"goalie" poems
Hockey is fun to watch
Hockey is fun to play
Shoot the puck in the clutch
Bat the cold pucks away
Skate down the smooth white ice
Pass to a free teammate
Time together is nice
Don't shoot the puck too late
Fans like to view hockey
Who is the best player?
Kids like Sidney Crosby
He's a goalie slayer
Jan 27, 2013
Jan 27, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
Soccer
A game that everybody knows
A referee who blows the whistle for half time
A goalie who saves the ball
Players running everywhere
Chasing the ball
Wanting to score a goal
Players getting red and yellow cards
Sep 5, 2014
Sep 5, 2014 at 12:37 PM UTC
When you look at me
You instantly stereotype
My glassses
My skin color
You can probably guess I’m book smart
You’d be right
You can guess I’m introverted
You’d be semi right
You can guess I’m not naturally very athletic
You’d be right
You can guess my ethnicity
You’d probably be right
You can guess a lot of things
And there’s a high chance you’d be right for many of them
But...
What about those things,
You’d never guess?
I bet you’d never believe I was a Goalie
You probably don’t know I write poetry
I’m learning Chinese
I ran six miles in fifth grade
I enjoy acting
I’m an atheist
I have a mild obsession with Asian light novels
The list goes on...
But still,
The point here is
There’s a lot of things you don’t see
About me
About everyone
I’m just as guilty of judging as anyone else
We humans tend to categorize,
A lot
...
But,
It’s
Often
Not
True
Sep 22, 2018
Sep 22, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
I stand apart from the rest, I stand at the last line of defense, I stand in the way of what every player wants most, I am a dream wrecker, A monument killer, every puck is a threat, every puck carrier accomplice. I defend my net on the principle that it is my home and that nothing comes in uninvited, every save I make fuels the next, every crease I protect is my own, I am satisfied only after I stop everything.
I am a goalie
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
I quivered in the arena
As thousands of people screamed at me
All because I wanted to touch the *****
I guess I play a different football
Those Hartford wailers weren't there
When I was on the ice
Trying to play goalie to the problematic pucks
All I had was my blocker
And all I could do was deflect
Yet those same people
Try to convict me in the tennis court of public opinion
Just because I wanted to make my own racket for a change
Is that really my fault?
Why should I listen to these people
When zero and love have the same meaning?
Am I beholden to those
That wanted me to kneel in the endzone?
They're the people who separated me from myself
Now that I'm running back
They're claiming they were my safety
But there was never a decent referee
Only people that wanted to see me in stripes
But here's the kicker
I'd forgive them all their past interference
If they'd just stop challenging my plays now
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 2:02 AM UTC
It's a funny feeling,
to have a conversation
with a field hockey ball
It wasn't even a conversation,
really
Mostly I just gave it a baleful glare
For being hit straight towards the cage
And stopping
RIGHT BEFORE IT
It truly didn't affect me in any way,
simply my inner angst
at my poor performance
being taken out on this innocent round
piece of plastic
Mostly, for eluding me
Yet, still stopping,
not by my efforts
But by the lack of force applied to it
It could have gone in
Or,
It could have been blocked
Instead,
it chose to rest
just before the finish line
taunting me,
Proving to me,
that my effort is completely unnecessary
That,
even an invisible entity
known as air resistance + friction
can do my job for me
Oh,
By now you're probably wondering
who I am in this scenario
Considering,
If I was an offender,
attempting to shoot
I'd desire the ball to cross
And I'd push it in
rather than subject it to my resentment
You, see
I,
am the goalie
Sep 21, 2018
Sep 21, 2018 at 10:54 PM UTC
I hope you talk about me when you're slammed,
laying in the hall playing soccer at 2am.
I hope you see my reflection in the smashed mirror
from an aggressive kick you missed blocking.
I hope my shattered complexion reflects
in the broken glass
like a soft reminder that beckons you back
to your bed. A memory from a week ago rises,
when you were singing me a song
through your lips and cradling my expectations.
I played keeper and you were just trying to score.
Our roles reversed.
You dribbled me for a good while,
spinning on the ground you drug me on
just trying to catch hold.
I already had stains; I didn't need new ones.
I hope you talk about me when you're sipping
on something that will numb you seven different ways to Sunday.
I hope people have to stop you from calling me,
"It's all ****** up," you whine
with your eyes closed
about how you messed with me--
what happened there?
Take another shot.
I hope you talk about me.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 1:45 PM UTC
The flyers facing there cross-state rivals Pittsburg Penguins
Backup goalie emery in net starts of good then it turns for the worset
3-0 penguins i am wide eyed and mouth open stunned
then second period flyers score 4 goals
one by the capten, two by a deffense men, and the last by a rookie
Third period flyers get puck with one minute left the pensguins
Pull there goalie and sean couturier shoots it down the ice for
a empty net goalie game over flyers forge a 5-3 victory for the record books and prove they are better then the flyers
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 12:04 PM UTC
My father was famous for
noticing endings
admitting defeats
accepting declines
moving along
being a good, end-of-game sport.
Sometimes
he’d spark a surprise
come back—
an evening of the score.
“*The folks are as good
as the people*” he’d declare.
But as life
invariably turns out,
the folks are
rarely
as good
as the people
the pitcher as the batter
the husband as the wife
the striker as the goalie
the salesman as the prospect
the child as the parent
the ying as the yang.
In competitions someone
always conquers, even if just a bit;
the other
always loses, even if just surface wounds—
death always comes
natural or quick.
Then you
know:
“*It’s all over
but the crying.*”
Dad,
I’ve been crying,
but when will I know
“it’s over?”
And, since some “folks” aren’t
so good after all, please tell:
How victorious is victory?
Who is defeated in defeat?
What is the final score?
Who won again?
The true score for when it’s over is
perhaps how
we make sense of the endings,
beginnings,
and
rebeginnings
of life
shared and solitary.
So where is that game clock
that tally board, that ledger to
release my game
announce my endings
settle my scores
so I can do my crying
and
prepare
for next season?
18.i.11
Mar 5, 2011
Mar 5, 2011 at 3:14 PM UTC
Dear Karen,
It is seven years this month when you left us.
I miss you everyday. In the car, seeing the passenger seat empty, but can still hear you telling me to slow down. When I see Russ and Mea, I smile, knowing that our grandchildren, Evan and Emily, would not be here if not for you.
Not long ago, at one of Evan's hockey games, I turned to Mea and said, "I hope Karen is watching this", for Evan(goalie) was playing exceptionally well. Mea put her hand on my shoulder, "she probably has a better seat than we do." I don't doubt that at all. The same goes for Emily and her activities, whether it be soccer, basketball, softball, or who knows what else, I know that you keep that protective blanket around both of them. Yes, there will be scrapes, scratches, bumps, and bruises. perhaps a broken bone. But when the game calls for a "clutch" player, is when the power of the angel, you, leaves the bench, strengthening the confidence of all the players, not just one, or two, but all. Like all things mortal, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose. But most of all, they learn. A most important result.
Love you, and miss you!
Richard
copyright: richardriddle 01-07-2015
Jan 7, 2015
Jan 7, 2015 at 10:04 AM UTC
You threw around the word love
like one of your
**** hockey pucks
and i guess you thought
i was the goal
you wanted
(but only because time was running out
and you obviously wanted to impress someone)
you picked up 'im sorry'
as a continuous re-bound
sadly to say,
i always accepted those
but now
take a seat on the bench
because you didn't show up
in time for the game
depressingly, i thought
you always had to be
the goalie
and help stop others
from stealing me
so **** the game
you used as a guideline
to be
with
me.
Aug 12, 2013
Aug 12, 2013 at 9:57 PM UTC
There was no joy in Mudville,
The air was cold that night.
For the hockey team was losing
And shorthanded, following a fight.
With 5 minutes on the penalty clock
And 1 minute left in regulation
It seemed as though the season was over
And the team would be heading to the unemployment line by the train station.
The next face off was won by Mudville,
And they dumped the puck down the ice
Wilson raced down after that 3 pound puck, and out of nowhere came Johnson, a pass to score as he fell down the ice!
Tied with about 30 seconds to go, the crowd gave an almighty roar
Because they tied the game shorthanded,
Johnson, a defenseman had scored.
The teams headed into overtime, and you could cut the tension in the air with a knife,
For in hockey overtime is sudden death, the next goal would win the night.
And after a 10 minute intermission, the teams returned to the ice
The referee skated out to center, and dropped the puck between two anxious Sticks.
The duel was on, and both goalies were tested
But neither one would fall for the forwards tricks
With overtime ended, we went to a shootout,
This seemed to be the only way to decide the game.
And after Wilson stepped back onto the ice, he scored giving Mudville a chance to win the game.
But Jeralds would tie the shootout in the second round, and Johnson, following him would do the same. So after a miraculous stop by Mudville's goalie, it would fall onto Casey to win the game.
A hush fell over the crowd, as Casey stepped onto the ice, he took a deep breath and started on his way,
He skated wide left stick handling down, his head up at the goalie trying to get him out of play.
Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright, The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light; And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout, But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey was shutout.
Aug 13, 2016
Aug 13, 2016 at 11:14 AM UTC
she plays soccer
it’s
ok?
her coach is flamboyant
and loud
and nice
and she feels
so so very small
even though she is goalie
and has big feet
and spidery hands
she faces a lot of doubt
in goal
at home
on the court where she practices
is she valued?
is she liked?
do people think she’s ok?
does it matter?
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 10:07 PM UTC
With Dot in the Hospital
2 reputed mini strokes.
A fevered delirium then emerges,
whispers of witchcraft are rife in the ward;
words sunken as rafters
rasping to strike again,
attempted barefoot escapes
escapades as sure as her once hero
Charlton goalie Sam Bartram
to be that sprightly girl again
her perseverance draws.
Apr 29, 2014
Apr 29, 2014 at 11:02 AM UTC
Dear Karen
Dear Karen,
It is seven years this month when you left us.
I miss you everyday. In the car, seeing the passenger seat empty, but can still hear you telling me to slow down. When I see Russ and Mea, I smile, knowing that our grandchildren, Evan and Emily, would not be here if not for you.
Not long ago, at one of Evan's hockey games, I turned to Mea and said, "I hope Karen is watching this", for Evan(goalie) was playing exceptionally well. Mea put her hand on my shoulder, "she probably has a better seat than we do." I don't doubt that at all. The same goes for Emily and her activities, whether it be soccer, basketball, softball, or who knows what else, I know that you keep that protective blanket around both of them. Yes, there will be scrapes, scratches, bumps, and bruises. perhaps a broken bone. But when the game calls for a "clutch" player, is when the power of the angel, you, leaves the bench, strengthening the confidence of all the players, not just one, or two, but all. Like all things mortal, sometimes they win, sometimes they lose. But most of all, they learn. A most important result.
Love you, and miss you!
Richard
copyright: richardriddle 01-07-2015
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 6:47 AM UTC
After Friday choir practice
in the church
after the other members
had gone to the vestry
to ready themselves for home
she stood in the darkened church
looking at the altar
and the high windows
where only moonlight
shone through
and she said to you
we’ll stand here one day
and get married maybe
and say our vows
and there will be
our families and friends
and the parson will say
kiss the bride and you will
and she smiled
and looked at you
standing in the quiet church
and you said
some years off maybe
we’re only fourteen
and still at school
and we’ve got to get pass
your mother yet
like trying to get a ball
by a fat goalie
who fills the net
but she just shook her head
and smiled and said
don’t be so negative
look on the positive side
look to the future
with bright eyes
and it seems strange now
and sad to look back
at that night
with you and she
standing in that aisle
in semi-dark
while outside
in the night sky
fate was working out
a different answer
where you
would marry others
and she would die
from cancer.
Mar 18, 2012
Mar 18, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
Launch- I leap to the ball as fast as I can
Anticipate- I adjust to stop the shot
Crash- I deflect the ball, it hits the post
Reset- I see the defense recover
Offense- I watch the effective cradling and passing
Steal- I get ready commanding the defense
Success- I am protected
Execute- I'm proud to be a goalie
-MMM
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 8:05 PM UTC
There are players in the penalty box that don't belong
Because the refs start tripping
When people skate on thin ice
But they're not fighting
Or slashing
The winning team keeps them down by charging them
Until some go to the box just for boarding
And that's only the icing
It's difficult to not misconduct yourself during this game
When the score is ran up
By a team with a wall for a goalie
And a rifle for a stick
They score when we hit the post
Yet we're penalized for trying to achieve our goals
Forcing us to defend
As they shoot at us
For being on a different team
We need to make a power play
And **** some penalties
Don't fear too many men on the ice
The gloves come off but it's futile
The refs never wore gloves to begin with
And apparently don't need them the way I do
I sit on the bench in defeat
Praying they have a ****** overtime
Because right now
In the time of regulation
We're stuck on ice
As the scoreboard hangs out of reach above us
Jul 5, 2017
Jul 5, 2017 at 10:40 PM UTC
I stand apart from the rest. I stand at the last one defense
I stand in the way of what every player wants most. I am a dream wrecker, a monumental killer, a goal robber. In my world every puck is a threat, every puck carrier an incomplete. I defend my net on the principle that it is my home and that nothing comes in uninvited. Every save I make fuels the next. And every crease I protect is my own. I'm satisfied only after I stop everything.
I'm a goalie
Jul 23, 2015
Jul 23, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
the problem with overusing sarcasm is that
nobody takes you seriously, even when you need to be
like for example
when i ask you if you have a boyfriend
it isn't just out of curiosity
(but then again, just because there's a goalie...)
or when i ask what you're doing tuesday night
it isn't to mock you for replying "nothing"
(that's MY usual plan anyway)
the unusual enthusiasm i have for washing down red wine
with chicken tenders is just code for "i want to welcome you to my world"
with its quirks, pros and cons
and maybe i just feel a certain level of comfort with you
that is usually reserved for when i am immersed in my solitude
aka the creature's natural habitat
maybe i should stop waiting for the perfect moment
Jun 8, 2014
Jun 8, 2014 at 3:02 AM UTC
These special summer afternoons
have no time markers,
no human dividers,
no watches watching
or clocks clocking,
just grins and smiles,
divining the divide,
painting lovely
the one canyon
of humanity and nature
attending to each other
These summer afternoons
have no time markers,
but drift perfectly sequentially
from sun to nap to
black striped grilled franks,
and red watermelon,
orange cantaloupe,
cold coronas,
and desserts of
indeterminate beach walks,
and quiet talks
These summer afternoons
are as close
as I remember,
what it was like to
be seven or eight,
years of age,
knowing only
carefree summer months
that were
carelessly treasured,
thinking there is
always another,
looking forward to tomorrow
to do nothing in
exactly, happily,
the same way innocently
I am an adult
and that means,
cares are ever present,
ever fair or fear not,,
they lurk and
attack the goalie,
with noisy or subtle unrelenting attacks
but as I overlook the waters,
scenario soul gentling me
under the cooling coverlet of
the perfect breeze and
what lurks
is the moment
the eyes and heart
are fulfilled,
satisfied by what they see
The bay,
dotted with the boat traffic
not too much,
but just interesting,
a right tiny armada
to entertain,
all of us,
inattentively observing
the submerging
descent of
summer daytime friends,
and I think of you only,
at this perfect second
and I am besotted
with grief
and guilt
why can I not grant you the moment,
that I desperate wish to share
my arm is not, not,
careless slung, but
grasping firm with squeezes tight,
finger under chin chucking,
come friend be with me,
and for just this moment
your anti-toil tool here,
your plight beyond my comprehension,
though I live a life on the unknown edge,
what matters is the relativity of us,
and I relate to your weariness,
I weep with desperate knowledge
transporting you here is still an
impossibility
though my eyes see glory,
though my heart cannot refuse
the scene's peace invading me,
it is not fair, it is not fair
and I want you
to have this more than me
so I can keep it too
until then it is a glaze,
surfacing the coating,
that is me
but substance is untouched
until this guilt morphs into a
shared pleasure
Jul 4, 2014
Jul 4, 2014 at 4:36 AM UTC
The winning goal was up to me,
But I was so nervous,
It was hard to see.
I dodged my opponents with no effort,
none at all,
But that's when I tripped,
Ready to fall.
Another girl fell and hit me in the head.
It's a free shot, Free shot!
The referee said.
"Here's the ball, honey, go right ahead."
I waited for the whistle and unleashed my power,
And for a second I saw the goalie cower.
She missed it,
She missed it!
It zoomed past her in a flash,
I was so tired.
I was ready to crash.
My whole team froze in shock and I did the same,
As the ref blew the whistle,
Ending the game.
*** we did it!
Don't you see?
We just beat the very best team!
From losers of 09 to the champs of 010,
If you don't think we're awesome,
Where have you been.
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 9:59 AM UTC
It’s a very difficult thing
Guarding 50 meters
Covered in
Full body pads
My teemmates
Were playing
“Field hockey rugby”
With the “goal”
Being
The
End line
A goalie
Meant to
Guard a
4 meter
Goal
Reduced
To sprinting
Across
50
A foolish decision,
You may think
Yet,
It was mine
Why?
You may ask
What could have possibly
Convinced one to make
Such a choice?
Well,
The fitness
For one
Imrpoved speed,
In my pads
For another
Avoidance
Of practicing
Boring goalie drills
At the other side of
The field,
As well
Practice,
Stalking the ball
For a fourth
But mostly,
The feeling
Of running your
Heart out
Laughing your stomach
Out
Cheering
Your throat out
And finally
Getting down and *****
Diving,
With all your might
Full body
Heart
And mind
Giving their all
With one goal
-to stop the ball
Oct 4, 2018
Oct 4, 2018 at 8:16 PM UTC
i was retching
my ***** looked like potpourri
clusters of tiny pink bits
must have been the beets and quinoa
**** i'm fancy.
i'm not even crying.
all around me i hear sobbing but
i have nothing left to cry for.
let us count the arguments, the fights,
the number of times i wanted to stab
my own heart just to
stop myself from feeling.
how could the person i care the most about
think of me so poorly?
i used to think that i was a good person
a good girlfriend.
someone with love and patience and honesty
and oodles and oodles of forgiveness.
my mom always said i was just like Goalie,
our labrador retriever,
never upset for more than a night,
overflowing with pure, untainted, never-ending love.
the love is still there
i think it's no longer my strength, but my weakness.
you forgive and forget,
you move on,
fights three weeks ago seem a distant memory.
you breathe a sigh of relief, oh,
i think we can make it.
i think we can make it through this time.
i think we've grown.
then it starts again.
it's never-ending.
do you believe in people?
i did. i do.
but i guess when two people combine it's
a different story.
we were not meant to be,
i knew it three months in,
but his faith was strong.
why didn't i trust my gut,
why did i keep trying.
i drove him to the brink of insanity
led myself into depression's cold embrace
i thought we could do it
but we couldn't overcome each other
Oct 22, 2014
Oct 22, 2014 at 6:55 PM UTC
You’re natural like birds that fly
No weave, no acrylic and nothing in your eye.
Natural beauty.
Nature’s gold you possess in your chest.
Can I trespass onto your private property?
Legs, thighs, hips, soft tantalizing lips and waist
These elements place you at the head of the race.
All I want is the prize. I want the strawberry moon
That illuminates your cocoon. Soon as you expose
Your body and face to the world, I want to stand
Next to your powerful figure. I’m yo ***** and
Yo friend, lover and yo psychiatrist, yo scientist plus
Your personal poetic lyricist. What, you want more?
I’ll be that and some. Holding your hand for ransom.
I scored.
But nothing ****** I scored like a soccer goalie.
Some once in a lifetime ****
Can I kiss, can I hold, can I touch your soul?
Can we get from outside where the world is cold?
Move inside warm up with the heat of friction
Rubbing together, moving in unison with heartbeats
Speed the pace and you will lose weight. Superb curves
Means your profile ain’t straight. More like
An hour glass shape. Perfection.
Correction, personified beauty, modern day Helen of Troy
Perfect girl for a boy. I’ll be your love slave or *** toy.
We can stack chips without the ahoy. Do you feel me?
Cause I feel ya vibe.
When can you come to my home and meet the tribe?
See, we can, will and shall strive for premeditated goals
That we combined. It’s time intoxicating like moonshine.
Take a sip and swallow, let your mind follow
Drink it right out the bottle.
The divine wine.
Sweat left us both wet and blind to the everyday
Necessary problems we face. Things we can’t erase
And these dreams in which we chase like cops
In our community.
Feb 24, 2015
Feb 24, 2015 at 9:32 AM UTC