Quotes about ball!, page 8
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.
[...] Read more
poem by Charlina Daitouah Smith
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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.
[...] Read more
poem by Ernestine Northover
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To Greet, Meet And To Brag
My eyes never left the ball.
Afterall...
I became disciplined to keep my focus on it.
And when I joined on the field with others,
Who made claims they came with aims to play...
In a way to prove with me they could complete.
My eyes never left the ball to reach.
My eyes never left the ball not at all.
And when it was thrown in the air others stared.
But my eyes were right there to catch it...
To run with it and score a goal.
I came on the field prepared to win.
Not to say I just came to play.
Like others who came just to huddle.
My eyes never left the ball. afterall...
I did not come to greet, meet nor to brag,
With embellished exaggerations...
Of what I could do or had done in my past.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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At The Minor's Field
The Li'l Leaguer's now in uniforms,
And the ball game is ‘bout to begin.
My young hero in position one,
For the Orioles against the Indians;
Kevin stepped on the pitcher's plate,
"Go! Orioles, " the parents cheered.
"Batter's in, " the umpire yelled,
He pitched, the ball went wild.
"Ball, " the umpire called. Again,
He pitched to the batter's shin.
Hit by pitch, the batter walks on base,
Still at first when the catcher missed.
"Ball, " 2 and 0, the umpire signed,
And some parents began to whine.
[...] Read more
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Freakin’ At The Freaker’s Ball
Come on, baby, grease your lips,
Put on your hat, and shake your hips.
And don’t forget to bring your ships.
We’re goin’ to the Freakers Ball.
Shake your mojo, bang your gong,
Roll up somethin’ to take along.
Feels so good that it must be wrong
Freakin’ at the Freakers Ball.
All the fags and dykes, they’re boogyin’ together
Leather freaks all dressed in leather.
The greatest of the sadists and the masochists, too,
Screamin’ 'You hit me' and 'I’ll hit you'.
F.B.I. dancin’ with the junkies.
All the straights swingin’ with the funkies
’Cross the floor and up the wall.
Freakin’ at the Freakers Ball.
Hard hats and long hairs lovin’ each other.
Brother with sister, son with mother.
[...] Read more
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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A Ball That Eats Would Truly Astound
My dad bought me a brand new ball,
So we went out for a stroll,
How it made me feel ten feet tall,
He said let's take it for a roll.
As we headed to the park,
His comment made me think,
Was what he said just a lark,
Or had he been on the drink.
When he stopped at the burger bar,
I thought has he gone mad,
His behaviour really was bizarre,
Perhaps it was just a fad.
As he ordered he was asked,
How many do you need?
He said as a Dad I've been tasked,
To ensure everyone gets a feed.
[...] Read more
poem by Bri Mar
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Without Feeling Guilt Or Appalled At All
It's just so sad...
To think that people don't get a bite to eat.
And it's just so sad...
These people aren't the only ones seen on the streets.
Some still live in homes,
While others condone roaming all alone.
Oh it's just too sad...
To know the ones who lead aren't leaders.
Although give they do nice and sweet speeches,
As if what will be done is prioritized...
And homelessness and hunger will soon meet defeat!
It's just so sad...
To witness people struggle to their feet.
And walk for miles to try to keep up...
Their heads as they seek dwindling opportunities.
As others pass them talking,
To leave them without greeting...
Or helping out to meet their needs.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Learn And Study English
- Let’s start from the very beginning!
- Ok, I know, it’s a very good place to start.
- If you want to know how to read
you have to learn the alphabet.
As far as we are not in a race
you can face 26 letters in one phrase.
“The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dog”.
Now we’ll have some dialogue.
You’ll see how new words appear,
I hope everything will be clear.
For example: to admire – admiration,
to inspire – inspiration. Now you, please!
And pray be at your ease!
- To desire – desiration.
- Oops! My voice whoops!
Well, when you study English
you have to distinguish:
one goose but many geese.
-What about a moose?
Are they meese?
[...] Read more
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Casey at the Bat
The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Mudville nine that day;
The score stood four to two, with but one inning more to play,
And then when Cooney died at first, and Barrows did the same,
A pall-like silence fell upon the patrons of the game.
A straggling few got up to go in deep despair. The rest
Clung to that hope which springs eternal in the human breast;
They thought, "If only Casey could but get a whack at that--
We'd put up even money now, with Casey at the bat."
But Flynn preceded Casey, as did also Jimmy Blake,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was a cake;
So upon that stricken multitude grim melancholy sat,
For there seemed but little chance of Casey getting to the bat.
But Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,
And Blake, the much despisèd, tore the cover off the ball;
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Jimmy safe at second and Flynn a-hugging third.
[...] Read more
poem by Ernest Lawrence Thayer
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Body and Soul
Half-numb, guzzling bourbon and Coke from coffee mugs,
our fathers fall in love with their own stories, nuzzling
the facts but mauling the truth, and my friend's father begins
to lay out with the slow ease of a blues ballad a story
about sandlot baseball in Commerce, Oklahoma decades ago.
These were men's teams, grown men, some in their thirties
and forties who worked together in zinc mines or on oil rigs,
sweat and khaki and long beers after work, steel guitar music
whanging in their ears, little white rent houses to return to
where their wives complained about money and broken Kenmores
and then said the hell with it and sang Body and Soul
in the bathtub and later that evening with the kids asleep
lay in bed stroking their husband's wrist tattoo and smoking
Chesterfields from a fresh pack until everything was O.K.
Well, you get the idea. Life goes on, the next day is Sunday,
another ball game, and the other team shows up one man short.
They say, we're one man short, but can we use this boy,
he's only fifteen years old, and at least he'll make a game.
They take a look at the kid, muscular and kind of knowing
[...] Read more
poem by B.H. Fairchild
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