"yardage" poems
Keep your American football
Your helmets and body armor
Rugby is the game for men
Bang on the head, a bleeding wound
Ten minutes off the pitch
Six stitches and a bandage
And the rugby player resumes
Take the hit, take the pain
The tackle must be made
The shattered bones just part of life
Worth the yardage gained
I've had the broken bones
The stitches in my head
I had the very worst
Because in a tackle I broke my neck
But it never did deter me
From the game that I so loved
I remember all the times
Shaking hands when smeared with blood
Yes rugby is a game for men
A game where pains the norm
A game for modern knights
A game where men are found
Feb 15, 2015
Feb 15, 2015 at 10:46 AM UTC
I hear the screeching sound,
Of the rioting crowd roaring like a lion,
When the weathered football is kicked,
Falling down like a missile,
Touching earth.
I see the opposing offence,
Passing for desperate yardage,
As our insane defense,
Forcefully sacks the quarterback,
In the backfield,
Providing our team with momentum.
I feel of the cold,
Icy wind as the ultimate play is about
To unfold,
As we play the fourth quarter.
The excruciating pain,
Of deliberately being bowled over,
By a linebacker with such vigorous
Power,
That your helmet is knocked off.
The relief of winning,
A difficult ballgame,
As we celebrate,
Another outstanding victory.
Dec 20, 2012
Dec 20, 2012 at 12:48 AM UTC
i may be jump starting
into a fast play here
but this ain't no ordinary game
i’m playing,
i ain't got no geechee tricks
up my sleeves
or a curve ball in sight,
with you
it’s just me and my straight pitch
so imma throw it to ya
like this
i’ve been traveling
across the court
waiting for you
to be wide open
for me to free throw
this to you
i love you
man
did you see that pass?
that shot i made
all the way
from half court?
you gonna
catch it &
come over here
slam dunk it
like i want you to
or let these words
rebound off your chest
like a third rate player
with uncoordinated hands?
cause right now
its the third down
in the last quarter
baby
& you still don’t see
how much yardage
you have gained
&
I'm still waiting
for you to
intercept me
dontcha know,
i wanna do
more than
just sack you?
but
don’t get it twisted
this isn’t some obsessed
lovesick fan
aching & destined
to show up
at your door
like a groupie
unannounced
cause
i’m not about to chase you
this ain’t track &
i don’t run after nothing
that can’t catch up to me
first
but **** don’t you know
i’ve got words for you papi
like goaaaalllll
& oyeeee
i might let you play
in my centerfield
but only if you can come
kick it hard enough
i wanna know
how do you
wanna
play this game?
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 11:08 PM UTC
10-13 is the score
We are down
2:46 left in regulation
1st and 10 on the opponent's 20 yard line
We run between the right guard and tackle
Make a 11 yard gain
1st and 10 again
Same play, but towards the left
Gain of 5 (we'll accept, but not what we expect)
2nd and 5
And to make up for our lack of yardage
We go long
Something's wrong
There's pressure
Never expected
Interception
Due to 3 and out
And good field position
We huddle again
1:10
1st and 10
On our own 47
Quick slant
4 yard gain
Quick out
5 yards and out
Clock stopped
No need for timeout
3rd and 1
The sound of yelling, and beating drums
Makes 10 deaf
And 1 dumb
A few steps away, we run away from what's been working throughout the day
On the opponents 44
Drop back; play action
Receivers slanting
Bump and run
Couldn't catch it
:45 seconds left
4th and 1
44 yards to go for a score
1 yard for a first down
About a 60 yard field goal attempt
(Mind you we have 212 yards combined on the ground)
Running
Spinning
Jumping
Diving
Grunting
When everything is on the line
(I'm not surprised)
We're punting...
Dec 28, 2012
Dec 28, 2012 at 1:12 AM UTC
Every Sunday
we watch football together
& while we yell at the plays
I wonder,
when are you gonna let me
gain some yardage on you?
Every Sunday
You yell,
That fool could have scored!
& while I look at you
I say to myself
Yes, you sure could have by now,
but like that quarterback
you move too slow
I wonder,
why are we still playing
on separate teams
when we like the same game?
You’re such a fool
If only you knew
how badly
I'd like to tackle you
& convert these last 2 points
by letting you hang
Between my goal posts
rush my endzone
and make the best
touchdown of your life
Tell me,
Can we huddle?
Can we discuss
this repetitive play
we keep pretending
we aren't playing?
Meet me at the
50 yard line
Of your bed
Let's scrimmage
man
Dec 11, 2016
Dec 11, 2016 at 7:08 PM UTC
digits digging divots, gyrating
in the finite field I have left on which to play,
bringing me closer to a goalless line
mornings I ran the ball,
feeling the turf beneath me, green and flat
in the afternoon I passed, hoping another would move onward
by eventide I oft punted, conceding my opponent
should be given his run, only to crash into me,
to be shoved into the demanding dirt,
a victim of my will, gravity,
and chiseling chance
when the ball returned
to me, as it eternally did,
I called another play, everyman scrambling
for a chance, at more measured madness, more
yardage marked by mocking minutes, that became
miles, hours, days, and more massive, metastatic
months, unstoppable, no matter who had the ball,
or how far their running feet
would take them
Jan 2, 2015
Jan 2, 2015 at 12:31 PM UTC
Big, sad eyes and heartless lies
Sitting alone she wants to cry
Making claims he wants to keep
Holding fast, we’re loosing sleep
We skate by time,
Were jumbled garbage
The Price of Love,
Is negative yardage
Jul 14, 2019
Jul 14, 2019 at 3:57 PM UTC