"referees" poems
The smell of the oil as it's rubbed on your shoulder
The passion of the coach , we must be much bolder
The hatred of a player on the opposite side
The knowing when you'er out there there's nowhere to hide
The whistle has blow your anxiety drop
The firsts tackle made is a 19 stone prop
The taste of your blood makes it all worth while
The prop gets up and gives that I'll **** you next time smile
The old man on the score board sets our team to win
The small crowd on the side making all the din
The referees whistle calls the game to end
The prop who tried to **** you is now your friend
The hot water finds your wounds without any tear
The thought of some grub and a pint of beer
The game you so love has come to its end
The club house the banter a chat with a friend
The talk of the game the rights and the wrongs
The choir master arises and we blast out our songs
See you training
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 4:33 AM UTC
1. You could not wait til halftime to check your poem or add one.
2. You wrote a sonnet about pretty horses. (Broncos)
3.You wrote a poem about kittens.(Panthers)
4. As the ball soars through the air, you are reminded of a bird in flight.
5. A Superbowl commercial inspired a new poem.
6. You paused the game with your DVR to write a piece.
7. You think the referees look like majestic Zebra on the African plains.
8. You ponder the coin toss and wonder of chance and philosophical questions as to whether life is like a paradox, then write yourself a poem about it.
9. When a tackle is made, you think upon the animalistic nature of humanity and write a haiku about it.
10. There is a notebook and pen right next to your remote and munchies.
11. You have a neck ache due to looking at your hellopoetry site and then back up at the t.v.
12. You write Peyton Manning farewell poem.
13. The commentator of the game makes a poetical statement and you use it in your latest poem.
14. The crowd boos a player and you feel compelled to write the pain of number 94 in a poem.
15. Last but not least, you might be a poet if you are reading this and the game is on.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 9:29 PM UTC
I'm a fan of Vontaze Burfict
Though he may not be perfect
For he gives players concussions
To continue the daily discussions
Of the power of his percussion
To receive a hall of fame induction
That is where his value is derived
So what do these penalties imply?
That the referees have a preconceived notion of him
And are preemptively looking to treat him grim
Which gives his team a lesser chance to win
Which makes the biased referees grin
We are a country that idolizes quarterbacks
Every other position we're quick to attack
We only care about who has the ball
And laughing at others when they fall
We worship that which is shiny
And view everything else as grimy
Quarterbacks become celebrities incredulously
While everyone else is treated impetuously
The NFL is like America
Politics makes it harder to watch
The Patriots are boring and plain
They win constantly
The Bengals are entertaining and rough around the edges
They show promise and potential that is never realized
In a nation
Of provocation
I'd rather proudly call myself a bengal
I know that seems an idealistic angle
But Cincinnati provides no coziness or protection
You must always avoid discriminate detection
Of those that call themselves patriots
That drive blue and white chariots
And penalize players unnecessarily
For African Americanning
We really fumbled the ball
Because of the ref's call
That treats us unequally
How they have fun evilly
They can arbitrarily treat whoever however
But a concussion will make them less clever
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
A six-legged Asian cockroach just washed up on American soil, and it can lay eggs on ice.
Roaches are infamous for the myth that they're one of the few species that could survive an atomic bomb. It's not science, but even Adam Savage and his gang of Myth Buster's say it's beyond myth: a human croaks after ten minutes of exposure to 1,000 units of cobalt 60. But for roaches, 10% of their population survives after exposure to 10,000 rads - hell, it's better than zero.
This new species is the most evolutionarily persistent thing ever - if surviving means anything, it win's life on earth, hands down.
But I'd rather be a monkey.
We **** up and **** ourselves everyday. We slip and **** ourselves with power tools, or smash our fists into soccer referees and manslaughter oops **** We shoot ourselves off of propulsion equipment to see what happens. Bone-crunching splatter ****
From 100 feet up, we look like ******* mad men.
But the roach shows up carefully and gets **** done with nasty perseverance. The roach with vapid speech and wide eyes, glued to efficiencies and body armor.
To exist plainly - to work, eat. and sleep - is done best by roaches. Success is a cockroach.
Mar 18, 2015
Mar 18, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
Chelsea&Barça
Chelsea&Barça
Is when a stadium is torn between
The devil and the deep blue sea
And referees are left solely and boldly
To decide on only what they see
Chelsea&Barça
Is when elegance and eclecticism sits in enmity
And battles it out till
In its entirety or finality
Chelsea&Barça
Is when the proverbs of curse begin
As teams fail to steam and win
Chelsea&Barça
Is a match with no particular price
Yet,everything is priced and staked
Every second counts,the minutes take
As the game changes,and break
Chelsea&Barça
Is when eyes cannot be kept
Of that which it behold
Not for a moment nor a second
Life is defined,is a clinging- hope
Chelsea&Barça
Is only when dark horses stumble
Giant pyramids
For glory sake,in just the name of the highest bids
Chelsea&Barça
Is when brothers dine on tables of passion
With swords and blades
As shades are thrown
And bloods are trade
Chelsea&Barça
Is when the pool of the eyes
Overflow its banks
And men gets laid in ice
For their low ranks
Chelsea&Barça
Is both life and death
Chelsea&Barça
Is certainly the story of the last breathe
#ThePrince
#GreatestPoetEver
©Historian E.Lexano
™Recalcitration With Excellence
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 4:06 AM UTC
THE SUPER SONNET
(14 syllables by 14 lines)
I want to beat up Jimmy Olsen and take all his cash
Leave him left for dead it's all inside my head; a gas
Explosion would take care of the rest and then I would have
Her all to myself the prettiest girl in the world
I'd kick his legs with steel-toed shoes like the referees kid
Did to all the star players way back when we were all kids
Man she looks like she could give eine bier some head, Superman
She looks hotter than a ******* Pet/Playmate, Superman
Come on, let me fly away with Chloe you'll save a lot
more men. Believe me when I say she's got that rack of lamb
Roast of beef man She's one sweet piece of meat Yeah that Chloe
She is the Smallville star by far that takes away my heart
Fly away with me Chloe Fly away with me Chloe
Fly away with me Chloe Fly away with me Chloe
Sep 29, 2015
Sep 29, 2015 at 11:14 AM UTC
What am I to do when the words are screaming within my head,
when the arms of the letters are engaged in a wrestling match
and they're ignoring the referees constant pleas to stop;
what is the referee to do when they're driving him mad?
What is he to do when they're driving him crazy?
The fights only exist in the ring, in the head,
for they don't even exist in the outside world.
Spoken word is nothing but dressed up thoughts;
nothing but children in costumes on Halloween night.
The referee can not exist outside,
neither can the battling words;
so how is he to get any peace of mind?
What is one to do when the things he's meant for drive him crazy,
what does one do when the only thing fueling him holds him back?
How does one free themselves from themselves?
(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.
Sep 28, 2014
Sep 28, 2014 at 6:12 PM UTC
hop skip and away
i'm flying today
feather in the air
i'm lighter, spark, fire
dare me to stay
but i just can't wait
i want to take to the skies
and see what i can find
hold on tight if you're in for the ride
want to see the whole world
see every fountain, river, mountain
lets explore open doors
step through find something new
no fear, any scrape or bruise
is an opportunity to grow
so
what do you say?
the only thing that could make this better
is if we're in this together
but i won't wait its now or never
you shouldn't have to think
so in a blink adios, te recordare!
so i take to the skies floating breeze
i want to be surprised at the colors
of the fish in the sea, and take a second
to see if there really is that many
or do i need to go fishing right now?
don't think i could stop if i tried
cause a fishy in the sea can
hook line and sinker this heart
if and when they're ready to sprout wings and
take to the skies floating breeze
sail overdrafts with me
jungles of Brazil to the city of Pair-ee
i've a heart meant for dancing,
beaches, culture, romancing
try anything once, most things twice
food, trees, and drinks are my vices
music is my ******* but it keeps me sane
so we just won't consider that a con
cause i'm pro-grammed hardwired
to move my feet to the beat of life
it may skip and shuffle sometimes
but thats the spice to the sugar
cause everything nice gave Jane a dull life
taking to the skies floating breeze
stop for a game of futbol no referees
play til sundown lay on the ground
catch my breath take a rest
open my eyes to watch the stars
turn the sky into my own lightshow
no cover charge
i want to see if they're in reach
so i take to the skies floating breeze
every different tree a different melody
now you're ready to explore with me?
consider yourself lucky i can recognize harmony
lets come together and find our rhythm
we make a beautiful song
Feb 10, 2012
Feb 10, 2012 at 3:09 PM UTC
Referees mismanage oversight
incorrect calls lower credibility
faith in justice dissolves into the ice
agency is taken into padded hands
vigilantes slash and spear.
Hip check leads to cross check leads to fist check
malignant hostility boils over
leather armor is removed
interphalangeal joints meet mandible
type O negative paints a jersey
haymakers take bizarre trajectories
to avoid helmets and visors
the face is homebase to ingrain pain.
Violence subverts gamesmanship
players must be taken off ice
to be put on ice
otherwise brawls become overabundant
and destroy the integrity of the sport
yet each transfer of agony is euphorically satisfying
—considering the context—
so fist fairs continue for the foreseeable future
we organize an impenetrable perimeter
once we've acclimated to penalty kills.
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 4:01 PM UTC
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya;[email protected])
My name is nomenclatural postmodernism
My age is a blend of colonialism and freedom
My gender is engendered minus bias to LGBT
My languages is cultural defense from cultural Darwinism
With subaltern survival in the south-south dance,
My place of birth is epicenter of globalectics
My education is cosmetic with a knack in encyclopedic sham,
My work historiography is dialectic ignobling of the worker
As proceeds of my hand equally ennobles the master,
My profession is maximum respect to economic powers that be,
My schooling was done in two huge palimpsests,
My focus is to achieve poetic obscurantism out of artistic destituence,
My referees abode in the beatitude that blessed are they who thrill in ideas
For them is the kingdom of kingdoms in the global uni-polar politics.
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 6:43 AM UTC
Ref blows whistle: (Full Time Out)
Me-
My man curled, screen, then tried to do a slip.
Size you in, and hit you really good in your lips.
No calls guaranteed, from these wack funky referees.
I’m ready to turn up on the court, bro, down with me?
Juice-
Hell yeah my guy! ****** off and attitude kinda tight.
What a mess, Aye, Zay let’s put these boys to rest.
Me-
Straight facts! Next play they’re running flat.
The next time he do that, we’ll lay him on his back.
Time to respond. I'll get the ball, hit a crossover, and pass it through.
Hit your shimmy dance, shoot and move, shoot and move.
Juice-
***** you ain’t got to say -ish!
I been ballin’ since 5th grade with the same tricks!
With the ball gripped, and a fake little drive.
Average 14p-10r-5a + an OG can still fly.
Just observe, I’m about to send these boy my regards.
Have the crowd singing, “Oh my Lord!”
Me-
Bet fam, love your crazy attitude!
We gone gang up on these rookies and beat them by 62!
Abuse them, with the upmost tempo vicious.
Dunk, score, scream and shout make them feel like quitting.
On Defense, guard #2 the short chubby dude.
I’ll guard #32 that look like a raccoon.
Go man to man with the little peasants.
When it’s all said and done, give these fools zero leg room exits.
Juice-
I'm dunking on chumps like O’Neal , offense-defense real!
Got ice in my veins from the thrill when I block and steal!
These little boys can’t stop me for -ish!
With my corner 3-pt nasty wet jumper, they gone have to recover.
Yup, make them suffer. We dangerous!
Whole team will lose confidence dawg, big trust!
Now let’s just chill, relax, stay focus no relapse,
watch our backs, but aye fam… where the ball at?
Ref blows whistle: (Ball in!)
Jul 7, 2021
Jul 7, 2021 at 8:43 PM UTC
Regulation time was up
and our team one goal behind.
At the referees sole discretion
Is the length of stoppage time.
How much time do we have left?
What difference can we make?
Already we’re shorthanded
And the playoffs are at stake.
We’re like a man whose heart has failed
a time or two before.
Each time nearly off with death
Until revived for more.
Or somebody whose lease is up
And headed for the door,
Waiting only for the truck
to take their past to store.
I heard my pulse race in my ears
As I penetrate their line.
I tuck the ball inside the post
And score in stoppage time.
Just ahead a shootout waits
which will decide our fate.
When playing games of sudden death
What a difference seconds make.
Dec 17, 2013
Dec 17, 2013 at 10:45 PM UTC
you sit and try to learn
The words you hear you said you could have written but you just needed another minute
When will it be your turn , to become a black balloon, and float toward freedom and the moon, your temper grows and true hearts are shown and now my mind has been blown like a referees whistle, you act like you are innocent but you know the fouls that you have committed
Just paint me a picture, of the future you see for yourself, tuck it away until a later day, let it collect dust upon your shelf
You are now the dove you dreamed of
Flying away back home, they say you can **** 2 birds with one stone,only if you agree to be alone
But I can only see the memory inside, even if its pressed betweeni a lie but your memory stays painted oN my mind
Aug 11, 2013
Aug 11, 2013 at 5:38 PM UTC
It was in my mother’s father’s final days when Beckham curled it in against Greece
It should have been wrapped up months or at least minutes prior
But for the English
Football is a beautiful form of torture
Some relief in the dark and painful last of his days
It may sound dramatic from the outside
But from the inside
When you’re in on the secret
Football has always been the beautiful game for a reason
And fate was sealed that day
The infamous Zidane headbutt
It came at a time when I was realising people aren’t perfect and heroes are human
For me, not a disgrace, but a lesson
The world’s greatest are also flawed
Lampard 2010 World Cup
It was over the line
I know it
You know it
But the greatest journeys all have their ups and downs
Their misfortunes and their injustices
Our time is nigh
It’s coming home
The psychopathic work ethic of Ronaldo
The glue on the boots of Messi
The precision of the Pirlo pass
The ‘Why always me?’
The ‘You’ll never walk alone’
The wins, the losses
The joy, the heartbreak
The frustration of supporting a yo-yo that never goes all the way up
An ode to my forever unmentioned Plymouth Argyle
The screamers, the blunders
From Thierry to Titus Bramble
Alonso to Okocha
The once-club-record-signing whose name now evades you
The heroes, the villains
The naive dream that maybe one day you’ll make it
And the hope that maybe this will be our year
The diving, the referees, the relegations, the failure
The 4-0 thrashings by the rivals, the penalties and quarter finals
I don’t know why I do it to myself
But I know that I wouldn’t have it any other way
This is the beautiful game
This is football
Sep 2, 2020
Sep 2, 2020 at 8:45 AM UTC
Ah, the mercurial female pursuit!
The greatest and the damnedest game
What stunning highs and cruel lows
Where patience is lost and hearts are claimed
To feel the the pleasure of the chase!
The pursuit is worth the heavy toil
Great angst and fear are put to shame,
Eclipsed by sweet romance's spoil
But what is this? It seems to me
The playing ground's all bare today
Except for stone-faced referees
None of the players have come to play
I'll have to turn about and leave
No man can play this game alone
It seems an awful waste but yea
I'll pack my things and head back home.
I've tried to play a number of times
Prepped and practiced, just in case
There'd be another player to play
A worthy foe for me to face.
And we are made to play, and win
This game that we've all known and seen
This challenge, unequaled! Upon the earth
The greatest sport that's ever been
My spirit falters, as time marches on
Diligence, heart, and patience all wilt
I know not why this all must pass
Is this the thing for which I was built?
But I believe that someday soon
The pitch will shine an ecchoing green
And on that day I'll play the game
Against a player as yet unseen.
Dec 7, 2014
Dec 7, 2014 at 12:48 AM UTC
liberalism rots my brain and breaks my heart
emotions are cast as a lack of objectivity needing to be overcome and cut out.
emotions are not insight they are impediment.
a threat to someone’s wellbeing and dignity is cast as a difference of opinion, that we can agree to disagree that there is no target on your back.
while you are walking up hill into the wind with your possessions rolling down the bank, the world is warped into a frame, call it a “level playing field”
as if an elite group doesn’t own and run the pitch, profit from the rent, write the rulebook and hire the referees.
Sep 16, 2017
Sep 16, 2017 at 5:35 AM UTC
I was 8
Breaktimes at school were the best
I remember the small field-not-pitch
Where we played football
Not as a game of 22 players
and referees and rules
It was a game of 44;
No, 46 self acclaimed stars
It was a game of the whole school
Everybody against everybody
Indiscriminate of ***
Or skill
Of height differences or body frame
Tackled by your teammates for dribbling too much
You could pick up the ball and run
Rugby style to the opposition post
Then kick to score and most likely, miss
Or get mobbed even before you get to the post
It was all so exciting;
Such disorganization;
So much fun.
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 8:23 AM UTC
It's afternoon and I’m standing outside in a towel. I’m smoking a menthol cigarette, or rather the **** one of four collected from the ash tray on the brick ledge sitting in the window by my screen door. I’m surrounded by dead plants, it was too cold in the storage room for them to make it, no heat goes there. The thing about dead plants, you can never tell if they’re truly dead. There might be a spark of life hidden somewhere. Sure the leaves yellow, become brittle, while others maintain a shade of green. I’m smoking this menthol down to the filter, my skin has the watery remains of a two hour bath beading in the late winter air. It's St. Patrick’s day, and the town will be filled with drunks, I aspire to be one of them. Yet my face is dead, I don’t know how to wink. The bar tender gave me a cigarette last night, in appreciation, I blew her a kiss, our eyes met, and in both of our faces, dead plants. I watched a gaggle of muscle bound monkeys in tight shirts pounding the hardwood of the bar, hollering in tones only achieved by men watching sports together. Not the birth of a boy, not the heat of ****** can match the sound of men reveling in someone else’s athletic accomplishment. I used to sit on the bench of my middle school basketball team, we only ever lost one game, it was a catholic school hit job, the referees in the hometown pocket, it was probably the first mugging I ever witnessed in real time. If you’re enthusiastic enough, people will keep you around, the key is to never let on that you’re faking it. That’s the art of social life, that veneer that only the true actor can achieve, being so deep in character, that you believe it as your self. This smile, take it or leave it, but if you walk around smiling long enough, people will wonder what’s wrong with you. I’m smiling, I enjoy absurdity, feigned or otherwise, just yell in my face a little less, or start throwing glass and make a real horror show of it.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 3:24 PM UTC
Fans from both sides
Yelling at the referees,
Telling them how to do their job.
I wanted to defend the referees right
There.
But then I thought, "How could I plead my case
Regarding a sport that most of the audience knows
Better than I do?"
I rested my case in my head.
Even the coaches were mocking
How they could make better calls
And how many the referees missed.
I guess that's why my dad and brother
Didn't give a **** about the tension.
They've seen tension not only from me
In the family,
But they have an awareness of sports
That my experience cannot contest.
I have thin skin, I can't let these situations slide.
I couldn't be in an arena
Where every fan was booing the officials.
I had to leave; my hands are still marked with
The filth of unsportsmanlike conduct
On every animate being.
Sure no sport can come clean,
And everyone in my family and most outside my house
Had to remind me in basketball, piano, football,
That it's "just a game."
I left this so-called game early.
I wasn't really rooting for any team;
I don't even think I was watching a real game.
Jan 28, 2019
Jan 28, 2019 at 12:35 PM UTC
10
Hes fast.. that uppercut came out nowhere. its always the one you don't see that takes you down
9
Not sure how many more of those I can take. My legs feel like jelly
8
My right eye's bleeding pretty bad, hes been working on it all night and im pretty sure i have a cracked rib
7
This cant be happening man, not in front my family. I can't go out like this
6
This is a b.s. match anyway. There's two of him for christ sake!. and why do we need two referees!
5
If only I would have trained harder. Stopped drinking and taken thing's seriously for once. Come on lady luck I need you now more than ever!
4
How am I gonna face my girl after this. She's always been in my corner and i'm about to let her down
3
Well at least its almost over. I'll find a bottle of whiskey and hide out for a while.
2
**** that. You've fought harder men than him and you've always come out on top. Get your *** up and put him down. The loser is the man that gives up. That's something you've never done once. And your not gonna start today!
1
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 7:38 PM UTC
Hockey is the only major sport not based around fighting that you can fight in
And not get ejected from the game
The referees just give each player five minute penalties
Some players will use this to their advantage
And try to pick fights with players more valuable than them
Creating an equalizing equation
Raising their value to the player they eliminated
And bringing that player down to their level
Mar 30, 2019
Mar 30, 2019 at 10:46 PM UTC
the lull, the longing,
the ache just before sleep
and just before wake -
the quiet, rhythmic
shushing, the weight,
the heaviness.
it's too dark, but
it's too bright, too
much, not enough,
too warm, too cold.
always too something.
never quite enough.
it's the swell of the sky
just before the rain,
the stillness and the hush
around midnight just
before it snows. it's
the creeping feeling
of change, of danger,
of letting go, of giving
up - it's how the winds
change, it's the stack
of papers blowing
away in the sudden
gust. it's the boys
who promise to
never hurt you while
they're untying their shoes,
unbuttoning their pants.
it's how they sneak out
after you've fallen asleep,
the cancer in the way
they kiss your forehead
just before they go.
it's your father holding
your small hands, and
your father's weight
after he buckles under
too many beers. it's how
no matter how many times
your he disappoints you,
you'll always call him daddy
when he finally comes around.
it's your father being the first
man to break all the promises
he made you and it's your aching
little girl's heart believing
him too many times. it's your
mother telling you to be better,
but never showing
you how to be better.
it's the way your mother tells you
to be safe but never teaches
you how to say no,
how to tell the boys when
enough is enough -
how fingertips creeping up too far,
how hands slipping down too low
should never feel like a debt to be paid.
she doesn't tell you how that sudden
vacancy in your mind is a warning
sign, how it's a quiet no,
and that maybe will never be a quiet yes.
it's the teachers telling
you that boys will be boys,
telling you that girls are mean
and to get over it and handle
it among yourselves because
there's no referees in real life.
it's lies that sound like promises
and words like forever and love
and ipromiseillneverleaveyou
hitting your heart like a brick.
it's empty beds and empty
houses and empty cupboards
and ghost towns in your chest
and abandoned homes in your
head and it's the way ghosts
never leave the places that
harmed them the most. it's
how falling asleep every night
feels like the battle and waking
up every morning feels like
the war and it's the way that
no matter how many times
you fight, nothing's ever won.
Apr 1, 2019
Apr 1, 2019 at 3:20 AM UTC
If freedom was a part of us
Rooted deep within our souls
Why don't we scream loudly like thunder
To vanquish these ignorant foes
But these chains abide around us
We see but do not speak
These walls between our neighbors
Serve as political referees
Jun 6, 2025
Jun 6, 2025 at 10:15 PM UTC