Media An SFA Poem Thread from Maj

[Jabba73]

Whole lotta words
Such little talent

Don’t be too harsh on yourself, I’m sure you can contribute somewhere else.

 

[Elton Johns Wig]

There once was a miserable Rat
Who thought he was actually all that
He likes to opine
But it's really a whine
DenieD just appears as a prat

 

[Robertio]

There once was a miserable Rat
Who thought he was actually all that
He likes to opine
But it's really a whine
DenieD just appears as a prat

I believe every word of this.

 

[Hydatina Physis]

Don’t be too harsh on yourself, I’m sure you can contribute somewhere else.

No, I really can't.

 

[Elton Johns Wig]

There once was a poster named TIF
Who has the ability to miff
And although one might quibble
That his posting is dribble
It never does fall off that cliff

 

[The Majestic]

Whole lotta words
Such little talent

I thought it was at least a little okay, I will try harder in the future.

 

[The Majestic]

The Roys came marching, proud and tall,
But the East Side Hawks would answer the call.
On Sweet FA’s field, under skies so wide,
A clash was brewing, Hawks versus pride.

The Roys struck first with an early goal,
But the Hawks stayed calm, their eyes on the whole.
With sharp precision, they moved as one,
Their feathers shining beneath the sun.

A handball here, a tackle there,
The Hawks showed skill beyond compare.
The midfield danced, their forwards struck,
While the Roys found themselves out of luck.

A booming kick from fifty out,
The crowd erupted with a deafening shout.
The Hawks had scored, the scoreboard sang,
The Roys were rattled; the warning rang.

Quarter by quarter, the Hawks took control,
Their strategy flawless, their hearts on a roll.
The Roys tried hard, they gave it their best,
But the Hawks soared higher than all the rest.

The final siren, the game was done,
The East Side Hawks, the victors won.
Their wings spread wide, their spirits ablaze,
They left the Roys lost in a smoky haze.

The song of the Hawks rang loud and clear,
A tune of triumph for all to hear.
The Roys were beaten, the story made,
The Hawks flew high as legends displayed.

So here’s to the Hawks, with grit and might,
Who conquered the Roys in a glorious fight.
In Sweet FA lore, they’ve carved their name,
The East Side heroes, masters of the game.

 

[Hydatina Physis]

Lol hawks

 

[The Majestic]

The Hawks showed up, all puffed with pride,
“We’re East Side’s best!” they loudly cried.
But the Roys just chuckled, tipped their caps,
And said, “Watch this—prepare for collapse.”

The ball was bounced, the game began,
The Hawks had a “master strategic plan.”
But the Roys weren’t buying the Hawks’ big talk,
They tackled hard and made them squawk.

A Roys midfielder, beer in hand,
Kicked a banana from fifty grand.
It sailed right through, the crowd went wild,
The Hawks looked on, completely riled.

The Hawks' full-forward lined up to score,
But slipped on the grass and hit the floor.
The Roys’ defenders burst out laughing,
While fans yelled, “Mate, stick to crafting!”

The Roys were everywhere, quick and sly,
While Hawks players tripped and wondered, “Why?”
Another snap, another goal,
The Hawks’ big dreams were taking a toll.

The coach of the Hawks screamed, “Tighten up, boys!”
But his team just stared at the dancing Roys.
The mascot squawked, “Don’t give up yet!”
But even he knew they’d lost the bet.

With seconds left, the Roys went bold,
Their ruckman snagged a screamer of gold.
The siren blew, the Roys had won,
The Hawks looked cooked, completely done.

And so, they sang in the Roys’ old pub,
“We smashed the Hawks—scrub-a-dub-dub!”
With beers in hand, they laughed till late,
While Hawks went home to contemplate.

The moral is simple, don’t count out the Roys—
They’re the chaos kings, the league’s loudest noise.
And on that day, they flew so high,
While the Hawks just flapped and waved goodbye.

 

[The Majestic]

Beneath the Sweet FA’s glimmering light,
A hero emerges, prepared to fight.
Tarkyn_24, a name to be known,
A legend in making, a league of his own.

With boots laced tight and fire in stride,
He carries his team with unyielding pride.
On the pitch, he’s a master, both cunning and swift,
Turning moments of doubt to a glorious gift.

In midfield battles or strikes so clean,
He’s the glue, the heartbeat, the engine machine.
His passes like poetry, his tackles like steel,
A warrior of purpose, his presence surreal.

Off the pitch, he’s a beacon of grace,
With humor and wit, he lights up the space.
A captain, a leader, a mate through and through,
For Tarkyn, the game is a bond he holds true.

The crowd sings his name with voices so proud,
Their chants a wave, a roaring crowd.
For in the Sweet FA, where dreams take flight,
Tarkyn_24 shines brightest at night.

So raise your glasses and cheer his name,
A player, a legend, entrenched in the game.
For in the annals of Sweet FA lore,
Tarkyn_24 will live evermore.

 

[Proper Gander]

There once was a poster named TIF
Who has the ability to miff
And although one might quibble
That his posting is dribble
It never does fall off that cliff

There once was a poster named Elton
Who often did cop quite a beltin’
When we whipped his hide
He ran off and cried
And we said “at least he’s not Meltin’

 

[The Majestic]

Thread needs more Godzilla sooo

From ocean deep, where shadows creep,
A titan wakes from restless sleep.
The waves roll back, the sirens wail,
A legend walks with teeth and tail.

Astride the land, his footsteps boom,
A city's might reduced to doom.
Steel and stone, they crack and fold,
No wall withstands a beast this bold.

His eyes like fire, his heart of wrath,
He carves destruction in his path.
No god nor man can claim his throne,
This world of ours is not our own.

The sky ignites—a breath so bright,
It splits the dark with nuclear light.
A dragon’s flame? A child’s spark,
Before the wrath of Kaiju stark.

And when he's done, when dust is high,
He turns and leaves, no reason why.
A king needs none—his will is law,
His reign is chaos, fear, and awe.

So heed the waves, the shifting sand—
When Godzilla roars, you understand:
Not all that sleeps is meant to lie,
And gods of old will never die.

 

[The Majestic]

From the east where the champions fly,
The Hawks take wing, they touch the sky.
Through wind and war, they carve their name,
In gold and black, they rule the game.

Rivals talk, but talk is cheap,
We hunt in packs, we dig in deep.
You step to us? You’ll learn real fast,
Mess with the Hawks, you won’t be last.

Wings outstretched, we own the field,
No fear, no doubt, we never yield.
Through every clash, through every fight,
The Hawks stay strong, we own the night.

So mark our words, respect the crest,
East Side soars—above the rest!

 

[The Majestic]

The Royals came in, heads held high,
Purple and gold, their banners fly.
They claimed the throne, they spoke of power,
But Hawks don’t kneel—we make them cower.

From the east, the storm arrived,
Wings outstretched, the Hawks took flight.
Talons bared, no time for mercy,
Crashing through their royal journey.

They swung their scepters, played it clean,
But crowns mean nothing in our scene.
Speed and skill, we stole the show,
Left their kingdom sinking low.

The siren sounds, the scoreboard tells—
The Royals fell, their empire shelled.
East Side reigns, we own the sky,
No team stands when Hawks fly high!

 

[krakouers]

There once was a poster named TIF
Who has the ability to miff
And although one might quibble
That his posting is dribble
It never does fall off that cliff

Our own mighty Elton John’s Wig
Wrote lovingly about a fig,
In his thoughts all entwined,
About dancing and dined,
He realised the last line was meant to rhyme… crap…

 

[The Majestic]

Wrote a poem as we said farewell to por_please_ya

On the east side, where the skyline bleeds,
Where concrete hums and passion feeds,
The Hawks were born, in grit and gold—
In green and gold, the brave, the bold.

Among them soared one name so loud,
Por_please_ya—fearless, proud.
She wore those colors like a crown,
A queen in motion, skating down.

With stick in hand and fire in eye,
She cut through silence, split the sky.
Not just a player, not just a name—
She was the warcry, she was the flame.

From goal-line sprints to glove-drop brawls,
From locker room to victory calls,
She bled the green, she shone the gold,
A tale of glory, fiercely told.

East Side stood, all eyes on her,
The nights were loud, the air would stir.
We watched her rise, we watched her lead,
She was our thunder, ice, and creed.

But time, that thief, it never waits—
It shifts the gears, it cracks the gates.
Por_please_ya—our iron soul—
Now walks away from green and gold.

No shame, no tears, just honored nods,
From beer-soaked pubs to cheering squads.
She gave it all, she earned her song,
A legend’s stride, forever strong.

So raise your scarf, your voice, your glass,
To Por_please_ya’s first and last.
A Hawk in threads no more, it’s true—
But green and gold still lives in you.

 

[Cactus_]

Last week we played some lame-arsed team

Who called themselves ophidians

They thought that they were pretty smart, but actually

They’re part of the lowest possible quotidian

(No I can’t tell you what “quotidian” means, because . . . reasons)

 

[Braklet]

There once was a man from Nantucket...

 

[por_please_ya]

There once was a man from Nantucket...

The only thing he owned was a bucket

 

[Braklet]

The only thing he owned was a bucket

he said with a grin as he emptied his bin...

 

[sabso]

he said with a grin as he emptied his bin...

“I’ve never been so glad to chuck it”

 

[sabso]

There once was a man from geelong,
Whose finger got trapped in a thong.
Though a digit in doubt,
Should not mean months out,
No worries - he’s done nothing wrong.

 

[Braklet]

In a tavern so dimly lit,
With secrets in every bit,
A wink and a tease,
Brought hearts to their knees,
Where lovers and dreams often sit.

 

[Braklet]

Nymphomaniacal Alice
Held her body somewhat like a chalice.
She offered a sip,
To a young lad named Pip,
Who didn't get a chance with his phallus.

 

[sabso]

There once was a man from Oss
Who’s somehow a premier league boss.
When Bovo got fired
He seemed the messiah -
Now he’s got us our eighth straight loss.