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Poems tagged ‘Brazil’

My First World Cup in ‘58

Crispin Thomas

Wednesday, June 6th, 2018

The mists of time have not erased
The moments of those summer days
The images on our TV
In black and white they transfixed me
the beauty of the game back then
when you and I were only ten
And in our playgrounds we became
Garrincha ~Pelé ~Just Fontaine
In matches we would emulate
That first World Cup in 58

No choices like we have today
You watched whatever anyway
The four home nations were all there
And England’s hopes soon disappeared
But outside in the London heat
We held our World Cup on the street
With lost or worn out tennis balls
We chalked our goal posts on the walls
The neighbours used to remonstrate
That World Cup back in 58

The shoes I wrecked the knees I grazed
The kickabouts went on for days
With crazy scorelines every time
From fifteen nil to eighteen nine
On gravel and down at the park
We’d stay out there til after dark
The Summer football that we played
Will always last and never fade
When we would run to recreate
That World Cup back in ‘58

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World Cup Russia 32 Team haiku

Crispin Thomas

Thursday, May 31st, 2018

on Argentina haiku
big contenders these
Messi leads the white and blue
will it be this time ?

on Australia
Cahill’s waltzing squad
return from the land of Oz
while Matildas dream

on Belgium haiku
bursting with young skill
Eden’s pace and Lukaku
spear these Red Devils

on Brazil haiku
Neymar to Jesus
rhythmic touch to samba beat
will their swagger rule?

on Colombia haiku
dark horses always
Rodriguez the star upfront
could they go the course?

on Costa Rica haiku
with Ruiz’s pace
Los Ticos can cause a stir
when that magic flows

on Croatia haiku
always one to fear
Modric now the playmaker
for Mandzukic’s pace

on Denmark haiku
nice pastries aside
Eriksen the vital spark
to Danes dynamite

on Egypt haiku
will Salah be fit
Pharoahs focus on defence
as a country waits

on England haiku
emphasis on youth
still the Sterlings and Rashfords
need to find their best

on France haiku
over-crammed with stars
will they drop like croissant crumbs
falling to their knees?

on Germany haiku
Ozil at the heart
always first to raise the bar
and to lay their towels

on Iceland haiku
smallest nation here
Sigurdsson the main class act
teamwork heart and beards

on Iran haiku
Queiroz at the helm
Team Melli arrive in hope
Azmoun leads the line

on Japan haiku
here on Russian soil
Kagawa and Honda’s skill
power these guys on

on Korea Republic haiku
southern winds still blow
with their new belief and pace
Cha Bum-kun the star

on Mexico haiku
Los Aztecan strength
Hernandez the constant threat
will they shine or fall?

on Morocco haiku
nothing here to lose
Atlas Lions know no fear
passion at their core

on Nigeria haiku
to their Afro beat
Moses powers Eagles on
Mikel still the spine

on Panama haiku
debut boys this time
Roman Torres fires a squad
happy to be here

on Peru haiku
like their altitude
Los Incan hopes soar and rest
on Farfan upfront

on Poland haiku
Polish Eagles dream
Lewandowski heads the pack
always posing threats

on Portugal haiku
lighting ev’ry match
like some whirlwind fanning flame
’til Ronaldo strikes

on Russia haiku
struck by injuries
Smolov now the only threat
even on home turf

on Saudi Arabia haiku
swarming round like Bees
sailing in uncharted seas
but can they win games?

on Senegal haiku
talent out in force
Koulibsaly and Mane
shine among the pearls

on Serbia haiku
Eagles hopes will pin
on Matic and Mitrovic
in this tricky side

on Spain haiku
there or thereabouts
Iniesta and Costa
make this time-bomb tick

on Sweden haiku
no Ibra this time
short on names but spirited
always in the mix

on Switzerland haiku
just like chocolate
with Shaqiri’s box of tricks
always tempting fate

on Tunisia haiku
capable of shocks
always drumming up a storm
England should beware

on Uruguay haiku
ever dangerous
Suarez and Cavani shine
never rule them out

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ROBERTO CARLOS CURVED GOAL

Alfredo Iván Álvarez

Monday, December 4th, 2017

They built a medieval
French castle out of the area
and a carnival became silent
when the ball was placed
upon the grass.

Roberto Carlos set
a horizon in his leg,
figured the route of the west,
tasked for the
urges of sudden torsion,
grew fangs and
hunger in his bullet,
conjured the sun
plunging down after midday,
produce no smirk,
no grease, no foretaste,
gave steps back,
stood and waited.

He heard the whistle
from the daybreak bird,
ran and shot a ball
–with his sabre left foot–
into attested life.

A ball convoking
one Saturn ring,
curving its pith,
hissing in winds,
parting quotients
and entering back
to break all stringency,
all game set logic,
all probability.

A ball twisting
the world and stadium
–like a gyring planet–
before finishing up
with the galloping
of a thousand horses
in the disturbed net.

When the ball lost all life
and fell inside deceased
upon the grass,
the team of the rooster
had then lost too,
too many feathers.

Plucked
they sang to no dawn.

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Source: https://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/brazil/page/3/