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Further Poetry

HaikuMan has disappeared, but no mind; he's inspired something special. I can virtually guarantee that if Internet clicks were based on the annual number of Freddy-Adu-has-been-traded sonnets, this would be the most popular blog in the world. Etan would be proud.


Etan has nothing on Bryan76 or ouij. (Emilie Sommer For The Washington Post)

From ouij this AM, an untitled multi-sport sonnet:

A fickle, willful mistress Fortune is,
Our District to endow with worldly might--
For here the Congress sits, the White House is,
Yet still our Redskins are a sorry sight!

Some hope, at least, abides within us still,
When Gilbert with his culinary flair
Can shake and bake and then hibachi-grill
The opposition in the Wizards' lair;

Ovechkin, with his skill upon the ice
The envy of the hockey world will be
And Olaf Kolzig's saves are mighty nice--
That's two teams now, at least, with dignity!

But what's the Barra Brava going to do
When Fake Salt Lake makes off with our Adu?

From Bryan76, via e-mail, also untitled:

Unfulfilled promises led to your trade.
One championship and scads of hit posts --
And he could still be in eleventh grade.
Instead he came to DC full of boast.

It is a man's game and he struggled some,
The adjustment tough. A lot different
Than beating Koreans in one on ones.
A first round draft pick paying his mom rent.

He's [likely] off to Europe 'fore next year --
On the bench in MLS, but not there?
Some will blame Nowak that he is not here,
Au revior Freddy, on to Utah fair.

A several month stint in Wasatch cold,
Still, not bad for a seventeen year old.

Please hit the continue button for more.

From DCAustinite, continuing the theme:

The Redskins are a lousy team
Built out of champions
To watch them [play] will make one scream
and eat raw onions.

But they used to be so grand
and now their glory faded
Call them 'Skins, tribe or band -

Holy sh!t! Adu was traded?

From ouij yesterday

To a Young Squire

In seasons past, the Redskins would reverse
The end-around, and thereby win a game--
But now we Redskins fans can only curse
A team that once was proud, but now is lame.

Eliminated now, they can begin
To understand the wherefores of their plight--
In learning how one lost, one learns to win
By knowing what went wrong and what went right.

O Daniel Snyder in your lux'ry box,
Hear now these words of wisdom from a fan:
Free Agents are expensive building blocks;
For personnel, a team must have a plan!

Though you can purchase Burgundy with Gold,
Remember: vict'ry can't be bought or sold.

And then, apropos of nothing in particular, Reader Ben sent this extremely non-sonnetized take on the Terps:

Bambale Osby flexes,
Ekene leaps and soars,
Mike Jones hits from way downtown,
Greivis Vasquez roars.

Hayes threads the needle,
DJ steals a ball,
Gist swats a shot,
Bowers is REALLY tall.

The team has come together,
Defense leads the charge,
A lead that once had dwindled,
Now looms very large.

But then the shots start falling,
The lead is cut in twain,
"Defense leads to offense!"
Gary shouts in vain.

Before you know it--silence,
The crowd stares in disbelief,
Notre Dame's hit twelve straight shots,
The Terps' fans grind their teeth.

Sunday bloody Sunday,
The game is really done,
The Terps have really lost,
The Irish really won.

"But it's OK!" I think,
"You always need a first!"
"You're not gonna win 'em all!"
"And ND ain't the worst!"

"Next week is what matters!"
"When we open ACC play!"
"Don't worry we'll beat BC!"
"Even if it is away!"

But then a wise man next to me sadly points to the date,
"The game is on a Sunday, there's no escaping their fate."

By Dan Steinberg  |  December 12, 2006; 12:01 PM ET
Categories:  Poetry  
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Comments

DCAustinite, you had me Holy Sh!t

Ouij, wonderful

Posted by: Bryan76 | December 12, 2006 1:19 PM | Report abuse

Thanks for editing mine, Dan, the meter is better.

Posted by: DCAustinite | December 12, 2006 1:31 PM | Report abuse

O Bryan seven-six, your praise does please!
And give us, Bogger Dan, more poets please.

Posted by: ouij | December 12, 2006 1:38 PM | Report abuse


hey Freddy, adieu.

Posted by: pete | December 12, 2006 1:50 PM | Report abuse

There once was a young boy from Ghana,
Who was apparently more famous than Madonna,
The 'tweens would all grin,
Whenever he was subbed in,
Then we shipped him to mormon nirvana.

Posted by: DCAustinite | December 12, 2006 2:41 PM | Report abuse

There once was a #9 from the capital
On who the hype machine took a toll
his change to Salt Lake
wasn't any mistake
But Nowak will send him to hospital

Posted by: Bryan76 | December 12, 2006 2:55 PM | Report abuse

Send him to hospital! Good one Bryan76!

Ouij, you sound like the only pro here. Nice skill, excellent meter. Now deliver one in Iambic Pentameter and I will officially nominate you for DC United's official poet laureate. You can bless the beginning of each season with a poem.
Yes, Dan, you should take this and try and get an official United Poet Laureate. We'll get him a laurel (for Maryland), Chantilly (for Virginia) and the horribly run, beurocratic nightmare surrounding the selection of the Poet Laureate will represent D.C.

Posted by: DCAustinite | December 12, 2006 3:07 PM | Report abuse

Pentameters have been my stock in trade
Since first I took Dan Steinberg's gauntlet up;
Name but the theme: with it 'fore me arrayed
I'll take your worthy writing challenge up.

Should I describe the ennui of DC
Too spoiled by soccer victories of old?
Should I instead now turn my eye to see
What is to come? What might the future hold?

Should Red and Black my only colors be?
Forsaking fandom various and wide--
The Wizards, Nats and 'Skins mean much to me--
Would DCU now be my only pride?

O answer, Austinate! So now you see,
My Verse is metered, though my Mind is free.

Posted by: ouij | December 12, 2006 3:25 PM | Report abuse

ouij-

There will be others,
but Laureate United,
could really happen.

Not really of course, but hey, I for one would like to hear a poem before each match, a plaintive cry to the muses for fortune and creativity. A poem to Calliope, Thalia and Terpsichore! Something to rouse we few, we happy few, we band of brothers!
For as Ouij speaks gentlemen in LA and Salt Lake now a-bed shall think themselves accursed that they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon opening day!

Er, got carried away there, but, you know, it's like that.

Posted by: DCAustinite | December 12, 2006 3:41 PM | Report abuse

Though poetry be not my beck and call,
and words, worthy opponents seem to be,
taunt and tease like a maestro with the ball.
This humble scribe writes sans dictionary.

No flowery phrases seem fit for sport.
No fog like little cat feet similies.
No one metaphor seems able to sort,
the raw athleticism I have seen.

The cunning cross field pass that opens wide
the opposing eleven on the pitch,
leaving defenders and goal keep to sigh
as the ball hits net, with their coach in fits.

Nay, I say, there is no language fitting
to talk of a pass that stops you sitting.

Posted by: Bryan76 | December 12, 2006 3:51 PM | Report abuse

"We know two things for sure: the ball is round,
The match lasts ninety minutes. All the rest
Is chance," said Herberger. The words are sound
Advice. A match stirs passions in the breast
Not easily confined to pithy verse--
So drumming, cheering, singing should suffice
Instead of poetry. But who's averse
To sonnets now and then? It is no vice
To chant your heroes' victories in song!
I've even heard the Barras once or twice
Extemporize a line, and chant along.
Let poets then, with sonnets come and try
To versify the things that please the eye.

Posted by: ouij | December 12, 2006 4:31 PM | Report abuse

My previous poem is short a single line,
O readers, so your pardon do I beg--
I do admit the fault was wholly mine
And so, my poet's face is full of egg.

Posted by: ouij | December 12, 2006 4:40 PM | Report abuse

The comments to this entry are closed.

 
 
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