Welcome to Alan McKean & Glenn & …..
When I returned from a trip away last year, there was someone who had just started submitting to the site : Peter Goulding – and what an impact he’s had! Pete has to be one of our most poular and prolific poets.
Having just returned again from holyers, I’m enjoying catching up with another new crop : a warm welcome to Rob Lyn, Angela Stevens, Mark ‘Seahorse’ Staniforth, Glenn Walker and Alan McKean.
I’m reproducing a poem apiece from Glenn and Alan below. Glenn has been writing with real passion about his fears of Bradford City folding.
Alan McKean obviously works (or did) at Bolton Wanderers Reebok Stadium. He has been giving us a wonderful insight into the behind-the-scenes activies at a Premiership club. Fascinating stuff.
City ’til I Die
My heart beats faster with each passing hour,
My nerves are flaying at the thought,
A once proud club is at deaths door,
No solace can be sought.
No floodlit nights, no sunlit days,
No breathing in the thrill,
No fears, no tears, no joy, no pain,
No singing out at will.
No Wolves or Wembley, no Liverpool,
No great escape or more,
No heroes, foes or enemies,
No last bus home, no score.
No red and gold, no tales be told,
No dancing girls, no sound,
Only emptiness and decay is left,
On the Bradford City ground.
The ghosts of heroes from years gone by,
Wander through the gloom,
Whilst the pain and torment we suffer now,
Is pending on our doom.
One hundred years, ten thousand tears,
A million questions, why?
But no matter what the answer is,
“I’m City ‘Til I Die.”
© Glenn J Walker July 2004
And as for Alan McKean : So many good contributions to choose from! Being a big old softie, I’ve gone for two moving tributes.
Maine Road – Late 1950’s
I remember walking with my dad
To watch the mighty Blues
Ply their trade at Maine Road.
When you’re six or seven
A mile and a bit walk seems a world away,
Even when you’re small hand in large.
As you tramp through late 1950’s Manchester,
With it dark and damp winter streets
And its hissing trolley buses,
You anticipate, in your six-year-old way, the game.
But your first port of call
Is the “Big Alex”
So dad can have a pint before the match.
All the dads inside, with a pint
All us kids outside, with our crisps and lemonade.
It was acceptable then.
Time to go, the Kippax calls.
Will Bert Trautmann play, or Joe Hayes?
At six or seven, you don’t care,
You’re just happy to be there,
With your dad.
Special days back then.
The results weren’t that important to you,
Just being there, was.
City centre grounds were like family gatherings.
You stood in the same spot each fortnight, with the same people around you.
Players weren’t paid in telephone numbers
Tickets didn’t cost an arm and two legs,
But then, the grounds were tatty and smelly.
Times change, and the Blues now play in luxury,
And results are everything.
All games must be won.
The faithful now demand results
In exchange for their costly tickets.
© Alan McKean July 2004
Thanks dad (Died 1983)
The Groundsman
Lovingly, tenderly
He walks his hallowed turf
And ponders the dreams to be played out there.
From Arsenal to Manchester United to-
Almost any team, depending on the cup run.
He knows each blade of grass,
Knows when to cut,
When to water
When and where to make repairs.
Each square inch
Has been lovingly tended
Over the long summer break.
A long cut, a close cut
His decision.
As the opening game approaches,
The pitch is cut to perfection,
Marked out with precision.
The image seen is a tribute to his art.
The manager,
The players,
The Tv pundits,
All congratulate him on the outcome,
Before they start their work on his masterpiece.
He knows that his grass must stand the test of time,
But he’s just as professional as the players.
He knows it will.
The players also acknowledge his craft.
A professional.
© Alan McKean July 2004
For Richard at the Reebok Stadium
but for all groundsmen, who create the arena
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!
My Account
Latest Poems
John Gilbert Ellis
28th November 2024
joe morris
26th November 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
26th November 2024
Gacina Bozidar
26th November 2024
Wynn Wheldon
26th November 2024
joe morris
17th November 2024
Crispin Thomas
17th November 2024
kevin halls
10th November 2024
joe morris
10th November 2024
Clik The Mouse
10th November 2024
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
27th November 2024 at 5:55 am
‘You’re Supposed To Be At Home’ is an excellent and moving poem Denys.
You start off thinking it’s just about another oft-sung chant, one we personally heard a lot last season throughout our second relegation in a row here at Forest Green(FGR) ! I always love poems where you think they are saying one thing and then they suddenly pull you deeper to somewhere or something else else.
I’m currently helping in a local school for FGR in a voluntary capacity using football to help young students with reading. At an upcoming session we will tackle racism, just like we did in workshops at football schools and grounds when we first started this site 24 years ago. I’m gonna try and weave your poem into a session.
We’ve added it to the Anti- Racism/Kick It Out section under Crispin’s Corner.
Best C
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26th November 2024 at 1:59 pm
Great poem and great to see you back Wyn.
Don’t leave it so long next time my friend!
More please.
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13th September 2024 at 6:14 pm
Welcome to Football Poets Beth
Great evocative poem Beth….
More please !
Haiku always welcome.
Hope we (FGR) get to play you again soon
Best
Crispin
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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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