Football Poets

WC2014 : Day 31

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 My hope for the final

¶ 2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Don’t wants me a donkey
Don’t wants me a llama
What I want is a classic
A final full of drama

¶ 3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Don’t wants me a lizard
Don’t wants me a gecko
What I want is a benchmark
In the birthplace of Deco

¶ 4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 Don’t wants me a marmoset
Don’t wants me a manatee
What I want is a vision
Hope for humanity

¶ 5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Don’t wants me a toucan
Don’t wants me an armadillo
What I want is inspiration
Pure thoughts for my pillow

¶ 6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 Don’t care if it’s a puma
Don’t care if it’s a Beamer
Just want a match enduring
For this inveterate dreamer!

¶ 7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0
Looking forward to the World Cup Final, 2014, in Brazil.

¶ 8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Argentina vs Germany.

¶ 9 Leave a comment on verse 9 0 Puma vs BMW (Beamer).

¶ 10 Leave a comment on verse 10 0 ~ # ~

¶ 11 Leave a comment on verse 11 0 Just to set the tone
For this pithy poem….
Where to watch the match?
Will the venue be up to scratch?
For we’ll be on the road
And not in our abode
So a tv en-route we’ll have to find
Or it’s Sky+ and rewind
For which a media blackout will be essential
Knowing that on the day the potential
Of hearing latest scores will be a given
From radio transmitters alongside roads that are driven
And then there’s the concern
As we make our homeward turn
Of the starting hour, likely late
And no matter the fate
Of the participating nations
No amount of gyration
In order to stay awake
For slumber to shake
All the twisting, turning or stretching
Will not suffice if the fayre is not fetching
i.e. if it’s anything like the borefest
Of the semi from whence the Argies progressed
Should it follow a similar pattern
We might as well be up on Saturn
For we’d soon enough be snoozing
No matter who might be losing…..

¶ 12 Leave a comment on verse 12 0 And the cause for this quandary?
I share this most fondly
My daughter’s love of dance decrees
That we’ll be subject to a strong Atlantic breeze
On t’other side of this land
Hence the need to slink away from a strand
To find some quiet quarter
And (unfortunately) eschew porter
But to drink in the atmosphere of the game
(presuming it’s not too tame)
And while I’m of an age
To have witnessed this worldly stage
Enough to be stoical
My sons, hanker for the heroical
And thus, are desperate to see the match
And not just a snatch
Of the combat
And they fret that this ‘wombat’
(I’ve been called worse)
Will not lift his head from verse
And that every ramification
Of viewing said manifestation
Of World Cup Final frivolity
And the ensuing jollity
All depends
On the ‘torturer’ of friends
(their view)
While I hew
Nuggets of ‘noise’
i.e. the narrative of boys
I let them fester
While they pester
Knowing their inordinate frustration
Stems from the vexation
That their seeing the action from the Maracana
Will be determined by a pernickety man in a car!!

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