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Stuart Butler

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    Buddleia in broad gauge bloom down on Stroud station,
    Crazy golf flags out at the Brunel Goods Shed,
    As I lazily read the Stroud News on the train to London,
    Until I came across Rodda Thomas of Crown and […]

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    The sea is calm tonight.
    The tide is full, the moon lies fair
    Upon the straits; on the French coast the light
    Gleams and is gone; the cliffs of England stand,
    Glimmering and vast, out in the tranquil bay.
    Come to […]

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    Enter Edgar, King Lear, Jon Parkin, Ye Beast, Dale Vince as Duke of Frocester, Scotty Bartlett and various morris dancers as footballers

    Scene ; The white cliffs of Dover

    ‘Come on, sir; here’s the place: stand s […]

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    Our revels are starting – the game’s to be won,
    Tis time to swap shirts before the day’s run,
    I swap mine with Shakespeare, with a poem sublime,
    Tis all about football, in memory’s rhyme:

    ‘Sphere! Leather sphere! […]

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    ‘Referee!

    You can see what’s going on!

    Don’t look the other way!

    You know the history of migration and colonialism!

    Remember when Prince Rupert sailed to Barbados,

    To keep the islands Royalist after his defea […]

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    Not Sherwood FOREST

    Nor Lincoln GREEN,

    But FOREST GREEN;

    Not Robin Hood and Little John,

    But Dale Vince and David Drew;

    Not outlaws and poachers,

    But left-wingers and goal poachers;

    Not the pollution of […]

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    My seat was down the front, right by the pitch,

    With a view right out to open fields, new leaf trees,

    Scudding clouds, a grand sky horizon, and two billboards

    That tried to send their message down to the New […]

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    Forest Green was, as historian Tim Barnard comments:

    ‘A staunchly Non Conformist village,

    made up of Baptists and Congregationalists’ –

    Although the club was based at a pub,

    ‘The Jovial Forester … Lower F […]

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    Immaculate in spotless cricket whites,
    Keeping wicket on the village green,
    Up past Slad’s crossroad war memorial,
    Betwixt Purgatory and Paradise,
    To where 7323 Private Edward Hogg’s name
    (7th Battalion, Glo […]

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    When War broke out, the British public cried
    “We’ll be in Berlin by Christmas”. But
    By Christmas hundreds of thousands had died,
    As Mons, The Marne, Ypres and Messine cut
    Down the youth of Europe, while Fland […]

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    It’s a bit Herbert Marcuse,

    A bit One Dimensional Man:

    A unification of opposites,

    A harmonisation of contradictions,

    Where liberal-democratic capitalism

    Gives that tantalising illusion of freedom,

    Whilst […]

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    It wasn’t, in fact, a bolt from the blue,

    Instead the 1914 Truce was part of a pattern,

    That both preceded that Christmas and continued beyond:

    There were ‘cushy’ sectors, involving ‘lais […]

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    When you’ve been out ‘ere as long as I ‘ave,

    You get to know the ropes and have a laugh,

    Keep’ yer ‘ead down aint enough for Fritz,

    You’ve got to show you can live and let live.

    When Fritz has his breakfast, […]

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    Midsummer Night’s Dream:
    I wake up to a nightmare,
    England are Bottom.

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    Stuart Butler published a poem on the site Football Poets 3 years ago

    Board game metaphor:
    The name’s Monopoly now,
    Not Subbuteo.

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    There was, of course, more than one football match
    In the long line of unofficial truces
    That stretched all along the front in Flanders;
    Indeed, the matches themselves were a sort of climax,
    Punctuating the peace […]

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    The Beautiful Game
    Gave freedom-fighters respite
    In freedom’s struggle.

    Apartheid’s victims,
    In Robben Island’s prison
    Played the Peoples’ Game.

    It was an escape,
    But also an expression:
    The need for new r […]

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    18th Century Rural Direct Action
    versus 19th Century Industrial Capitalism

    ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

    A normal feature of my teenage years

    Was hours spent queuing for football tickets,

    But this autumn’s trip down memory l […]

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    I think the love for a football team
    Transcends the oft quoted tribal loyalty,
    And involves, instead, individuality,
    Something subliminal within the personality –
    For it’s all about the dreaded mortality:

    On t […]

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    You called on Christmas Eve afternoon,
    Carrying an unwrapped parcel,
    A gift brought from memory lane:
    David Dangerfield’s dad’s football boots,
    Slightly battered but proud and dubbined,
    Though still smeared wit […]

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/members/stuart/