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Poems tagged ‘Free Kick’

Where The Owls Sleep

Wynn Wheldon

Friday, August 1st, 2025

Supporting Tottenham I despise Arsenal
So when Declan Rice made perfection real
The taking of my breath was a betrayal.
What was it in me made me beam withal?

Well, from time to time the outright sublime
Will raise us from dull quotidian slime
Will lift the spirit, initiate self-crime
As I knew I had committed, come full time.

Irish Gooner, do you know what you did?
You made me laugh at mighty Real Madrid.
Not once, but twice,
Declan double Rice..
Two stupid fouls allowed
Your waking of the owls.

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BECKHAM’S FREE KICK BRINGS ENGLAND INTO THE WORLD CUP

Alfredo Iván Álvarez

Monday, December 4th, 2017

The English fog sets in the sky.

For qualification
in front of the blue forest
Beckham has taken
the Excalibur sword
out of the stone and the steel
shines on his leg.

While he awaits
the whistle of hostilities
in the forest he sees
blue Greek shadows
following every rose
that attempts to bloom alone.

When the whistle sounds
one only darkness awakes
breaking the tombstone
built 9 meters in front–

His saber caresses
a silver bent in the sky
glittering a plated path
through out the day:

The ball daring dawn
ran atop the perfect depth
hacking the bay and ward
and slashing the jugular of the net.

The goal bleeds.
Like dying inertia
Greek navy shadows
are turned to ghosts.

One only rosebush
of many Britain buds
blooms on the field:

Unbent, an English vapor ship
sails across the grandstands.

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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/free-kick/