Poems tagged ‘England’
When Irish eyes aren’t smiling
You have to admire their pluck
When you’re out of Lady luck
Irish eyes were never smiling
Sinking hearts were sighing
Then crying into greater quantities
Of foaming Guinness
And yet today the Republic were never
Finished, far from the best
And then just blitzed by the Wembley
Bombardment of English going Wild West
The UEFA Nations League, just a mystery
Now enshrined in the books of history
Disguised as a puzzle
All sinew and muscle
A sad excuse for football’s authentic
Heart beat, so some would say
Throw money at it, but it’ll never pay
Its way
Today Lee Carsley bid farewell
His path to promotion clear as a bell
England promoted, yes you heard correctly
Ever so delectably
5-0, it was a rout in the end
Irish spirit steamrollered into
Submission, never in a position
Citizen Kane, Harry that is
No arguments this time
Dropped but still fine
Penalty stutter but always decisive
Of course incisive
Then Gordon, Bowen, Gallagher
Joined in the coconut shy
Eire, goodbye
Before Taylor Harwood Bellis
Flashes in header with
The cherry on the cake
For goodness sake
Where did that one come from?
England promoted to higher things
Angelic wings
Where next for Thomas Tuchel?
Next year
England strike fear
With delicious flair
The conclusion of a calendar year
England in 2025
A force to be reckoned with
Of course we care
Thomas Tuchel- the new England boss
Here’s a word or two
To all you doubting Thomases
It’s Thomas Tuchel
The new England manager
It’s true, you know
A German at the helm of
The England hot seat
Irony of ironies
Particularly since 1966
When the Germans insisted
That cheating and subterfuge
Had denied them the World Cup
At the hands of England
But now 58 years later
You have yet to be convinced
But here we are
The roles have been reversed
A German in charge of England
You have to be joking
Totally baffling
Because scepticism is
Bobbing around in
A raging, thunderous ocean
Of panic stations
Tuchel, it doesn’t seem to fit
No surely not, time for
Thinking and questioning
Why, it hardly makes any
Sense, whatsoever
A penny for thoughts
Of the football community
Radio phone ins pounding
To the beat of disgusted
Of Dover
Tuchel can’t be the
Right man
Or will he surprise
Us all?
Social networks
Reduced to anguished
Groaning desperately
Bleating and complaining
How did Thomas Tuchel
Become manager of England?
Seemingly five minutes
At Chelsea but certainly
No Jurgen Klopp
Now he would have been
The overwhelming choice
But Thomas Tuchel
Winner of trophies
But not the poisoned chalice
Of England boss
The rumour mill was buzzing
Excitedly yesterday
With Pep as Blighty’s new boss
Now there’s one
Of the world’s finest
Coaches with four
Premier League titles
Unparalleled genius
But Tuchel is surely
No Sir Alf, nor Sir Bobby
Glen Hoddle, Kevin Keegan,
El Tel in his Barca pomp
Athleticism on the touch line
It’s true,
Scurrying and scampering
Like a liberated cheetah
On the run
Up and down the touchline
Gesturing and gesticulating
A war of words with a thousand
Referees, eyes blazing with
Anger, smoke pouring from boiling
Ears, baseball cap
Locked firmly on his head
But manager of England
Mr irate and irascible
Thomas Tuchel
It just feels as though
It’ll end in tears and tantrums
The England job requires calm detachment
Gareth Southgate
Showed us how to do it
Still, let’s see where
This coach will take us
So to speak
Let’s give the man a chance
Teutonic thoroughness
Guaranteed
No stone left unturned
Every detail researched,
Every formation studied
From every angle
But please no Christmas trees
Just yet
Thomas Tuchel
Manager of England
Patience has to be a virtue
Time is of the essence
For some
But let the probationary period
Start now
Thomas Tuchel
We place our faith
In you.
UEFA Nations League?
So, answers on a postcard
On the subject of
The UEFA Nations League
Another bout of head scratching
Confusing imponderables
Rather like the earth being flat
Is there life out there?
It’s a week ago
Since Lee Carsley
And his brand new England
Set up the signpost for
Another foray in another direction
Some distant,
Unheralded location
A destination to who knows where?
Or just a fuss about nothing
The UEFA Nations League
Second rate, utterly inconsequential
UEFA sending out some meagre
Consolation prize
To an England team,
Stuck between the devil and deep blue sea.
Do they whip themselves
Into a genuine frenzy of excitement?
After the loss of two
Successive Euro Finals
And yet Irish eyes were tearful
At the Aviva last week
The Republic of Ireland
Green with envy at England’s
Promised land
Firstly a liberal sprinkling
Of Rice, Declan,
Initially of the Emerald Isle
But now lion hearted
England, fires the sweetest shot
A goal across the bows
Of Dublin and County Cork
Where the pumps of a thousand
Literary bars of Guinness
Once rang to the palpitating poetry
Of Joyce and Yeats, Oscar
At his wildest and most expressive
Then, just to rub salt into the wound
The Importance of Being Jack Grealish
Since it was he who completed
A spellbinding tapestry
Of wonderful, one two
Intricacy and the consummation
Of a marriage made in heaven
Close passing at its most dazzling
England carving through
The Republic of Ireland
A knife through butter
Grealish almost too smug
After declaring his Irish
Ancestral bloodstream
Then at Wembley on Tuesday
Finland finished off finally
Harry Kane, yet again
Goal scoring expertise
When most needed
But the UEFA Nations League
We sigh with reservations
Since none told us
About its job description
Its rightful place
In football’s bigger picture
An international anomaly,
Maybe, or yet another competition
With no vivid rhyme or reason
The jury has to be out on
This one, will the members
Please deliberate at both
Half time and full time
Since the World Cup now
Feels like some unfamiliar
Stranger to dear old Blighty
Another two years to go
For England to flow
And don’t England know
We’ve been here before
If This Is Our Time
nights like this are special
times like these are rare
savour ev’ry moment
when you know you’re there
you can call it fortune
who cares what they say
when that moment happens
failure falls away
and if this is really it
if this is our time
we’ll remember where we were
til the day we die
we’ll remember words we cried
in our silly way
just like when the Beatles sang
Things We Said Today
high upon this hillside
minutes seem to fly
suddenly it hits you
like in years gone by
all those days we came so close
all those times before
disappear and fade away
when at last you score
looking on in disbelief
through the tears and smiles
memories come flooding back
when you were a child
time to stop and pinch yourself
as you watch the game
what is it that moves us
in this way the same?
and if this is really it
if this is our time
we’ll remember where we were
til the day we die
we’ll remember words we cried
in our silly way
just like when the Beatles sang
Things We Said Today
On the eve of the big match
So here we are
On the eve of
The Big Match
Twitching curtains
Shuffling of feet
Behind the scenes
Nervous coughs and sneezes
Audiences sighing
Tomorrow England and Holland
Euro 2024 semi final
Phones poised for
Immortal images
Flash lights flickering
Unbearable tapping of fingers
On tables and chairs of
Agonised anticipation
We’ve rehearsed these moments
A thousand times
Training ground rigmaroles
Millions of shots
Fired at the onion bag
Nets billowing and blustering
The target has to be hit
Goals are the essential currency
England, the only ones
That count, it has to be
Now, tomorrow or it’s
Back at Heathrow
On Thursday morning
A shuddering blow
There is geography and history
Between the flying Dutch
And the educated feet of the English
Remember Euro 96,
The old Wembley
Oh how we adored those
FA Cup Final sepia tinted
Images, but then
Gazza lovable, always
One of our own
A player par excellence
Teddy Sheringham, steady
As they come
On that night he got
It absolutely right
Jamie Redknapp, Harry’s boy
Suave and sophisticated
Passes completed with
The smoothness of carpet slippers
Shearer just doing what
Seemed to come naturally
Recalling the Wor Jackie heritage
Among the Geordie pride
Newcastle to his fingertips
So England be ready
For Rembrandt’s modern day
Heroes and icons
Ronald Koeman, now sitting
From the sidelines
Privately glowing with
The knowledge that his
Free kick blew England out
Of the 1994 World Cup
Out of the water
So park your orange bikes
Next to those placid canals
Gareth Southgate
Take a deep breath
Behind the scenes
Frantic last minute
Lines memorised
The roar of the grease paint
In the wings
You can hear
And feel the apprehension
Nerve shredding,
Unbearable theatricality
Sweet wrappers rustling,
Low whispers of constant
Questions, questions
We can barely look
Up until now
Disgracefully forgettable
Hardly worthy of mention
Glasses of lager trembling
With yet more unspoken fears
St George and Union Jack flags
Petrified with portents of failure
Dutch revenge in the air
Burgers will be bristling with
Beefy bliss if England can
Do it again
Pubs erupting with profuse
Breweries of pleasure
Plastic cups spraying
Fountains of booze
Into street carnivals
Of joy,
High summertime
For England it has to
Be coming home
We must hope
How much more can we take?
Honestly, England
How much more can we take?
Patriotic nerves in tatters
Taken to the brink
No finger nails left
Clinging on for dear life
Wobbling and swaying
On the precipice
Don’t look down from
The tightrope
Precariously balanced
But England through
To the last four
Of Euro 2024
We’ll never know how
The divine intervention of
Fate or karma
Kissing the Blarney Stone
Perhaps, we’ll never know
Luck pushed to the limit
Last night it was in the stars
But surely not again
The Swiss were bliss
Or were for a while
And yet those tea leaves
Were definitely on our side
No crystal ball needed
It had to be England’s night
Gareth Southgate always believed
In the indefinable,
The impossible dream
England, beyond any
Description or category
It seemed to be goal-less
Indefinitely
Even the midnight of German
Cathedral bells were chiming
For 90 minutes and extra time
Embolo found holes in
England’s brittle defence
Of good old fashioned
Cheddar rather than Swiss Edam
Switzerland break the deadlock
Oh not again
This time it’s for real
We’re not kidding
It’s goodbye England
Farewell to arms
But, Hemingway
Had nothing to do with
European Championship
Football
England were on their
Way out
Minutes ebbing away
The sands of time
Trickling rapidly
Away from
Gareth’s gallants
But then Saka
Bukayo, give that man
A knighthood
Saka saccharine
No sugar
Bukayo, the sweetest
Shot you ever did see
Cutting back on his defender
Jockeying for position
On the angle
From the edge of the area
Driven with vicious vehemence
It flew like a missile
Arrowing past the keeper
Trajectory perfect
It was a goal ages
Before it left the Saka
Feet of ferocity
The equaliser and
The nation gasped for air
No more, please
We can’t take any more
Then Bellingham, Foden,Rice,
Mainoo almost too quiet,
Modest and understated,
Walker and Stones
Like Buckingham Palace guards
Muddling through to the end
Still figuring out Pythagoras
Theorem, those
Mysterious angles,
To pass or not to pass
That is the question why?
What to do with a football
Do they take that
Calculated gamble
Or Russian roulette
Decisions, decisions?
So many blocked roads
Sand bagged motorway cones
Switzerland seemed
To have England
Exactly where they wanted us
Take the next junction
They seemed to be implying
No, exit off that roundabout
Got you, Gareth Southgate
And finally extra time
No hope of a result
Whatsoever
England desperate to
Fill up the petrol tank
Rejuvenation time
But last night it all felt
So much better than
The group stage rehearsals
Drained but not out
The Three Lions were
Still roaring in
That concrete German
Jungle of European
Predators
And then the dreaded penalties
Not that old chestnut again
Beauties every one
Jackpot and on the money
Swiss miss one
Most painful blow
Vital and crucial
Before Trent
With a Merseyside song
In his heart
Crosses his metaphorical ferry
Steering the ball
Navigating the six yard
Conundrum with
A penalty tucked away
With the rock steadiest
Charm offensive
Now for the flying Dutchman
For a Final classic
Against either the French
Or, possibly Spanish
Can dear Blighty
Withstand the tantalising tension
Hearts pounding like
The familiar triphammer
Private fears about Dutch revenge
For Euro 96
But no, this is England’s year
New government, new European Champions
But no labouring again
It’s now 58 years
Since the world turned on its axis
And time to celebrate again
England your country need you
To win again, finally
It can’t be too much to ask for
When England Take On Switzerland
when England take on Switzerland
who cares if we still have no plan
there are no dreaded warning signs
we’ve played them twenty seven times
how could we ever be undone
we haven’t lost since ‘81
a well-trained dog is all we need
to teach us how to hold a lead
so let’s relax it will be grand
when England take on Switzerland
oh Switzerland oh Switzerland
I’ll never ever understand
why blueberries with your muesli
could make you take the risk to ski
on mountains where an avalanche
could leave you clinging to some branch
your scary Alps your hairy bends
that sometimes seem to never end
I’ve never been their biggest fan
when driving round in Switzerland
your Heidis and your praline chocs
your cheese with holes in and your clocks
the Swiss Roll you did not invent
however tasty or well-meant
your longest tunnel that by chance
is longer than our one to France
the only decent thing you’ve done
is you invented Toblerone
we cannot lose and to a man
we will demolish Switzerland
when England take on Switzerland
we’ll pick up where we first began
in ’66 and all those times
we showed the world why we’re so fine
our history speaks for itself
look at the trophies on our shelf
we are the finest in the land
we’ve even got a brilliant band
the Sound of Music in our ears
I promise it won’t end in tears
no need for tactics or a code
when Southgate’s Army hit the road
And like some mighty caravan
we will roll over Switzerland
To Be An England Fan (After Slovakia)
exhausted watching you again
all through the years in sun and rain
from giant screens to my front room
with no-one else to share the gloom
the hope that never disappears
the sheer frustration and the tears
the last few kicks in all those games
when we were knocked out once again
as we watched on with head in hands
resigned to be an England fan
until tonight when just like you
I’ll never know how we got through
the agony to ecstasy
relieved yet undeserved to me
we’ve been here many times before
this boring stuff that we endure
the way we look so uninspired
from cautiousness to looking tired
and never will I understand
this fate to be an England fan
I don’t look forward any more
resigned to failure scared unsure
I’m lost for what to think or say
that might throw light upon our way
a coach who looks perplexed and drained
who waits too long in ev’ry game
who sticks by those who fail each time
ignoring talent on the line
but still I’ll never understand
the fate to be an England fan
my heart goes out to those out there
who follow England evrywhere
and somehow get to ev’ry game
all through the years in sun and rain
who work and save to stand and sing
through ups and downs through thick and thin
the hope that never disappears
the sheer frustration and the tears
the last few kicks in all those games
unitl we’re knocked out once again
but stil they stand with head in hands
resigned to be an England fan
Oh England, what happened there?
Oh, England,
So wretched, awful
Lifeless, listless
Lackadaisical, punch drunk
Sloppy and slovenly
A throwback to the
Bad, old days
Of World Cup 1986,
When dear Ray Wilkins
Once threw his toys
Out of his pram
And England laboured
To a goal-less draw
Against Morocco
Or similarly
When Wayne Rooney
Accused England fans
Of too many objections
After 0-0 against Algeria
Last night though
England lost their way
In World Cups from yesteryear
Against Denmark, though
Oh how we’ve been here
Before, have we not?
England, stuck in that
Now familiar rut
Where all the cogs and wheels
Are rusty and in desperate
Need of oiling
England, plodding through
A forest of divots
Reminding us of cabbage patches
Of 1970s England
Toiling grimly on German
Battlegrounds
Bellingham, Saka and Arnold
Careless and reckless
No bite or ambition
Total lack of co-ordination
Round pegs in square holes
England pre-occupied by
Big pay days just
Futile afternoons in Frankfurt
Handsome wage packets
How Gareth’s men are spoilt
For last night was simply
A disgraceful shambles
Criminal negligence
Rice and Foden
Strangers in paradise
No shame or remorse
But perhaps we’re being too
Harsh, a withering verdict
Surely though, utterly horrendous
And yet it could have been
So different
Harry Kane may have picked
A plum from a German orchard
With yet another goal
But Gareth this had to be
Seen through closed eyes
Turn our heads away, now
Farcically forgettable
Danes in tandem,
Singing from the same
Hymn sheet
Light years ahead of
England, in movement
Made to measure passing
All that remains
Is Slovenia by way
Of redemption
But then again
It could be too late
England home just in
Time for Glastonbury
On last night’s evidence
Lucky to be accepted onto
The main Sunday stage,
Headline act
At Sunday twilight
When nights are falling
And acres of summer darkness
Are surrounding English football
But hold on, let’s be upbeat,
It is coming home
Germany in Euro 2024 Final
If only it could happen
But after last night’s fiasco
We are, quite literally,
Coming home
The Frankfurt Shuffle (How Low Can We Go)
a poet can’t find words sometimes
the words refuse to flow
like writer’s block where chances
no longer come or go
what is it with our country
are we surprised to see
so many fans to help us on
it sure ain’t new to me ?
the weight of expectation
the anthems and the chants
the upbeat vibe that falls to flat
as we refuse to dance
a band without a frontman
the cautiousness we see
so swiftly can erase the hope
that we tune in to see
where games can be like songs sometimes
we sing through sun and rain
and some can be a mighty voice
running through your brain
while some are like a drum-beat
that rises now and then
or some a moving ballad…
but this was none of them
and quite unlike the anthem
un-freed from desire*
our defence looked terrified
and no-one was on fire
for this one begged the question
just how low can we go
a limbo with no dancers
a team that doesn’t show
you move it to the left a bit
you move it to the right,
you hide within yourself again
and just do that all night…
with no more than a shuffle*
when fans expect the earth
we rue another wasted night
on Frankfurt’s lifting turf
we used to compare England
to watching fresh paint dry
but that was more exciting
than watching this go by
when something isn’t working
it’s time for something new
there’s so much talent on the bench
let’s see what they can do
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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Latest Poems
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
Clik The Mouse
6th November 2024
Alex Saynor
6th November 2024
joe morris
29th October 2024
joe morris
17th October 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
16th October 2024
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
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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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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