10 Great Sports, Life, & Inspirational Poems

Poetry and creative writing can be an excellent way to express yourself and honor
certain aspects of life.  In certain cases, no picture or television program can ever
give you the true vivid imagery of a good poem or short story.  For this list, I have
collected 10 of my favorite sports and wildlife works, along with a few other
outstanding children and life poems and writings.  I looked for the use of imagery,
originality, interest, and feeling.

Todd Huffman

allyaubry

laffy4k

The call that comes in darkest sleep,
Awakens with a fright;
For 2 am, the silence breaks
The peaceful calm of night.

When only moments earlier,
I dreamt of visions fair;
Of light and love and happiness;
Till ringing filled the air.

It beckoned me from deepest sleep,
And drew me from my daze;
I shook my head to clear my mind,
Find focus through this haze.

"How long has this been ringing?"
As I reach to find the light;
I steal a glance toward the clock,
And now my heart takes flight!

'Tis many hours before the dawn,
Yet all should be in bed;
My loved ones faces fill the night;
My heart is filled with dread.

I struggle for composure as
I reach to grab the phone;
My stomach churns, my heart contracts;
"Are all my kids at home?"

I stumble as I grasp the handle,
Stifle silent screams;
"Oh God ... please let this phone call
Be a part of just a dream!"

My heart is racing, mind's a whirl,
Receiver's made of lead;
"Oh, how can this be happening!"
"Who's on the other end?!"

Just seconds pass and yet I find
It's been eternity;
I raise the phone to panicked ear;
"Oh please ... don't be for me!"

Shyald

I would like to watch you sleeping,
which may not happen.
I would like to watch you,
sleeping. I would like to sleep
with you, to enter
your sleep as its smooth dark wave
slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent
wavering forest of bluegreen leaves
with its watery sun & three moons
towards the cave where you must descend,
towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver
branch, the small white flower, the one
word that will protect you
from the grief at the center
of your dream, from the grief
at the center I would like to follow
you up the long stairway
again & become
the boat that would row you back
carefully, a flame
in two cupped hands
to where your body lies
beside me, and as you enter
it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be the air
that inhabits you for a moment
only. I would like to be that unnoticed
& that necessary.

peasap

Said a blade of grass to an autumn leaf, "You make such a noise
falling! You scatter all my winter dreams."

Said the leaf indignant, "Low-born and low-dwelling! Songless,
peevish thing! You live not in the upper air and you cannot tell
the sound of singing."

Then the autumn leaf lay down upon the earth and slept. And when
spring came she waked again--and she was a blade of grass.

And when it was autumn and her winter sleep was upon her, and
above her through all the air the leaves were falling, she muttered
to herself, "O these autumn leaves! They make such noise! They
scatter all my winter dreams."

Myrrien

Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
His underwear is hanging on the lamp.
His raincoat is there in the overstuffed chair,
And the chair is becoming quite mucky and damp.
His workbook is wedged in the window,
His sweater's been thrown on the floor.
His scarf and one ski are beneath the TV,
And his pants have been carelessly hung on the door.
His books are all jammed in the closet,
His vest has been left in the hall.
A lizard named Ed is asleep in his bed,
And his smelly old sock has been stuck to the wall.
Whosever room this is should be ashamed!
Donald or Robert or Willie or--
Huh? You say it's mine? Oh, dear,
I knew it looked familiar!

So early it's still almost dark out.
I'm near the window with coffee,
and the usual early morning stuff
that passes for thought.

When I see the boy and his friend
walking up the road
to deliver the newspaper.

They wear caps and sweaters,
and one boy has a bag over his shoulder.
They are so happy
they aren't saying anything, these boys.

I think if they could, they would take
each other's arm.
It's early in the morning,
and they are doing this thing together.

They come on, slowly.
The sky is taking on light,
though the moon still hangs pale over the water.

Such beauty that for a minute
death and ambition, even love,
doesn't enter into this.

Happiness. It comes on
unexpectedly. And goes beyond, really,
any early morning talk about it.

lepiaf.geo

It was taken some time ago.
At first it seems to be
a smeared
print: blurred lines and grey flecks
blended with the paper;

then, as you scan
it, you see in the left-hand corner
a thing that is like a branch: part of a tree
(balsam or spruce) emerging
and, to the right, halfway up
what ought to be a gentle
slope, a small frame house.

In the background there is a lake,
and beyond that, some low hills.

The photograph was taken
the day after I drowned.

I am in the lake, in the center
of the picture, just under the surface.

It is difficult to say where
precisely, or to say
how large or small I am:
the effect of water
on light is a distortion

but if you look long enough,
eventually
you will be able to see me.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth

Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet, knowing how way leads onto way
I doubted if I should ever come back

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference.