In April 2007, we welcomed the following new contributors to this site :
From Mitchell Intermediate, Texas , we welcome :
From McCullough Jr. High, Texas , we welcome :
Clair Spaulding (a very clever ten to one poem)
A blast from the past – a welcome return to
For a wonderful review of a Football Poetry book, click here :
Gareth Southgates’s Proverb
The review is written by one of our esteemed contributors : Eddie Gibbons
Click on the names above to see that person’s poem(s), or browse some selected first efforts below :
“Just like watching Brazil More like watching The Bill”
Like Thomas Gradgrind Hard Times fall
Yet Turf Moor faithful they recall
This grand auld club played side by side
Old Trafford, Anfield and the like
The ‘Duck and Boot’ the locals den
Whilst in ‘The Turf’ they’ll tell you when
The FA Cup was held up proud
In Claret ribbons streaming out.
© Michael Bibby
Foul? No Way!
I push past a player, maybe a little too hard
She falls to the ground, hand clutching her knee
The ref holds up a bright yellow card
My team starts to argue with him
“Foul? No way!” I shout angrily
I roll my eyes
Ref’s these days
© Clare Spaulding
It’s a ten to one poem…
I love the feeling of the game,
But don’t want to loose and be put to shame.
I cheer them on hoping to win,
And when they do I have a big grin.
I love how they dribble with all that pace,
And I see how fast they run as if they were having a race.
Football is the way of life,
Like a bread being cut by a knife.
It is the game where legends are born,
When football can make many things form.
The one and only football.
© Donovan McNair
Our Dad he played just like a King
Upon the pitch was sound
Jumpers goalposts we would fling
And left ’em on the ground
Our Dad he raced and leaped up high
With goals he wore the crown
Til skills like dreams all went to seed
And scattered on the ground
Our Dad he never made the grade
But Saturday’s we were proud
With bursting hearts and bloodied knees
We cheered him in the ground.
The Post and Destiny
I stand in my destiny,
between jubilation and disaster.
The appocalypse approaches,
my heart beats ever faster.
My hands itch in anticipation.
she takes a shot with a question to answer.
Success the vocation,
of a skillful dancer.
It cannot be allowed,
though their movement is refined,
the ball’s in my hands,
the horror has declined.
© non humphries
I know this is an extremely self -flattering summary of an inter-school game, but as an aspirant keeper i am proud of this moment. i would also like to point out that i owe that success and indeed any other future successes to my lucky gloves. seriouly, without