"goalposts" poems
"There are animals in the road"
the traffic reporter said
"We're not told what they are
find another route instead"
And so I got to wondering
though I wasn't going that way
what the mystery beasties were
that were on the road that day
Were they a herd of wildebeeste
who took a wrong turn on the veldt
or perhaps a wayward mule train
delivering some sacks of spelt
Maybe a team of trainee reindeer
diverted from the North Pole
or a bunch of llamas from Peru
that fell through a wormhole
Or bears, or wolves, or lions
could be zebras or kangaroos
surely not beached aquatic mammals
or elephants trumpeting the blues
Exotic beasts seemed unlikely though
it was more likely cattle or sheep
though it could have been migrating badgers
moving goalposts somewhere safe to keep
Cynthia Pauline Jones, 27/10/13
Mar 18, 2014
Mar 18, 2014 at 8:36 AM UTC
I was told in secondary school
"Keep moving your goalposts"
At college, my goalposts moved too much.
So I gave my goalpost my sister's ADD medication.
My goalposts stopped moving altogether.
As I dressed in black for my goalpost's funeral, I thought to myself:
"have I won yet?"
Aug 14, 2014
Aug 14, 2014 at 1:35 AM UTC
goalkeeper
The goalkeeper stands tall between goal posts that
some times seem far away, but he is the hero
the man they have to get past to score.
I was once a goalkeeper, they put me there mainly
because no one else wanted the job.
I will show them alone I decide whether to jump
left or right, today I will be successful, nimble and
elastic, stoic in the face of the horde.
The goalkeeper stands tall, yet feels small goalposts
are too far apart it is beginning to rain, and he wants
to go home,
Jul 1, 2020
Jul 1, 2020 at 7:26 AM UTC
The silver dew seeps through my shoes
No one
Not by the goalposts
Not by the gravel footprints
Hears my music
Bold streetlights lit across the night
The twinkling starlights
Like leaves in the river
Grey charcoal clouds
That swallow the tops of tall trees
Aligned silently by the roadside
I'm only true in the empty stillness
Where my own sound floats softly
Like echoing birds in snow
Dec 4, 2016
Dec 4, 2016 at 3:25 PM UTC
This is going to turn ugly I can tell,
But you hurt me, what the hell?
This is a normal reaction this is mature,I have always been this way even before
I never moved the goalposts it was always you, always setting me up to fail just to prove you were true.
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 4:36 PM UTC
Sunday, the lads are on the pitch
they were ****** the night before
the other side look just as bad
not sure any are fit to score
The whistles blown, the ball is kicked
three players chase concentration on their faces
The keepers are leaning on goalposts
and seventeen are tying their laces
Number nine is running at goal
He must score, it's in the bag
the ball soars past the goalie
and hits the corner flag
By the half time wistle
there was one red card and four yellow
players were crawling off the pitch
the supporters were less than mellow
The full time score was a one all draw
the Ref blew for full time
the players headed for the bar
Twenty one pints and a lager and lime
Match clebrations went on for hours
though neither side had won
next Sunday they would play again
only to draw again, one, one
Jul 6, 2025
Jul 6, 2025 at 5:08 PM UTC
somebody strikes a match
outside the corner shop
at the park the team are using
jumpers for goalposts
you put your lipstick on
in a hurry this morning
dropped your Tube ticket
somewhere at Caledonian Road
a teenager sings Dancing Queen
wears an Adidas sports bra
the old man is sleeping again
you saw him two days ago
phone’s on 22%
brother’s birthday is tomorrow
in a second-hand shop
with its own brand of smell
the spines are cracked
the pages have yellow breath
lunch is barely a fiver
the guy on the till is called Brian
if you could you’d tell
a person how you’ve looked
for this one story
but there are too many shelves
and no person
to help you look
Sep 13, 2018
Sep 13, 2018 at 6:03 PM UTC
beginning:
playing football
in the communal
playground
pitched between
mountains of concrete
brown brick office blocks
blockaded high street shops
council housing kingdoms.
memory;
taking potshots at metal
goalposts slicked with
the rain and scabbed spray paint
till the olders kick us aside
basketballs in hand
for freethrows from the poverty line.
unlearning;
to think
love like marble
too cold and rich to touch
in fear that it’d turn out to be *****
like two boys
looking at each other for too long
can leave stains no amount of febreze can air out.
end;
i still can’t sleep in your arms
but you never stop searching for me
in yours
all there is left to do
is let
myself be found.
Oct 5, 2020
Oct 5, 2020 at 8:17 PM UTC
There are appearances of many journeys..but
Let's imagine that there is only one..
It is the journey inward..and not inward..to
Discover that which can never be discovered on
Any journey..as goalposts dissolve in the tears that flow
And burning flames leap..behind and ahead..
Mar 29, 2021
Mar 29, 2021 at 4:36 PM UTC
A battle of wills made by difficult by the witless on both sides. Discussions derailed by wild-eye gadflies on fire.
Goalposts travel here and there and then disappear. The crux is lost in the shuffle, replaced by ad hominems galore.
The gavel is coated with sound protection. The recordings are distortions interspersed with specious conspiracies.
Look around and see the painfully contorted faces on the mouth breathers wrapped up like intricate pretzels.
No good fight in sight. Just power grabs and jostling for attention and 180 degree turns for the almighty dollar.
Where are the heroes, the selfless willing to break the chain of mendacity and vileness even knowing it will boomerang?
Dec 16, 2019
Dec 16, 2019 at 1:36 PM UTC
Envisioning
From the backseat
The brutal heat
And burning concrete
Beneath
My bare feet
These stringent standards set before me
The goalposts are constantly changing
The white knuckling I'm always doing
Always moving, never choosing
The deep, dark bruising
Aug 22, 2017
Aug 22, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC
I miss them
missed them
kissed some of them
loved all of them.
Holy ghosts
move the goalposts
when it suits them.
I'm listening to the fireworks
at least
something works in
broken Britain.
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 4:31 PM UTC
You're the one who suggested
the park picnic, obviously. We got the food
from the M&S at King's Cross after you’d arrived,
wearing the bracelet I'd bought you
for your thirtieth half a year ago.
You really didn't have to. I knew that,
but did anyway. Happy tears flashed
in your eyes. In mine too.
Although we both know, we ask
how we've been. Much the same as always.
Work colleagues fancy a drink
on Fridays - it's a pass. Skin’s breaking out
again - it's hormonal. Turns out we're both
reading Emily Henry because everyone else is.
Falling into line with the masses.
Bookish FOMO, you say. I emit a giggle at that.
A group of others play football nearby;
tote bags for goalposts. I doubt a wayward kick
but I move the share bag of cheese
and onion closer to my crossed legs.
I almost don't hear you ask *really better now,
I worry you know.* I know you do but again,
my throat becomes clogged. I never tell.
The light licks your shoulders and I think of drinking
the sun one day without rosy blotches
on my skin, heartburn on the hour, every hour.
Jun 25, 2024
Jun 25, 2024 at 10:28 AM UTC
I thought I'll not go on after sixty one,
but now I'm here and the fear is I will,
yes
age is the bitter pill we swallow when life
has left us lined and feeling hollow,
used up like a matchstick that's been burnt.
Sixty two will have to do or maybe three, I'll wait and see.
If you believe we never leave
and just move to another plane
I for one don't blame you
but
I'd rather move the
goalposts.
Feb 16, 2018
Feb 16, 2018 at 12:00 PM UTC
In All of its entirety
infinity is the one place
you can reach out to touch me,
but
don't expect too much.
As far as far can be and deeper than a bottomless sea
we like to think ourselves the masters of our fate
and thinking this we think infinity can wait
however, an expanding universe moves
the goalposts every day.
I could try to stretch out time
to wrap it around these
fingers of mine
to intervene
but the everlasting dream sounds
so inviting,
to be safe
I'm spending the night in
watching the static build
until my head is filled
with white noise.
Apr 25, 2021
Apr 25, 2021 at 1:37 PM UTC