'd that youth would fly fast,
And abused not my health and my vigour at first
That I never might need them at last.
You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
And pleasures with youth pass away,
And yet you lament not the days that are gone,
Now tell me the reason I pray.
In the days of my youth, Father William replied,
I remember'd that youth could not last;
I thought of the future whatever I did,
That I never might grieve for the past.
You are old, Father William, the young man cried,
And life must be hastening away;
You are chearful, and love to converse upon death!
Now tell me the reason I pray.
I am chearful, young man, Father William replied,
Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remember'd my God!
And He hath not forgotten my age.
poem by Robert Southey
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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
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In The Local Football Oval
In the floodlight lit football oval each weeknight after tea
I hear the young men shouting as they train diligently
As their coach puts them through their training drills their exuberance I hear
They sprint about in the chill night air in the coldest time of year.
Some of the young players under twenty they have their dreams of fame
That they yet may become famous in Australia's only indigenous game
To play in an Australian Football League Grand final would be a dream come true
A dream that's dreamt by many and realized by only a few.
In the well lit football oval they kick ball and sprint around
And in their endeavour to become match fit they cover miles of ground
And they perform push ups and pull ups and natural muscle in this way they gain
For one cannot expect sporting success if for success you do not train.
In the local football oval where dreams are born and die
The shoutings of the young men echoes to the starry sky
In the chill evening air of late Autumn you hear them cheer and shout
As they race through the oval and chase the ball about.
I hear them every evening from six thirty till after eight
In the local football oval five hundred metres from my front gate
The town's young budding football stars not quite yet in their prime
And they dream of sporting greatness that will withstand the test of time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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I travel fifty years back when I hear your melancholy song
'Though he's black very handsome and a strong character,
Really a loving father.'
Mom always says when she's alive.
Oh! Dear Father, you left us almost fifty years ago,
Under an Aircraft Hangar you met a tragic accident.
Yes! Mom is right and you struggled to die for three days
And how sad when you closed eyes forever?
You wanted to make your three sons famous Soccer players,
But the youngest already left and lives in your proximity,
The eldest idles on Motherland and I am here like a football.
They kick me here & there but not into the goal
And I wait till the referee whistles saying that the game is over.
*Who keeps a dollar under my sheet?
I dedicate this poem to Luther.Vandross for his magical song* 'To dance with my father again'.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Obsessed With Football(Soccer)
When the feet kiss the ball,
for all tackles u make,
divine is the feel,
for FOOTBALL is the game,
hell lot of energy,
but passion it demands,
to master the game,
& have its command,
There it goes, into the net,
with a slight li'l bend,
all celebrate, and u get it all,
what all you commend,
with all your strength,
you embrace the ball,
and your timely interception,
saves the GOAL! ! ! ! ! ,
completely exhausted of the effort,
yet, you make the run,
coz the feel of the BALL is gr8,
and feeling it is gr8 fun,
what all it means,
only, a fanatic understands,
no matter whether he is playing,
or is sitting in the stands,
Abhi plays Beckham,
Gopi is Carlos,
Rambo is Maradonna,
and on..., the feel goes...
we have it in our blood,
we have it in our soul,
so are we,
OBSESSED WITH FOOTBALL......
(dedicated to the most beautiful game i have ever played....... I m lovin it.......)
poem by Abhineet Sharma
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If There Is Something
If there is something
That I might find
Look around corners
Try to find peace of mind, I say
Where would you go
If you were me?
Trying to keep a straight course is not easy
Somebody special
Looking at me
Same kind of reaction
Wanted to crie with me
Lived here and there
Its too easy to say
But the service just a game a game-ame-ame-ame
I would do anything for you
I would come all day
I would swim all the oceans blue hu
I would walk a thousand miles
Reveal my secrets
More than enough for me to share
I will put roses around the door
Sit in the garden
Growing potatoes by the score
Shake your head girl, with your ponytail
Takes me right back [when you were young]
Throw your precious gifts into the air
Watch them fall down [when you were young]
Your love - feel you put them on the ground
It use to fall apart [when you were young]
Your love - feel you put them on the ground
The hills were higher [when you were young]
Your love - feel you put them on the ground
The trees were taller then [when you were young]
Your love - feel you put them on the ground
The grass was greener [when you were young]
Your love could feel you with devotion
Used to walk upon [when you were young]
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Young Fellow Next Door
The young fellow next door barracks for Hawthorn
And after school he kicks the egg shaped ball
He wants to be as great as Jason Dunstall
And that his name football historians will recall.
He wants to don the brown and gold of Hawthorn
And star in a grand final winning team
But the road ahead won't be easy for Tony
If one day he's to realize his dream.
If he is to be a great footy player
He must train hard for twelve months every year
He must impress the coaches and football scouts
And stay well clear of narcotics and beer.
The young fellow next door says he'll be famous
And that for the Hawthorn Football club he'll Play
And that he will be the talk of all Australia
Ten years from now on the grand final day.
A nine year old with big dreams is the schoolboy Tony
He says i'll be an Aussie sporting great
And i will lead Hawthorn back to glory
And the footy fans my name will celebrate.
On every street there is one like young Tony
Who has this dream of an enduring fame
Who is the hero of the great Grand Final
And kicks the famous goal that wins the game.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My Nan wants a game!
My Nan just loves her football
she goes to games every week
but she wants to play as well
saying she's strong and in her peak.
But Nan your in your eighties
and your about six stone wet
you have got two dodgy knees
so how can you put a ball in the net.
Your eyes aren't as sharp these days
and you can't walk without your stick
your out of puff walking up your stairs
so a football you'd struggle to kick.
But she's bought herself a pair of boots
and a nice new shiny football kit
all she needs is a team to play for
as her doctor says she's ready and fit.
So keep an eye out for a white haired lady
the oldest footballer playing the game
she'll be easy to spot on the pitch
as she'll be the one with the Zimmer frame!
poem by Kevin Halls
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My Ancient Mountain
By lakes and sandy shores,
Tender gladness to look at thee;
Oh my ancient mountain of love,
Come back to me.
Of gentle breathings,
Like a stranger's face;
Far off is he who knows what comes after this hour.
Of love's desire and fear,
The bloom is vanished from my life;
But to the quiet moon,
I shall grieve down this blow.
In silent icicles,
Clothing the palpable like my youth;
Oh beloved woman of my heart,
Come and feel my soul.
Of the sole unquiet thing,
Of the mind's unstable acts,
Like a sinful and the most miserable man;
Let this sleep prolong my dreams.
Between the heat of the sun,
Between the tufts of snow,
Between now and my future toils,
Sweet to thee my dream woman;
Come and be with me.
For many a day in the wild despair,
This ship is sinking and i don't know why;
But now where we are, i cannot tell.
The swell is strong but, my faith will lead me on;
Like the stormy winds to blow my mind.
Through the deep of my love,
Like the battle and the breeze together;
Sweep through the deep at last,
Whose love?
Whose flag?
Whose ship?
Whose face?
From within and without to seach for you;
To muse up with my lover from above and below.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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
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Today... 'Abba
'Abba, Father', Jesus said, 'Take this cup from me'
whilst praying in the garden of Gethsemane.
'I know that all things are possible for You
and that there is nothing that You cannot do.'
'Yet not what I will but what You will, ' He said
as in deep anguish great drops of blood He bled.
Then He went on to complete salvations plan
agreed by the Godhead before time began.
'Abba, Father, ' like Jesus we too can cry
as we pour out our soul to the Lord on high.
For the sons and daughters of our God are we
and never more in slavery shall we be.
The Spirit of Christ is dwelling in our heart
and causes all the fear and dread to depart.
For our Lord Jesus drained the bitter cup dry
when He bowed His head upon the cross to die.
Abba Father, the Spirit has testified
that I am the child for whom He has died.
An heir of God and co-heir with Jesus Christ
sharing in His suffering and sacrifice.
No more an orphan for the Father I know
I'm in His family where life's riches flow.
Led by the Spirit I gaze into His face
as God's love floods into my soul by His grace.
We are sons and daughters of the living God
and we walk the same pathway that Jesus trod.
All saved by His grace and purchased with His blood
and trusting in the promises of our God.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box)
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
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Tense And Nervous At The Match
Massive game today
butterflies in my stomach
can feel my heart beating
beads of sweat on my brow.
But I'm not even playing
I'm just a loyal supporter
but we need the win so much
a fan who loves his football club.
The referee has blown his whistle
our fans are singing and chanting
the away fans are singing as well
they need three points as much as us.
The game is swinging to and fro
they have hit the post and so have we
then with five minutes till half time
they are awarded a dodgy penalty.
Our keeper tries to put the taker off
he jumps up and down on his line
he strikes it hard to the goalies left
the keeper alas dives to his right instead.
One down at the interval it's off to the bar
us fans moaning about the dreadful decision
then after a pint it's back to the stands
to start cheering on our team once again.
We go on the attack right from the start
our striker bangs one on to their bar
then we get a bit of luck at last
the referee has given us a dodgy penalty.
There keeper jumps up and down on his line
but our taker stands with hands on hips
then cooly trots up and hits it to the right
there keeper dives down to his left.
One all now with ten minutes to go
us fans are going crazy getting behind the team
then we all end up hugging and leaping about
because our striker has smacked it in the net.
The ref blows his whistle it's the end of the game
we all stand and clap our beloved team off
it's off to the pub for a great night out
it feels so good when your team gets a win!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Football
I'm a football baby,
Rollin' round the field.
I've been passed and fumbled,
Till I don't know what I feel.
Everybody's the same,
They're all footballs too.
Setting up the big play
And trying to score.
I'm a football baby
In a football game
I'm a football baby
Run--kick
Life's a football game,
As every chump and champ knows.
We don't touch, we collide,
Till we're worn out inside.
We're kicking each other,
Right where it hurts,
Setting up the big play,
And trying to score.
I'm a football baby,
In a football game
I'm a football baby,
I'm a football baby,
In a football game
I'm a football baby,
Block--pass
I'm a football baby,
In a football game
I'm a football baby,
Run---kick---hit---goal .
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cool An Green An Shady
This song was first released on the back home again album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Saturdays holidays, easy afternoon
Lazy days, summer days
Nothin much to do
Rainy days of better days
Hangin out inside
Rainy days and city ways
Make me want to hide some place
Cool an green an shady
Find yourself a piece of grassy ground
Lay down close your eyes
Find yourself and maybe lose yourself
While your free spirit flies
Find yourself a piece of grassy ground
Lay down close your eyes
Find yourself and maybe lose yourself
While your free spirit flies
August skies are lullabies, promises to keep
Dandelions and twisting vines
Clover at your feet
Memories of aspen leaves
Trembling in the wind
Honeybees and fantasies
Where to start again some place
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Cool an green an shady
Words and music by john denver and joe henry
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Was Young When I Left Home
Written by Bob Dylan
Recorded on the Minnesota Hotel Tape (Dec 22, 1961)
Tabbed by Eyolf strem
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Open G tuning (DGdgbd')
G 000000
G' 000430
D 000210
C 002010
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sorta made it up on a train. Huh, oh I'm here. This must be good for somebody, this sad song. I know it's good for somebody. If it ain't for me, it's good for somebody. I just talked about it, huh huh.
G
I was young when I left home
G' D C
and I been a-rambling 'round.
D
And I never wrote a letter to my home.
G G' D C
To my home, lord to my home.
D G
And I never wrote a letter to my home.
It was just the other day,
I was bringing home my pay
when I met an old friend I used to know.
Said your mother's dead and gone,
baby sister's all gone wrong
and your daddy needs you home right away.
Not a shirt on my back,
not a penny on my name.
But I can't go home thisaway.
Thisaway, lord lord lord.
And I can't go home thisaway.
If you miss the train I'm on,
count the days I'm gone.
You will hear that whistle blow a hundred miles.
Hundred miles, honey baby, lord lord lord,
and you'll hear that whistle blow a hundred miles.
I'm playing on a track,
ma would come and whoop me back
on them trussels down by old Jim McKay's.
When I pay the debt I owe to the commissary store,
I will pawn my watch and chain and go home.
Go home, lord lord lord.
I will pawn my watch and chain and go home.
Used to tell ma sometimes
when I see them riding blind,
gonna make me a home out in the wind.
In the wind, lord in the wind.
Make me a home out in the wind.
I don't like it in the wind,
I go back home again,
but I can't go home thisaway.
Thisaway, lord lord lord,
and I can't go home thisaway.
I was young when I left home
and I been all rambling 'round.
And I never wrote a letter to my home.
To my home lord lord lord.
And I never wrote a letter to my home.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ultimate Hamburger
The great Hamburg football team
is to lay out a cemetery for supporters
next to its pitch – in the form, of course,
of another pitch whose grass
is eternal, whose goal is the final goal…
and then, the appropriate memorial inscriptions:
‘Heinz – the Referee blew time on December 15…’
‘At the end of the day, Gunther,
that’s what it’s all about…’
‘Joshi – scored his final goal on July 3…’
‘Fritz – took an early bath on October 14…’
‘Rikki – good to the last kick…’
‘ Alfi – now shouting in the terraces
on the other side…’
‘ Lorenz – always on God’s first team…’
‘Tomi – called to the great away fixture
in the sky on March 27…’
‘Birgit – my beloved home supporter…’
‘Denni – always in training…’
‘ Klaus – hung up his boots on May 15…’
‘Kurt – a life without a penalty…’
‘Bart – his final match drew to a close…’
‘My beloved Else – a Hamburger
tasty to the last bite…’
‘Reinhold – he played the field until the last…’
I think we’ll blow the whistle on this one now.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Youth Culture Killed My Dog
Youth culture (youth culture)
Youth culture (youth culture)
Youth culture (youth culture)
Youth culture (youth culture)
Youth culture killed my dog
And i don't think it's fair (i don't think it's fair)
And his suicide can be justified
By the tastemakers, how they cried and cried and so
Bacharach and david used to write his favorite songs
Never, never, never would he worry, he'd just run and fetch the ball
But the night lights and my dog's life aren't exactly one and the same
Youth culture killed my dog
And i don't think it's fair (i don't think it's fair)
And the judgement made in the city of hate
Just broke his spirit so
Bacharach and david used to write his favorite songs
Never, never, never would he worry, he'd just run and fetch the ball
But the hiphop and the white funk just blew away my puppy's mind
I don't understand what you did to my dog
And i don't understand what you did to my dog
I don't understand what you did to my dog
I don't understand what you did to my dog
Youth culture killed my dog (youth culture killed my dog)
And i don't think it's fair (i don't think it's fair)
And his suicide can be justified
By the tastemakers, how they cried and cried and so
Youth culture (youth culture)
Youth culture (youth culture)
Broke his spirit so (broke his spirit so)
Broke his spirit so
Youth culture (youth culture)
(youth culture)
Youth culture (youth culture)
(youth culture)
Broke his spirit so (broke his spirit so)
Broke his spirit so
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Football Fan
They love their football team
their loyalty is never in doubt
they rarely ever miss a match
from the stands they scream and shout.
Even when the teams playing poor
and their favourite player is off key
that will never stop them from going
as the ground is where they want to be.
Football is always on their minds
they think about it night and day
non football fans think they must be crazy
watching men kicking a ball home and away.
Relationships can become strained and tense
as football takes the leading role
partners can become irritable and even jealous
when the fan talks for hours about a wonder goal.
The fan even dreams of football in their sleep
shouting out and butting the pillow with their head
they jump up and down as if they've scored a goal
and kick their partner out of the bed.
Yes the football fan is a breed apart
slightly eccentric and a thick skinned soul
when all that matters to them in life
is seeing their favourite player score a winning goal!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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