Poems tagged ‘Arsenal’
Poised To Thrill. At One Hundred Mill.
Is there anything like the absolutely blinding thrill
Watching a marauding one hundred mill?
In the guise of our returning prodigal chosen one?
Dump some hapless Gooner on his fife and drum
Leading the line to win at The Emptiness two-nil
To screams o’, ”Go on Lukaku, get in there…meshun!”.
New Dawn
We’re absolutely over the moon here in West London
As the new season gets ready to roll
T’aint the millions splashed on returning prodigal son
Or the epiphany of our geezer in goal.
Nah, it’s waking up to a breath-taking Saturday
Bathed in bright sunshine, hint o’ a breeze in the trees
and a round robin text from a pal o’ mine to say,
“Heard about The Arse? Stung on the bottle by The Bees”.
Thoughts of A Fickle Fan.
John-Joe sparked a smoke
Cracked a snarky topical joke
Bout Billy Bunter o’ The Arsenal, used play for us,
“As for Over-Eden Hazard at Madrid?
Injured? Who’s that Belgian trying a kid?
Quaffing mayoed pomme-frites, bier and molluscs?”,
Chipping his half-smoked cancer stick
J-J unwraps a steaming pack a haddock, roe n chips
Six pennyworth a crackling, wally, salt n vinegar pong
Sticking the snout behind his earring
Cracks an ice-cold can o’ Harpic, sneering,
“See Kev, they leave us, their life-style goes Pete Tong”.
The Full English Final
They went thousands of miles to reach Baku,
To watch a north London derby, thanks to
Uefa’s cunning plan to spread their fame
And Azerbaijan sport-washing its name.
Less than six thousand fans in red or blue
Like Harry and Barry, Colin and Stew
Made the pilgrimage by car, train or plane
And Steady Eddie said, ‘Never again.’
Just one Englishman in the twenty-two
Who started, that’s modern football for you.
Premier League players come from every page
Of the atlas for a starring role, centre stage.
There were gaps in the stands, in defence too.
One was found by Olivier Giroud
To score the first goal, just after half time,
Leaving the Gunners with a mountain to climb
Made more hazardous by a Belgian, who
Provided one assist and then scored two.
For three minutes Iwobi gave them hope
But that sped away faster than an antelope.
It was back again by the customs queue.
When you support your team what can you do.
‘Where’s next year’s final?’ Stew was heard to ask.
Harry replied, ‘You’d best book flights to Gdansk.’
I Wonder. Did I Ever Tell Yer…
Knew this fella, knew a fella
Old lags in The Boob together
For a little bit a TDA, while absolutely stocious drunk?
Every Saturday after-noon, in their cell
They joshed each other merry hell
Tuned in to Five-Live, lounging on her Madge’s bunk.
“Kev, we didn’t hardly ever ruck
Life in our Dingly? Sweet as hazel-nut
Till in The Derby, Tottnem miss a sitter
The sarcastic comments, guy lets fly
Set-off a ginormous hue n cry
Turning Spurs fans on our landing proper bitter.
Blimey, if only I tumbled him a Gooner
Would a dropped the loser sooner
T’was him what caused me stuck there in The Boob
Anyways, I cheer on Spurs, despite a slight conundrum,
With, “There’s only one team in North West London”,
Coz as you know, I’m through n through a Blue like you”.
“So, what landed the pair of you in The Boob?”,
“Well, we’re “Over the water” having had a lube
Tube Station shut, can’t hail a sherbet dab
We stagger in a South Westerly destination
Seeking a night bus to Fulham Broadway Station
A little worse for wear, due to shandy’s had.
Anyways, near The Crystal Palace ground
You’ll never guess what us two found?
An eerie garage rammed with resting double-deckers”,
“Right, we’ll soon be good to go to Fulham Broadway
Hi-jack one of these, we’re right as day
Just see me out son, that done, I’ll pull up and get yer”.
“Kev, so I see him out to the main road
Where I quickly have it on my toes
And wait for him to pick me up, in the dead a night
But, the hi-jacked double-d flies by
Him waving at me (I thinks) bye-bye
Perturbed, I chase the bus to catch it at the lights.
Banging on the passenger door
Kev, you should have heard me roar?
Like a Banshee, proper vexed at my accomplice
“Let me on, you no good so n so”,
I’m screaming at this hi-jacker, I hardly know
His reply, “Can’t you read the sign son…Out of Service?”.
“Anyways, I prise open the emergency door
Just as the long arm of local law
Come blue lights flashing, roaring round a hairpin bend
Another ten minutes I swear to you Kev?
That Gooner might have been brown bread
Eejit, displaying, Out of Service, instead of…The Worlds End”.
Arsenal lift Covid FA Cup
Every team needs a talisman
Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang
Working his Wembley magic again
Chelsea sent home with a bang
Never before have we seen
Such a spectacle at Wembley
Come Abide With Me
For the Covid London Derby
Joining Stroller Graham
It’s now Arteta the gaffer
Lifting the Cup as skipper
Now both player and manager
Chelsea had looked strong
Pulisic getting the cheers
Azpilicueta off, Kovacic sees Red
Leaving Martinez in joyful tears
01 07 20
number7
© emdad rahman
Cold Shoulder.
Our Mairead don’t like The Arse
To say she hates them would be…harsh
While David Luiz bears brunt of her dislike
Took it right personally I‘m told?
Him racing down The Caledonian Road
En route to transfer talks at The Emptiness on his bike?
Cut off her Pre-Raphaelite Irish dancing hair
Dropped learning Portuguese in sheer despair
As the once iconic blue boy turned his back and walked away
From her beloved Stamford Bridge
Where she idolised him like a teeny bopping kid
Despite our Mairead being sixty-five come next birthday.
“Kev, him signing for them is a bleating pain?
He could have easily gone to France, or Spain
Anyone but them bleating Gooners would be okay”,
“Mairead, try to be realistic me old mate
Him being well past his sell by date
Means we’ve more than a chance of a double home/away”.
Over at The Emptiness, in North London yesterday
During a first half break, in a period of highly competitive play
A red shirted Brazilian spotted a familiar face in the away end looking glum,
“Mairead, ain’t seen you for ages, how yer doing babe, what’s the score?”,
A quip, a neatly coiffured Barnet of West London deemed her duty to ignore…
“Let that bleating Judas have his bit o fun…I’ve laid a long un on us bating them two one”.
Peace.
Barnet…Fare. Rhyming Slang for hair.
A long un. One hundred of.
He’s Back Again, and… Down The Lane.
Well… I never saw that appointment in North London coming?
Here in the capitals football one usually does?
Mourinho seemed destined for The Arse (and let’s face it…slumming!)
In the midst of a media maelstrom he loves.
Till Daniel Levy right nicked a march on The Arse
To get Jose strutting his stuff down The Lane
Rumour has it, when Saturday comes, after collecting his cards
Poch will be fast a kip at The Emptiness, during their game?
It’s the last chance saloon for Mourinho
Spurs are near brassic, tis fact
A blinding new stadium, senior pro’s all itching to go
Ain’t the usual cards, he finds…in a welcoming pack.
Still…it’s takes the mind off a Brexit
A right royal scandal, and a general election
An ordinary season thus far, has by one geezer’s exit,
Suddenly…been given an adrenalin injection.
Mourinho, let’s face it, ain’t everyone’s cup of rosy
Often at times he can do in yer nut
But most fans I talk to, can’t help but agree…
His appointment guarantee’s…this season is back on the up.
It goes without saying…it could all go Pete Tong
As it occasionally did with yer man in the past
Yet Spurs fans, down in their cups, over in North London
Might yet laud Daniel Levy…for nicking a march on The Arse.
Peace.
The Eddie McGoldrick show
Standard Liege 0-7 Arsenal (1993 Cup Winners Cup)
Ariel Haan got the sack after the first leg
George Graham left Ian Wright out
Four at Highbury, seven away
Standard Liege get a huge knockout
Eddie McGoldrick on at half-time
For the Gunners a huge dividend
Setting up Merson and Campbell
And goal of the game at the end
Smith, Selley, Adams, Campbell twice
Merson adds six after five
Seaman’s throw, Merse plays Eddie
Ghosting run and rasping rocket drive
03 11 19
number7
© emdad rahman
Arsenal for afters
We look the part
And top of the chart
Klopp say’s no need to excite
One hundred percent start
Looking extra smart
Soars high that bright red kite
Matip has the heart
Salah is pure art
Born for that limelight
Torreiro pulled the cart
But the Gunners fell apart
In this one sided Anfield gunfight
24 08 19
number7
© emdad rahman
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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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Latest Poems
joe morris
28th April 2024
Richard Williams
26th April 2024
joe morris
25th April 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
25th April 2024
kevin halls
23rd April 2024
Alex Saynor
23rd April 2024
joe morris
23rd April 2024
Crispin Thomas
22nd April 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
21st April 2024
joe morris
20th April 2024
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
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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20th April 2024 at 12:04 pm
Hi Joe
Shouldn’t your title read your poem Farewell Europe England to everyone exccept Aston Villa ?
I know you mention them in your poem , but I do feel sorry for Villa re the national press .
Largely ignored. the hype was was all about Man City & Arsenal with a bit of a nod to the Hammers..but hardly a mention of Villa..
So well done to them
C
.
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19th March 2024 at 8:00 am
Hi Crispin. Chris Sutton on the radio has gone for a Chelsea v Coventry final. As we know anything can happen in the Cup, and I reckon we can go to the final.
We’re still in with a chance of the play offs too, so lots to go for.
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19th March 2024 at 7:41 am
Hey Kev
Let the masses drool over their odds on City v Unted Final, but who knows how pressure can hit.
Cov and Chels will be rightly labelled as having no chance..but hey …stranger things have happened..
so Chelsea v Coventry…that’s the Final for us!
Best
C
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