Poems tagged ‘Euros’
The Poetry of Euro ’24 & Fooball Poets 2000-2024 (Revisited)
so much has happened in our world since last time
but suddenly a tournament draws near
so all we ask is keep your poems flowing
soon so soon it will be here once more
and may our rhymes reflect these times -it’s coming
the poetry of Euro ’24
for in the Spring in Stroud back in Two Thousand
we poets sat outside of Mills Café
and in that courtyard round a wooden table
a plan was hatched that still remains today
where once our football words were only spoken
at gigs or when we’d meet up in some bar
with all our thoughts confined to bits of paper
the chance at last to spread our verses far
the idea seemed preposterous and crazy
perhaps we were indeed the only ones
but with the help of Stuart Dave and from me too
the Football Poets website had begun
we launched in June when Summer brought the Euros
to Belgium and to Netherlands that year
and to our joy the poems came in numbers
from those who loved the game from far and near
and meanwhile in that hazy crazy summer
we stood or sat with eyes glued to those screens
when flags would fly on pubs and cars and buildings
we followed in our numbers with our dreams
and hopes grew stronger though our group looked daunting
that golden day when when we beat Germany
only to lose out to Romania
with that despairing last gasp penalty
we drowned our sorrows barely three days later
and we all swore we’d win the thing next time (!)
so we went down to Glaston’bry for Bowie
and Coldplay played the farm for the first time
before we knew of masks or isolation
before the kind of years that we have known
before our media all became so social
before we could not live without our phones
but we’re still here whichever clubs we follow
and all our words arrive here just the same
reflecting still in voices loud and booming
our love or loathing for the People’s Game
and gladly now we have this site to savour
and thanks to Chrstian* so much for it all
who rehoused all your poems in their thousands
and introduced us all here to ‘The Ball’**
so from that fateful meeting in Two Thousand
the friends we’ve made the journey on the way
we carry on with pride and we remember
the plan we hatched that still remains today
and after everything that we have been through
all since our now last distant Euro year
while all our clubs face final games appraching
so suddenly a tournament draws near …
so all we ask is keep your poems flowing
soon so soon it will be here once more
and may our rhymes reflect these times..it’s coming
the poetry of Euro ’24
Euro 2024- the draw
On the day when
The FA Cup’s grand
Bourgeoisie found
Their station in life
The January third round
And those at the higher
End of privilege
And entitlement
Meet the earthy
Grassroots of the
Artisans and tradesmen
Of the lower Leagues
Once again Euro 2024
Hoves into view
Yesterday the draw
Paired together
Europe’s ennobled
Emperors with
Those who quite
Frankly just make
Up the numbers
It’s inferior although
Adequate against France,
Germany, Spain, England,
Facing the fishes swimming
Against the tides
That follow the rest of the
Plankton fighting for recognition
And just falling short,
Hungary, Austria and Switzerland
All worthy and well intentioned
Protagonists of this German play
But sadly overshadowed
By too many glowing shades
Of superiority
Both Hungary, Austria and Switzerland
Once World Cup notabilities
In years and decades gone by
And yet lacking upper body strength
Switzerland once hosts of the Jules
Rimet Cup
Now which skiing slope
Provided the backdrop for
That scenic contest back then?
England for their part
In the most soft focus group
Serbia, Slovenia and Denmark
It could hardly be easier
Book your advanced tickets
Before the Barmy Army
Converge in their multitudinous
Droves, descending on the finest
Of foaming steins of German beer
On paper this could be pieces of cake
But football was never about marzipan,
Battenberg or Black Forest Gateau
Now that’s appropriate
Serbia and Slovenia
Surely overcome without a hint
Of struggle but you never know
With England,
Time for perspective
Never underestimate
At your peril
But victory should
Be for Gareth Southgate’s
Battled hardened soldiers
Only Danish pastries
Could be too sticky and sweet
For discerning English palates
Denmark, never to be
Lightly dismissed
And fully paid up members
Of the football awkward squad
Entertainers for as long as
Any of us can remember
How shocked we were
When Christian Eriksen
Fell horrifically
To the ground
And Danish hearts
Skipped a beat as well
But now the Danes
Offer much more than
Blood, sweat and tears
Pass masters when the
Stars are aligned
And the moon is smiling
Radiantly over the
Bavarian mountain ranges
But now is the time
To take stock before
Fulsome festive fun
And then look ahead
To sparkling German
Football exhibitions
Next summer
Where Scotland return
To European markets
On the well upholstered
Platforms of German
Excellence
Yes Scotland you’re
Up first next summer
Against the hosts Germany
It seems brutally unfair
Since we know how unforgiving
The Germans can be
When they’re riled
And wounded by slanderous
Accusations of not being ready
Or up to the task
Let the tartan brigades
Dry clean their kilts
And tune up their melodious
Bagpipes
Forget the distant mists
Of historic Culloden
And Bannockburn
Mere blots on
The past but
Now the purest sheets
Await Scotland
In yet another Euros
Open the pages slowly
Scotland
But no pomposity from
Decades gone by
When Ally was convinced
His Tartan army
Would be world champions
In no time at all
More of the restrained
Tones and bass lines of
Willie Ormond
Modesty personified
Although just as hungry
For legendary fame
Low key but ambitious
All the same
So let’s lick our lips
Once again
At European football’s
Top table
Foie Gras followed by
The meatiest steak
Cutlery and crockery
Spick and span
The best is yet to come
Italian job done
So there it was
Italian job complete
The doors have been
Emphatically blown up
Not a sight or sound
Of Benny Hill or
Michael Caine
Trattorias and pizzerias
Have served their customers
And football’s Neopolitan
Restaurant replete
With its mouth watering concoction
Italy at its most temperamental
But now mellowing with age
No longer the grizzly bears
Or the gesticulating actors
Finger pointing at referees
Rather like those spoilt children
Who only mature
When their parents lavish
Them with abundant platefuls
Of spaghetti bolognaise
And then Gareth Southgate
With his merry men
Of England
Are Germany bound
For yet more Euro 2024
Revels and celebrations
Of football’s most revered
Europeans
And yet revenge
Is sweeter than
46 years ago
When Sir Trevor and KK
Kevin Keegan
Performed the most
Artistic collaboration
In 1977 Wembley anti climax
Dancing then the heartbreak
Denouement
Denied World Cup place
In spectacular Buenos Aires
During confetti splashed summertime
Then exactly 50 years ago
Poland rocked up to England’s
Stately home
With acrobatic goalkeepers
And then the sadly cumbersome
Bite Yer Legs surely
Sir Norman Hunter
Although without the sword
Poland take the lead
Sniffer Clarke Alan that is
Predator yet not on this occasion
Just a token equalising penalty
No more World Cups before the age
Of the Seventies descended into
Woe and the argumentative voices
Who were just consumed with sorrow
Just emptiness and late night questions
Before night fell in October 1973
But last night
The united forces were bound together
The eateries were open for business
A table for two or maybe more
For Gareth Southgate
Next to the well lit window
Champagne on ice
But reserve that for the
Bavarian foothills
Where those wearing lederhosen
Will be waiting for England again
England calling Germany
Now where have we heard that one before?
But against Italy in Euro sparring
Arenas of qualifying preludes
Citizen Kane, Harry of Bayern
Munich
Now he must have had a premonition
Drives home a conclusive second goal
After the superlative Marcus Rashford
Had levelled the game
With a rocket that almost broke the net
For England
How distant that Italy opener
Must have seemed
Scamacca, a sparkler who
Fizzled out at West Ham
On the spot
Once again though Jude Belligham
Reminded us of world class
Ball control, toying with
The ball and the opposition
Like a rag doll
Here’s the menu Gareth Southgate
Would sir like a beer from Munich?
It seems so apt
Give that man the best steak
In the house
And a Euro trophy
During summertime football
Lull ready to party
We must hope
Euro 2028
So in five years hence
Across the fence
Home Counties
With prolific bounties
Football comes together
Hell for leather
The UK and Ireland
On the domestic island
In 2028 they’ll gather
In their hordes
Treading the boards
Once again football
Coming home
Never walking alone
A nostalgic throwback
No room for setback
Gareth Southgate has to deliver
Across mountain, village and river
So Jude Bellingham, Mason Mount,
Jack Grealish too
Your call to arms
Success should never be taboo
Harry Kane perhaps your last hurrah
Let’s raise the elevated bar
Bukayo Saka firing from Gunners
Markers and runners
From your cannon fire
England poised on the trapeze wire
Now or never
So UK and Ireland
Be prepared for Euro 2028
Certainly not too late
For adulation and congratulation
The Irish blarney
Amid heat so balmy
Summer on the Emerald Isle
For a temporary while
Soothing green pastures
The country that gave us
Joy and freedom
Upon their blessed fiefdom
Saintly Liam Brady
A prince among midfielders
Baton wielders
George Best
A spellbinding force
Absolutely no remorse
Northern Ireland’s finest
His Royal Highness
So it’s the Tottenham Hotspur
Stadium
And Wembley
For the footballers of the world
This crazy social whirl that whirled
Europe paying homage to the
Best of the rest
Surely Gareth Southgate
From the Lake District
To Aldgate
This has to be England’s time
Let the good times shine
It’s over a half century
Since the pubs and clubs
Had reason to celebrate
When the pain would exacerbate
Our hopes and dreams
Of our British teams
Let the frustration subside
Among the turbulent tide
England please
We’re begging on our knees
Oh if you insist Scotland
And Wales in the equation
Our closest relation
Just a Euro trophy or Cup
We feel it our destiny to sup
From the legendary wines
Make sure there are no fines
In five years
With alcoholic beers
Sprayed across the garden
Be ready to harden
Your soul and spirit
Without boundary or limit
It’s coming home
Read properly from that
Weighty tome
History has to be on our side
No more shots agonisingly wide
Goals goals goals
From all agendas
Glories send us
To that podium of triumph
Where winners
Flourish and nourish
Seize the day
Britain
It has to be our
Moment, our way
Domestic football downs its tools
For a week or two
Football becomes reflective
Gazing at the rippling waters
Of introspection, four games
Into the new Premier League season
And the same faces
Guises and disguises
Manchester City, Spurs
Arsenal of course
Liverpool and even West Ham
Improbably but welcome
Now though the international break
A pause for hiatus
Time for yet more emotion
And this time heartfelt
Poignancy,
England against Ukraine
You can almost feel
The lump in the throat
Pathos resounding through
Dark and broken streets
Charred ruins in our hearts
Ukraine, Ukraine
Always there for you
A country choked by suffering
England moved by football’s
Kindred spirits
This is football not war
Without Orwell’s shooting
Rather shooting on Euro
Qualifiers fields of glory
Of course we can smell
The burning embers
But we love our Ukrainian
Friends and allies
And always will
This Saturday football
Will link arms
In permanently warm
Entente cordiale
Brothers, cousins,
Aunties and nephews
Parents we shall never forget
And still remember
They too in Ukraine
Here in England
We feel the pain
Of shattered glass
That left nothing but shame
Flickering flames
Candles of hope
Rise again
England against Ukraine
Redemption again
Football on Saturday
Will heal and gain
Ukraine our thoughts
Will always be with you
A night for record breaking
So he stood on the shoulders of the heads
Of giants, a colossus supreme
A footballing Titan
Record breaker
The all time England goal scorer
Now 54 goals not out
Harry Kane
The ultimate citizen
If only Orson Welles
Could only have seen his
Triumphant contemporary
Perhaps in our fevered imagination
An American cousin
From a fabled Hollywood studio
Long ago
If only it were true
For not only did Kane overtake
Jimmy Greaves
In volume, quantity and number
But we also witnessed an England
Victory in the land of trattorias
Contented gondolas, seductive
Mouth watering pizzas and
Historic piazzas where suspicious
Mafia connections were once born
It was Italy in Naples
Last night
Where goals bloomed
In the first full flush
Of springtime daffodils
Heralded the first seeds
Portents of petunias
On hanging baskets of floral glory
England beat Italy
For the first time since
The precursor to Beatlemania
Jude Bellingham now established
As a world class talent
Drifting past defenders like
A train commuter on an escalator
Moving past the hustle and bustle
Of industry, endeavour and the
Morning rush hour
With a large slice of piquant
Panache, a sweet confection
In patriotic shades
Of Three Lions on the chest
Then Kalvin Phillips
With warm homages to Manchester City
But now his country came calling
And that was all he needed
Phillips spreading tranquillity
Across the nervous waters
Of Gareth Southgate’s emboldened troops
Gliding, gadding about, re-assuring,
Soothing pre match butterflies
Since English hearts
Were last embraced in
Italy in 1961
When life was less
Connected with the
Rest of the world
And only newspaper print
Delivered the template
Of football imagery
Black and white TV
With its seminal symbolism
Last night though
Jack Grealish, yet another
City gent in Manchester surrounds
Grealish, surely the finished article
Stardust status
A player of the most advanced education
What a pleasure to be a witness
Again to his footballing intellect
Wisdom beyond his years
Body swerving, twisting the torso
Ghosting past players with scholarly
Intelligence, weaving webs of subterfuge
Clever, too clever, outlandishly
Outrageously stylish, drawing tackles
And fouls like three buses and yet more
Declan, of the claret and blue parish
Of West Ham, drives home
England’s opening goal from Harry’s
Carry across the six yard box
A thrilling announcement of West Ham
But for how much longer you fear
Then Harry’s moment in the country
Where the Azzurri met Serie A
A lound cannonade of another penalty
This time correctly, vehemently
Uncompromisingly scored,
Qatar at the end of last year
Stamped upon, rubbed from memory
It was never likely to be
A French revolution
England now in the mood
For yet more conquests in this
Time, Euro 2024 in Germany
How a Euro Final in their backyard
Would give rise to swollen hearts
Of pride,
And yet let us enjoy
Revenge in Italy
Authors of the latest chapter
A perfect title
For psychological page turner
Roberto Mancini, this is an
Important breakthrough
After English hearts
Were broken
At Wembley two years
Ago
Saka back to his most
Formidable, danger in
Twinkling feet, dashing,
Cutting in and out of blue
Shirts with deceptive feet
Clandestine toes
Gareth Southgate, let
The Road to Germany begin
Teenage Kicks
So England go on through
while playing not that well,
can they lift the trophy ?
only time will tell.
Yet with only two goals scored
but an impressive clean sheet,
they aren’t a fluent attacking side
yet becoming hard to beat.
But Southgate’s looking to the future
with youngsters full of tricks,
in Jude Bellingham and Bukayo Saka
it’s not old heads but teenage kicks.
Now for the knock out football
will the Three Lions go on the attack,
or remain defensively minded
be rigid and tight at the back ?
They’ll be playing again at Wembley
verses Germany, Hungary, Portugal, or France,
I’d fancy them against the Magyars
but the others could lead us a merry dance.
But football is a funny old game
anything can happen as we all know,
it’s like being a long suffering Coventry City fan
you learn to go with the flow.
So can England win the Euros
and leave us supporters on a high
or will it be here we go again
it’s been like watching Crispin’s paint dry !
Day 8 Euro 202 haiku
woeful in attack
Expectation thwarted by
Resolute Scotland
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
tactical and tight
“poor” would by most generous
Sweden will not care
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
honours end even
Croatians are kept in Czech
Til Perisic strikes
Memories are Made of This
Remember when the Likely Lads
Wanted to avoid the final score?
Well, this was the exact opposite:
A twenty first century digital version
Where we expect constant updates and news.
But don’t get them.
For alas! There is no signal at all
At twelfth century Llanthony Priory;
And just a fleeting momentary contact
High up in the hills by Offa’s Dyke,
Where you gaze upon blue remembered hills,
And a faint silver gleam in the east:
The River Severn, and the Cotswold hills of home.
But what good is that when you want to know the score?
We started our climb from the Priory,
and asked fellow foxglove ramblers
If anyone knew the score.
No one knew.
No one was bothered.
No one was interested.
We climbed some more.
And reached two box trees,
The remnant, Bill thought, of a box hedge,
Where once a cottage stood,
Where once, Bill thought, slates and shingles were cut,
By some Wordsworthian revenant;
And there, a few yards further on,
A crumbled wall; once, perhaps,
The enclosure for the slater’s cow,
And a once tended vegetable patch:
A Wordsworthian moment, it’s true.
But an imagined solitary
From a reimagined Lyrical Ballads
Could not provide me with the score
From the end of the 18th century,
And nor could the next group of wayfarers.
But the next trio offered hope.
Walkers in red Welsh shirts.
I talked of the recent Wales v Switzerland match,
And, duty done, I thought I could broach the topic:
‘I don’t suppose you know how England are getting on?’
‘Well. Do you know. Up there I had a funny feeling.
I felt that Sterling had scored.’
His mate called out: ‘But that was before they’d kicked off.’
I checked my watch. 3.25.
Are they having me on or not?
We carried on climbing. Phone running low.
A momentary signal and message:
‘Ooh ah Roonata’;
I knew that Charlotte Rooney had drawn
England in the sweepstake. So, this was good news.
But was it a delayed celebration of a goal?
Late coming through? Or the result?
But battery low and signal lost,
I was none the wiser in the heather,
The cotton grass and the billberries.
We carried on climbing.
To reach a cairn high up on Offa’s Dyke.
And here I exhausted my phone with a message to Charlotte
And here I sat, exhausted, with joy and relief:
Her reply: ‘One nil to us.’
Bill, who has no interest in football,
But who enjoys football cliches,
Wondered if I would like more context,
And read, verbatim, the words of the players,
In an old school Private Eye,
Ashen-faced Ron Knee Mockney accent.
It was a signal moment:
Gammon, as it were, declaiming
The words of a new England,
And the new England silencing the boo boys.
This is the new ‘Us’.
Football’s Coming to a new Home.
To a new Us.
That’s how it felt by the cairn, high up on Offa’s Dyke.
I crossed my fingers.
And we came home to Llanthony Priory
For a couple of celebratory pints;
I stood where the monks once sat penitent,
And asked a young man if he knew the result –
He looked as though he might want to know.
‘Old school,’ he said. ‘No signal.
I had to use a pay phone down the road.’
We laughed.
Bill started to sing:
‘Memories are made of this.’
They certainly are.
And I’m dreaming of a new England.
Without the boo boys.
And so when I got home,
I signed this petition:
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
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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