Football Poets

The Women’s World Cup 2023

Move over gentlemen
The ladies are in the house
World Champions? It could
Be our time and place
So just a whole lot of
Deference and appreciation
For the girls
Already European Champions
This would be the icing on
The marzipan or the
Delicious apple pie
An epicurean delight
We’re ready to salute you
Lucy Bronze and Beth Mead
Prepared for historic feats
One in the eye
For the boys and gentlemen
Oh quite definitely
Last November outclassed
By the Gallic garlic
Of French cuisine
Olivier Giroud
Right place,
Right time
And of course vital header
It was never likely
To be a night
Without Gareth’s
Fashionable waistcoat
But this time
The girls are breathing fire
About to deliver the coup de grace
Emulating and hopefully surpassing
Male muscularity
Perhaps going beyond
Our wildest dreams
And lifting the trophy
Down under
On the other side of the world
How exotic
No Aussie rules
Sentimentality
Just English beef
And a pint of champagne
At the end of it all
For 1966 read
The distaff
Side of the equation
Steely femininity
Eyes on the ball
No koalas or wombats
To disturb the calm,
Cool professionalism
Just level heads and sang froid
Equanimity and chips
Please with apple pie
For dessert
Ladies, you’ve got this one
It’s England’s year
Undoubtedly so
Come on girls
You know you can do it

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Ukraine- we’re there for you.

The tears and bombs have fallen
Across the bleeding fields of
Ukraine, unbearably and agonisingly
For seemingly ages now
But last night the lone voice
Of civility and compassion
Rang around North London
Like the churches in Wembley
That greeted the Sunday mass
With pleasing tones of
Unwavering support for the
Broken hearted
And yet the jumping, bouncing
Multitudes of yellow and blue
Revelled in a temporary truce
Yesterday for a while
Pain swallowed up by
Yet more tablets of suffering
Where once sanity and peace
Reigned, now Ukraine
Defiant in the face of adversity
Russia. We fail to understand
Your savage hearts and heinous
Hellish deeds
Football will transcend
Any language of hate,
Hostility worn on Russian
Coats, lapels and shirts
That tear and tug at
Their dark depths of despair
But for a while at least
English hearts were strengthened
Unity and alliance
Of the highest order and rank
Backing you from the highest
Steeple to the quaintest
Pub or village hall
England we are there
For you unquestioningly
Even though Harry Kane
Fist pumped another penalty
And goal, another
To add to his coat of arms
On the crest of a wave
Then just before half time
Bukayo Saka cracked home an outrageous
Beauty, a goal to place
In the most well appointed
Art studio,
An Arsenal sensation
From the Emirates
Academy, curling his shot
Around the flimsy
A yellow and blue
Wall, like a wisp of
Imperious smoke
A rich Turkish Delight
Of a goal
Deliberately aimed
Into the safest
Wembley net, a
Goal with Saka’s
Signature to relish
For years to come
Meanwhile John Stones and Kyle Walker
Remind you of impressive slabs of marble
Like fortresses and portcullises
At the back for England
Reliable as the post
Declan Rice also on
Impenetrable duty
You’ll never find a way
Through him
And of course Jude Bellingham
Surely the most lustrous and
Resplendent of talents since
Quite possibly Gazza
Ball tied to decorous feet
From the most educational halls
Of football learning
Dribbling with almost ludicrous
Ease through the tangled
Bracken of a Ukranian defence
That must have longed for the
Final whistle
And of course Jack Grealish
James Maddison, the new prefect
At the head of the class
A Leicester fox in the box
Fearless as the intrepid
Explorer on another
Treacherous expedition
Of another England Euro
Journey into the known
And unknown,
Two wins out of two
Business as usual
Familiar template
We’ve been here before
Next up North Macedonia
And Malta
It couldn’t be easier
The scenarios never change
Yet when Germany
Beckons for England
We must hope, next year
The batons are not dropped
Lines not fluffed
Stage fright eats
Away at flagging confidence
England, back to square one
Almost but not quite
We may hope for more
It could be their year

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Germany again

Germany again

It was always Germany
Following us, haunting us
Either our nemesis or
Just bold, visible,
In front of us, stalking
Our corridors
A pain, impediment,
Just a confounded nuisance
If it wasn’t 1966 and Sir Geoff
Four years later it was the West
Germans again
When Bobby was arrested
For pinching jewellery
And Sir Alf had a rush of blood
To the head and mind
In the tropical, baking heat
Of Mexico City
Then two years later
The fated evening at Wembley
When the West Germans ripped
Opened their birthday presents
While Gunter Netzer and the
Kaiser Beckenbauer reigned
In perfect football monarchy
In the Euro carnival where
England’s world was turned
Upside down on its head
England beaten this time
At Wembley by the West German
Advance on all fronts
Yet last night at Wembley
A six- goal humdinger
To satisfy the connoisseurs
The puritans and moralists
The ones who thrive on goals
In whatever form, shape and design
But England still relegated,
Demoted to the mediocre classes
While the Germans exact
A morsel of revenge
For Euro 2020
Crumbs of comfort
Leave the crusts in
The bread bin
We’ll eat those later
The Germans draw first blood
Through City’s Gundogan’s penalty
Oh no, Not another night like the
One in 1972
Then Chelsea’s Havertz
Adds salt to England’s
Festering wound
Double your money
Germany
Game seems shot and gone
Hurtling towards the empty
Wilderness among a forest
Of desolate English shirts
But then Luke Shaw
He it was who opened the
Scoring in the Italy Euro
2020 Final
Dragged his countrymen
Back onto flagging feet
This is the point
The height of excitement
Of bathos and pathos
Hold your breath
Mason Mount
Steers the ball magically
Home for parity
The second equaliser
How about that then?
Then our loyal citizen
Kane, Harry cracks
Home a penalty
With a decorative flourish
Game on, winner perhaps
But then the Germans,
Never beaten, undaunted,
Move their pawns, bishops
Kings and queens
Effortlessly through the
English defence
And Chelsea’s Harvitz
Thrusts his sword
With little in the way
Of medieval chivalry
Take that, England
3-3 in one of the great
International duels
Rivals but old allies
Friends but the fires
Of antagonism still burn
English hospitality
German efficiency
Set in stone
It’s only a UEFA Nations League
Game.
Who cares?
Some of us wonder
England though still down
But far from out

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England beaten again in Italy.

England relegated from the UEFA
Nations League,
Oh what stuff and nonsense
An utterly preposterous notion
Idiotic gibberish and drivel
But beaten in the San Siro
That legendary bastion of
Neapolitan dreams
Now ready for the knacker’s yard
Ripe for demolition
Blasted into the ancient
Antiquated past
Italy rub salt into English wounds
After Euro 2020 Final dreadful
Debacle. How dare history
Repeat itself so soon after
The Wembley anti climax
Juddering and shuddering
Disaster
But last night it all
Unravelled again
Like the fragile cotton reel
Not long now until
Saudi World Cup
Winter mysteries explored
Plots thickening rapidly
England now in the
Slough of despond
A slump, defeated
By just a goal but
Heads are dropping
Body language obvious
Gareth Southgate
A worried and careworn man
Like the man who may have
Lost his valuable credit card
And substantial wage packet
Clapping but sallow faced
Beard bristling with concern
England, poor, listless,
Going nowhere
Drained of Euro 2020 passion
Flabby, grubby, dishevelled
Rather like the men who
Forget their morning shave
Dier, Rice, Bellingham,
Citizen Harry Kane,
Sterling and Saka
Like stranded men
On an idyllic desert island
Moving but not really
Connecting, off the pace
Still trying to find
Their co-ordinates
Harmonies in attack
Out of tune and
Distinctly off key
Italy, not visitors
To this World Cup
Extravaganza
Once privileged guests
At this high society
Gathering of wits and
Footballing intellects
We’ll miss the
Hot headed fires of
Petulance, arguments
With referees,
The finger pointing
And hysterical histrionics
The butter wouldn’t melt
In their mouth
The shock and wonderment
At perfectly legal goals
Offside simply not in
Their specific rule book
Memories of Rivera, Pirlo,
Zoff, the maestro Tardelli
And the master Maldini
Rocks and walls
At the heart of the Italian
Golden age
Then Rossi and Begetta,
Who once ruled
Over the trattorias,
Piazzas and pizza
Parlours of those
Timeless cultural
Melting pots
Where huge families
Still enjoy the alfresco
Company of each
Washed down with
Endless bottles of Chianti
and Asti, then
Football in Azzuri tones
The land of Serie A
Last night Raspadori
Jinked, darted, checked
Shifted quickly
Back inside Kyle Walker
Before rifling home
The winner of winners
A beauty, yet more
Pearls of wisdom
Now for Germany
Once again
A year ago when
Teutonic thoroughness
Was rumbled, caught
Red handed
Oh for another 1966
A longing for repetition
Just for a while tomorrow
Since the cavalry charge
Of the Premier League
Rears its lucrative head
Next week, egos bruised
And scarred, projects
And ambitions restored
Players diving like early
Evening swallows in orange
Sunsets, penalty areas alive
With dishonourable intentions
Players still equipped with
Tricks up their sleeve
That’s offside by a toe- nail
Or an arm pit, the length of
A strand of hair
Players pulling the wool
Over our eyes
Loaded with simulation
And duplicity
Getting away with it
Football in Italy
And England
A lavish meal
For two

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England ladies go again.

On the day we entrusted
Liz Truss to lead the nation
The girls win again
By a landslide, avalanche
The Lionesses roar with
Ferocious conviction
10 of the best
Against Luxembourg
Those whipping boys
Or girls
Of world football
Cowering cravenly
In a corner of Europe
Where radio
Signals once faded
In and out like the
Fluctuations of
Football fortune
But poor Luxembourg
Downtrodden as Boris
Perhaps, defeated by time
The England Lionesses
Capture their prey
With stealth and guile
Hungry and predatory
This time in World Cup
The business end
The men have Qatar
On lands of desert
At the back of their mind
Where cooler winds
Of winter
May be to their
Advantage
We shall see
But well done ladies
Luxembourg, the Grand
Duchy
Once of music radio
Fame, disappear from
View, 208
No more than
A medium wave
Melody from
Yesterday’s song book
Beaten into the ground
Trodden on, crushed
Into football obscurity
Once again
Our hearts are weeping
Georgia Stanway hits
Two, Beth Mead
Once again domineering
Perhaps even overbearing
A dominant force
When her country needed
Her
10-0 in the Potteries
Lionesses pride
Boosted again
Bring on the world
Ladies
For yet more
Invention
Fantastic

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