Liberia Plays Soccer
When Beckham kicks the ball on a
soccer pitch in England, it
breaks through the opponent’s
defense and slams into the goal post.
It then continues over the heads of the
cheering spectators, over miles of oceans
and seas, and countries, and lands at the
feet of soccer-crazed Liberian men, who
immediately kick that same ball, again and
again, into that very goal post, in their living
rooms, in posh sport lounges, in hot, smelly
video clubs, around the ataye* tables, on the
buses, on the sidewalks. They keep kicking
that ball until somewhere in Europe, Drogba
kicks a different ball, into another goal post.
Then, Drogba’s ball comes to Liberia and the kicking begins anew.
*ataye – a hot drink, popular with Liberian males. The ataye tables have grown into informal political and social forums.
poem by Charlina Daitouah Smith
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Related quotes
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
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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
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Red demon
I want to be from there
I want to live there when the sun rise
I want to spend my life there
In the city of your imagine
In the city of your dreaming
In Manchester
No way
It was just a dream
But its possible to Manchester united be my dreaming team
Oh….yeah
This word I dream it more than once
In each match must to be a loser
But not for red demon
With Sir Alex Ferguson there is no chance only to win
My life, soul.and my heart all for red demon
They become cheep when I took a glimpse of the soccer eyes
If you look to Sir Alex Ferguson eyes
You will be relaxed to victor the match
Lets teach Chelsea how the win comes easily when we play against them
Chelsea is nothing without Drogba or who was fasting the goal in the world cup
Chelsea like the lady without a baby without them
Lets told them no champions league again
The champions for red demon only…..
There's no team in the world can face them
Or, to stop in them face
All the soccer there have an ambitious to win as stone
If you want a goal just pass the ball to golden boy or the player of the show
They're ready to do that all the time
If you want the ball next to the goal just mention to Giggs that
If you don’t wont any goal against you just give Van dar sar attention before the match
If you want more show just give Ronaldo a signal to do that
I hope to see red demon flying up there in the sky
I wish to see you a moon in the moonlit
poem by Khadija Shaker
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Soccer
I have always liked soccer
such a rough game
Such skills are required
And popluar
You must be strong
and fearless
long kicks to bring you closer
to achieving your goal
of making goals to win the game
heading and saving the ball
is important too
its all about a game called soccer
poem by BOBo ROBbY
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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
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I don’t know if God plays ball
I don’t know if God plays ball
soccer or foosball or bacci ball.
Well, I’m a Frenchman and
boules is the name of my game.
Being on the ball is like playing
with Gigi little girls. When God
created Eve I wonder did He
have in mind dirty old men
and did He mean putting man
behind the eight ball
and did He know that eons later
round the corner of the square ball
someone hooks up with
a hooded guy who sells 3.5 grams
of meth and coke and damn,
that 8 ball is already gone!
I wish I had another!
I start singin’ a tune, I don't drink
brass monkey, like to be funky
and my name ain’t Eazy-E
your 8 ball junkie.
We did an eight ball of blow and
danced until next morning.
I ain’t never goin’ out
With an eight-ball Chiquita
Cuz I got balls and I ain’t
givin’ her mine and
she ain’t playin’ with mine.
I wish God had more balls
and my brain marinate
in mothballs.
~~~
Alex Nodopaka Aug©2010
AD Something
poem by Alex Nodopaka
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Woman And Her Spring Child
spring has come
spring has come
she has blossomed in the trees
she has blossomed in the trees
the trees are leafing
the trees are leafing
slowly slowly
slightly slightly
everthing is greening
everything is greening
also grinning and grinning
flowers lflower in many colors
flowers flower in many colors
birds are singing gaily
birds are singing gaily
dogs are barking happy
dogs are barking happy
my mother in her grave
my mother in her grave
still waiting me come
still waiting to come
ı do not know where my father lie
ı do not know where my father lie
but the spring made me numb
but the spring made me numb
everybody is in the outdoors
everybody is in the outdoors
a woman is kicking a ball
a balll is kicked by a woman
she is really playing with her
one year old child boy
she is playing like a toy
a beautiful boy
with long hair
dark curly dark hair
trying to step into the spring
trying to step into the spring
the woman is kicking her troubles away
with the ball
the woman is really shooting her troubles
away with the ball
she is very fond of it
very very
kicks the ball again
kicks the ball again
the ball goes very far away
the balll goes very far away
nobody kicks the ball back to her
nobody kicks the ball back to her
the woman looks at her child
the woman looks at her child
nobody kicks the ball back to her
nobody kicks the ball back to her
cause everybody is not a poet
cause everybody is not a poet
the spring has come
the spring has come
blossoming in the trees
blossoming in the trees
but yet
nobody is ready to play
even a ball
the woman
never the less
with her spring child
tries to play
but nobody
kicks the ball back to her
and to the child
his first steps in the springhold
poem by Metin Sahin
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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
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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
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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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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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A rose with a prickle
To pursue the ball, to kick the ball,
And to snatch the ball, is a thrill.
Of course, to lose it, to be snatched off
And to fail to goal, puts you in peril.
Deny you not the pleasure, fearing the failure.
A peril after a thrill, if at all, is good.
17.03.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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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
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Penalty Kicks!
Panalty kicks!
And the ball is placed on the ground facing the goalposts;
But, at the end of the kicks,
One team will be in jubilation and the other will cry! !
All in the name of football (soccer) .
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Fortune helps the game.
How to take a ball to the opposite court-
By kick, shot, pass will not ensure a goal.
How to convert it to a goal secures the goal.
But for good luck, you are nowhere, mind.
02.06.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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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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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
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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
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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
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