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Write a poem about the 2022 FIFA World Cup happening now and post it in the comments section below. To get the ball rolling (pun intended), here is a World Cup sonnet by poet James A. Tweedie:
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Fast Forward
In soccer, forward strikers are the heart
And soul of every football team’s offense.
But strikers also play a vital part
In falling back and helping with defense.
But this requires a lot of running up
And down the pitch. Ronaldo, super star
For Portugal, in his fifth World Cup,
Was benched for not being fully up to par.
With Switzerland he came in as a sub
And scored an off-side goal that didn’t count.
But only after other players gave his club
A lead the other team could not surmount.
How hard to find that though we still stand tall,
With age we can no longer do it all.
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The FIFA One-Worlder Cup ~ 2022
See grifters push diversity of culture
then rip Qatar’s apart just like a vulture.
I was born with football tattooed on my bones
Along with fish and chips and scones and tea.
My years of terrace cheers dissolved to groans
As England dropped upon its buckled knee
In solidarity with Black Lives Matter –
The Marxist mob who blame and shame and shatter.
I saw St. George’s Cross ignite and burn
Before my weak-kneed team had kicked a ball.
That afternoon I saw the players spurn
The home that spurred them on. They have it all –
The freedom and the hope bought with the breath
Of souls who fought for England to the death.
I’ve sung in stadium stands in harshest weather.
I’ve travelled miles to see the greatest play.
I’ve mourned the sleight of hand by Maradona,
And now it’s time for me to walk away.
I won’t watch rainbow-rogues who’ve given up
On England. I don’t care who wins the cup!
As always, yours is my favorite… but especially here, where you’re really writing what you know. You have the insider’s perspective on that one!
Well and stylishly said as always, Susan. It sickens me that England still “take the knee” (ie grovel) when most other teams have, mercifully, given it up. Especially when the BLM movement has been exposed as a money-grubbing swindle. Didn’t even one England player have the guts to remain standing tall and proud?
unlike machines there is no need to do anything more than once
and like machines, but much better, everything’s clear with just a glance
clear that the Japanese were more eager than the Germans
Croatians stronger than Brazil, Saudis better than Argentina.
that Americans need to learn to play in brazil
Korea outmatched Portugal
I thought it would be england france
and brazil argentina
but when croats sent brazil packing
i say england and… ‘tina
England’s Bane Limerick
For decades you could write a tome
about England, the footballing gnome.
Now, please, let them win,
coz then we can bin
that damn song about what’s coming home.
I said this to you and to Dave and to Waldo:
Portugal could have used much more of Ronaldo.
Other than that–this may come as a shocker–
I don’t know sqaut about this sport called soccer.
Favourites Brazil Limerick
Brazil, that renowned World Cup chaser,
has just played an arse-about-facer.
Expectations to win
are now in the bin,
on penalties, thanks to Croatia.
I don’t care very much for soccer —
It tends drive me off my rocker:
Young athletes sitting on their hands,
A sport best staged in foreign lands
Where deprivation is the norm.
But yes, I like the perfect form
Of pinwheeled players upside-down
Who score to magnify their town
Or country. Every single goal
Will help to make a nation whole.
Soccer! the world’s most boring sport,
From tie to tie the score’s the same—
Zero to zero. What a game.
Excitement seems to come up short.
Maybe someone will score a point
In all that passing to and fro?
The odds are vanishingly low.
The game’s been fixed to disappoint.
I’m guessing, Stephen, that nil-nil is no thrill for you.
Well, I was really just trying to have some fun with the topic. I think I do speak for American males I know who have a minor past time of mocking soccer.
Cheers,
Slightly revised:
Soccer! the world’s most boring sport,
From tie to tie the score’s the same—
Zero to zero. What a game.
The thrill-an-hour comes up short.
Maybe someone will score a point
In all that passing to and fro?
The odds are vanishingly low.
The game’s been fixed to disappoint.
My T-shirt made World Cup guards wail,
Dark Side of the Moon was a fail.
The spectrum shown looked
like a rainbow and booked
Hard time in a Qatari jail.
According to my son, someone with a Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt on was forced to take it off.
Life imitatong art?
It looks like the dream is all over.
We’d travelled so wide and so far.
But now it’s all gloom and depression,
Now that ball’s wafted over the bar.
With cold, dreary midwinter mornings,
When icicles hang from your nose.
Our nation is starting to crumble,
I guess that’s the way it all goes.
We’re back to our moaning and groaning,
In need of a reason to blame,
The man with the weight on his shoulders,
I give you the great Harry Kane.
Even God Can’t Fix Soccer
Meter: Anapestic Tetrameter
“With God all things are possible” is quite a boast
That one Biblical verse may be quoted the most
But on closer inspection, this verse isn’t true
There’s a list that’s quite long of the things God can’t do
If you summed up the effort when all of us try
And God used twice that effort, God still couldn’t lie
God is good all the time so He can’t ever sin
He does not have one speck of sin hidden within
God has done signs and wonders. He’ll do many more
But He cannot help soccer contestants to score
Soccer’s boring as each fan of sport understands
Since He cannot fix soccer, God gave us all hands
Most importantly, He can’t make choices for you
Of course, even that statement’s not technically true
He could make you a robot without self-control
But we know that no robot possesses a soul
So, He gave us free will and then showed us the Way
Though we’re deeply in debt, He made someone else pay
And He also sent prophets who gave us His Word
He has never stopped calling but few ever heard
Ninety minutes of watching a one-nil defeat
Should convince us we’re meant to use more than just feet
God has also bestowed us with hands and a heart
When we choose to serve, we should use each body part
So you’re a rugby fan, Warren.
Another year, another broken heart.
Another golden squad ground in the dust
And desert sands. Alike, the ruler’s art
That Shelley sung – that dead, majestic bust.
A sad lament – ‘O where did it go wrong?’
Did ‘golden generations’ tread thee down?
Or did a nation crush you? not as strong
as that small man that donned an Arab gown.
Hysteric All. Brought down by margins fine,
no legislation can account for chance,
or Koundé tryna snap your legs like twine,
or referees who wished they played for France.
So lose not focus Harry, dry your tears:
And what’s four more, compared to sixty years?
PENALTY SHOOTOUT
Alone.
Ball Centered.
Dot.
Eyes Focusing
(Goal.Goal.Goal.)
He Inhales.
Jimmies. Kicks …
Lops Miserably…
Nicks Outer Post!
Qualifying Roasts …
Starts Turning Upfield, Visibly Worn.
X. Young. Zero.
from
https://classicalpoets.org/2018/03/20/abc-poems-a-poetry-puzzle-challenge/#/
‘Abnormal’ Martinez Limerick
The Argentine keeper was told
to keep the French players on hold.
And for this, Martinez,
was blessed with a penis
some twelve inches long, made of gold.
FORCED TO PLAY SOCCER
Forced to play soccer in PT in school,
A game likely made for a handless fool,
I could run all day and not score a goal,
Trying to kick the ball into a hole.
The rules were arcane with offsides and such.
How helpless I felt. My hands could not touch
The ball unless throwing from out of bounds,
Or being goalie who dived to the grounds.
My feet were not made for holding a ball,
But blasting it toward some ill-netted wall.
The most fun I had when I was put in,
Was kicking hard on some other guy’s shin.
I’m sorry I missed this year’s World Cup play.
I heard Argentina took it away.