Sports Poems - Poems about Sports

Your gentle yawn
while reading the sports section
as they fill your prescription.
A light scratch of your nose
as you read the review of the
newest hippest band out of L.A.
while your new tires are installed.
Waiting is the dullness of a brown sparrow
flitting to the next wire,
the line of ants on a tree trunk.
Not so bad
if you have something inoperable
and know that boredom
is a luxury for the living.
The forgettable moments the doctor consults
with the nurse in the hallway,
the trees from outside swaying in the glass picture frame,
the shoe scuff patterns on the linoleum.
I didn't know the cloud I floated on
until it was yanked away
and I see the dark rocky ground
speeding upwards.

tenth in the sprint
ninth in the four hundred
eighth in the cross-country
seventh in the potato race
sixth in the egg-and-spoon
fifth in the high jump
fourth in the long jump
third in the hurdles
second in the basketball shoot
that's Sports Day over for this year.
But Mom and Dad will tell me (again) that
'I'm still the best at being me'...
and they'll sing all the way home oh god...
'they can't take that away from me
no....
they can't take that away from meeee...'

My wonderful son has a way with the girls -
He's tough and he's buff, and he has lots of curls -
He loves to play sports and he's usually found
Lifting, or batting or golfing a round;
His den is his trophy room - all black and white
A staunch White Sox fan from morning 'til night
In front of the big screen for hours he'll sit
Engrossed in the sport to the very last hit;
His ankles are taped, his knee gives him fits
But he just keeps on playin' - the guy never quits!
So either he's playing or watching a game,
He lives it, and breathes it - there's nothing the same
Since he was a little tyke sports are his life,
I pitty the girl that he takes for his wife!

Burns sang of joys of Hallowe'en,
But in Canada is oft seen
By far more jolly times than these,
At logging raising, paring bees,
For here the youth is not afraid
To dance long side of pretty maid,
For this, at night, is his reward
For working at the bee so hard.
And oft times till the break of day
At forfeits they will merry play,
For he doth win, e'en though he miss,
If from sweet lass he gets a kiss,
But in its place loth justly prize
His tea and cakes, and pumpkin pies.
When winter comes it brings no gloom,
But makes fresh pleasures spring and bloom;
For when the youth longs for a bride
He gives his girl a grand sleigh ride,
Which to them both doth pleasures bring,
While merry sleigh bells cheery ring;
And, with the fair maid of his choice,
He graceful skates with her on ice-
Charming mode of locomotion,
Gliding o'er a polished ocean.
Such joys they soon do love evolve,
And they on union do resolve.
He is happy with his chosen,
For warm love gets never frozen.
And young folks oft they do take pride
How swift they down the hill can glide,
And they bravely dare the forest king
So they may enjoy the coasting,
Each striving for to lead the van
In the swift-shooting toboggan.
And on the ice men love to hurl
The polished blocks, to skilful curl,
And curlers all do proudly claim
Their's is a manly, healthy game ;
And in Canadians you trace
A generous, hardy and brave race.
And brilliant as a fairy hall
Is scenes on ice at carnival
Before the gale in an ice boat,
It swiftly o'er the ice doth float,
The sensation is, you fly
Like lightning shooting through the sky.
In summer time, the youth do toss
The ball at the keen game, lacrosse,
And tradition doth for it claim
That it is ancient Indian game ;
And if a foe invade; we can
Drive them back with clubs Canadian.

Don't ask me how I am here
standing next to the pro quarterback
as he lofts one down the practice field.
There should be a vapor trail on that one
as it descends into the next county
with smart bomb accuracy
and almost makes you believe in sanctity,
or better yet, romance.
I'd forgotten how nothing else matters
in the moments after your first kiss.
I turn.
He's over there looking at a clipboard.

The ball in hand,
The pitcher stands,
Intense focus,
And counting fans.
A deep breath in,
And out again.
With every pitch,
A new game begins.

With every stride,
Energy soars,
Heartbeat pounding,
Legs never tire.
Rushing wind,
Dreams in sight,
Runners know it's,
The ultimate delight.

Dribbling fast,
Eyes on the prize,
Heartbeat quickens,
Hands guide the ball.
Jump shot high,
Swish, nothing but net.
The hoop dreamer,
A basketball net.

In the game of life,
We fight for a win,
Tackling challenges,
And facing our fears.
The game goes on,
But victory is ours,
When we rise above,
And show our true powers.

Medium Poems

The sweat drips down my face
As I push my limits to the test
My muscles ache, my heart races
But I won't stop until I'm the best

The moment comes, the finish line's near
And I give it all I've got
The crowd cheers, the adrenaline pumps
And I know I've left it all on the spot

The rush of joy, the feeling of pride
As I raise my arms in the air
The trophies, the medals, they all fade away
For this moment, I know I'll always care

For in this game, this truest test
I've found my heart's true desire
To play with passion, to give my all
And feel the thrill of victory's fire

It's hard to face the bitter truth
When you've given your all and still lost
To feel the weight of disappointment
As all your dreams get swept and tossed

For every athlete, every team
Has tasted the bitter pill of defeat
But it's in these moments, these darkest of times
That we learn the most and find our feet

The mistakes we made, the lessons learned
Are etched in our minds forever
For they shape us, mold us into better players
Fueled by a burning desire to endeavor

So let us not dwell on the past
But use it as fuel for the future
For we know that defeat is not the end
But a chance to grow and nurture

For in every game, every challenge faced
We prove ourselves time and again
And emerge stronger, better prepared
To face whatever lies ahead, then and again.

It's more than just a sport we play
Or a game that we love to win
It's a way of life, a passion deep
That goes beyond the playing field's rim

The friendships we make, the memories we share
Are worth all the effort and pain
For in this world, this arena of dreams
We find a community like no other, never in vain

The breathless moments, the heart-stopping feats
Are etched in our minds forever
For they remind us of what we're capable of
And push us to aim ever further

For in the end, it's not about the score
Or the accolades we receive
But the journey we took, the grit we showed
And the love of the game we believe

So let us cherish this gift we've been given
And play with all our heart and soul
For we know that in this truest test
We'll find our purpose and our goal.

Long Poems

In every field, in every court,
The athlete stands with might and fort,
With strength and grace they move as one,
And under pressure, they always come undone.

In soccer fields, they run with speed,
And shoot the ball with perfect feed,
With headers high, and passes wide,
They bring the crowd on their side.

In basketball courts, they jump so high,
And shoot the ball right through the sky,
With dunks so strong, and threes so sweet,
Their opponents fall right off their feet.

On football fields, they charge with force,
And score touchdowns as a matter of course,
They tackle hard, and run with might,
And keep on fighting 'til it's right.

In tennis courts, they serve with skill,
And hit the ball with power and will,
With backhands smooth, and forehands strong,
Their opponents wait so very long.

On ice rinks, they glide with grace,
And score goals all over the place,
With stick and puck, they play so well,
Their opponents feel like they're in hell.

In swimming pools, they stroke with ease,
And race with speed through the water's breeze,
With butterfly and freestyle strong,
Their competition can't hold on for long.

In track and field, they run and jump,
And throw with force and might so trump,
With speed and power, they set records new,
Their opponents feel like they're in a stew.

The athlete's triumph is in their heart,
And so they play with love and art,
With muscles hard, and spirits high,
They reach for the sky, and touch the sky.

Oh, the thrill of victory, the agony of defeat,
The athlete lives with both so sweet,
They play with honor, they play with might,
And keep on pushing day and night.

So here's to the athlete, so bold and strong,
Who fights for glory, and never goes wrong,
With sweat and tears, they conquer all,
And stand tall as the victor, with a bright shining pall.