Introducing Pat Ingoldsby
It gives me great pleasure to introduce you to Pat Ingoldsby, one of my favourite Irish poets.
Pat is a familiar sight out and about in Dublin, where he sells his self-published poetry books direct to the general public. At the same time, he has his senses cocked, picking up on the flavour of the city and its people, which coupled with his quirky outlook on life, produces poetry in a myriad of form, content and emotion.
Pat would be familiar to generations of Irish people, having had, in his time, worked on children’s tv (Pat’s Chat), written for the (now defunct) Evening Press, written plays and published various books of poetry and prose.
Amongst Pat’s work, are some poems that sit very well on this website. I had the pleasure of meeting Pat recently and he very kindly gave me permission to reproduce a sample of his work here.
Hope you enjoy them as much as I did.
The whistle’s bewitched
In the park before the game starts
all the men run around elegantly
with deliberate exaggerated style
kicking, passing, posing, stretching,
the way professionals do.
Then the referee blows his whistle
and changes them all into
headless chickens.
© Pat Ingoldsby
Patrick Gerard
Da
I love the way you laughed.
Good deep and hearty mirth
far down inside you.
I loved the special feeling
when you asked me
to fetch something from your pocket
– the faint smell of tobacco
– the rubber feel of your pouch
– the cold of your keys and coins
– the shivers when I touched your hanky.
I loved the way you put soccer into my heart
the way it was in yours
– kicking a little ball with me in the back yard
– heading a balloon in the hall
– push ha’penny on the table
– Subutteo on the floor
– standing beside me in Dalymount
cracking Cadbury’s in half
– feeling my heart break when Dayo ran rings
around you out the back and suddenly I knew
that you couldn’t really play at all.
I loved the way we sat near the fire.
I loved the sound of you downstairs
when I was small in bed.
I loved the angle of your finger sticking out
the crazy way you held your cup.
I loved the sizzle when your tobacco spit hit the hearth.
I loved the sounds of you down the garden
metal whanging earth and stones
breaking up the clay.
I loved the way your mother had seen Uachtarán na h-Eireann *
putting out his bin.
I loved the way you always put us first.
I miss you terribly.
I really do.
© Pat Ingoldsby
* President of Ireland
Both poems taken from Pat’s latest book, ‘Beautiful Cracked Eyes’
Also, to sum up Pat’s philosophy on his poetry, I’ve reproduced this from one of his jacket covers :
love my poems, hate them, have fun with them
enjoy them, laugh with them, cry with them
put them on toast and eat them, do lots and lots
of sparkly things with them and they will dance
study them and the life will go out of them
PS I’m sure Pat wouldn’t like me to sign off without mentioning his best friends and co-directors : Willow and Hoot.
About This Site
Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.
Publish your football poems here and then discuss them with your team mates and fans. We're archived by The British Library, so your masterpieces are in the safe hands of a world-class keeper. What a result!
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joe morris
3rd September 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
3rd September 2024
joe morris
26th August 2024
Crispin Thomas
26th August 2024
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22nd August 2024
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20th August 2024
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20th August 2024
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Latest Comments
26th July 2024 at 6:25 pm
Great poem Mike Bartram. Eddie was a legend, affectionately known in Liverpool as, “the first hooligan.” Even the hoolies were well dressed in those days. The amazing thing was he was only 26 when that picture was taken. He’d played for Everton youth team and was well known to the players. He never got arrested. They threw him out and he climbed back in, just in time for Derek Temples winner.
I used the picture of him being tackled to the ground on the front cover of my book, “Once Upon a rhyme in Football.” It’s worth looking on youtube and finding the re-enactment of the Wembley scene. Frank Skinner and Baddiel went around to Eddies home in the 1990’s and acted it out on the green outside. It’s hilarious, especially all the effort they put in to get Eddie sober enough to shoot the scene.
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10th July 2024 at 6:07 pm
Hi Crispin,
I don’t know if you’ve see the picture in social media today…
a picture of a teenage Lionel Messi cradling a baby in Africa as part of a photoshoot…. the family had won a lottery to have their baby pictured with him….
the photographer has just revealed that the baby is actually in fact Lamine Yamal!!!!
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26th May 2024 at 2:30 pm
Hi Denys…
Re Man City:
OK it was 20 years ago but Criag Wilson did write this and a few others on them back in 04/05.
BTW I’m more Forest Green Rover since 2014 (and Chelsea) these days . I drum and am a standing season ticket holder .
Best
Crispin
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29th April 2024 at 2:47 pm
Hi Denys,
Yes Richard Williams you’re a brilliant wordsmith, my friend. When I first saw your football poetry I thought it was the superb Guardian sports and music writer. I once had the honour of sitting next to Richard Williams while at the Independent on the sports desk. He writes about music and sport with immense knowledge and authority. I’ve read a couple of Richard’s books recently. Great writer rather like you Richard Williams the Pompey fan. Congratulations on promotion.
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28th April 2024 at 5:59 pm
Thanks Denys. Yes your replay poem was superb.
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26th April 2024 at 4:46 pm
Nice work, Joe. You were quick off the mark with that! Good one from Richard Williams too I see.
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25th April 2024 at 7:33 pm
Hi Denys,
Thanks mate. I’ll do it now.
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25th April 2024 at 1:56 pm
Thanks Joe,
you might like to write a poem yourself on the same subject…
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23rd April 2024 at 4:03 pm
Hi Denys
With you all the way on the abolition of FA Cup replays. What are they doing to the game?
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23rd April 2024 at 3:59 pm
Hi Crispin,
Yes sorry mate. Villa are still in Europe. Mistake rectified.
Cheers
Joe
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