Poems tagged ‘Portsmouth’
Sonnet for George
You brought me first to my surrogate home,
we scaled well-worn steps to secure the view,
a white-lined pitch grown from this island’s loam,
barrier to lean on for my debut,
the crowd so large I could hardly believe,
a child so wide eyed just breathing it in,
such innocence then I was so naïve,
now each time I return the moment spins;
to those who’ve passed and the time in-between,
I’m pulled right back to my earlier years,
this field of memories of all I’ve seen,
and though you’re gone you are still with me here,
as the teams walk out and the Chimes begin,
and I raise my eyes to the sky and sing.
77 Minute Haiku ~Peterborough v Portsmouth 16.03.24
go on go on go
yeeeeeeaaargghhhaaaarrrggghhaaaaaaaaaahyeeeaaaassssssss
aaaaaaaaahhhhyesssssyesssscooommmmeooonnnnn!!!
PO4 8RA
Is more than a postcode,
more than a famous stadium,
with steel riveted girders,
and those mock Tudor beams.
There is more to this place,
than Archibald Leitch,
a stand on each touchline,
and blue plastic seats.
This place is its people,
players, supporters and staff,
a community with purpose,
from boardroom to the streets,
where everyone is welcome,
we are solid in our aim,
our passion and pride is Pompey,
Hampshire’s most successful team.
One city, one club, one family,
with Heaven’s Light Our Guide,
standing strong together,
we bring this place to life.
Chimes
Portsmouth’s old High Street in Eighteen Ninety-Eight
Legacies were made in these pledging of deeds,
A field of potatoes to this place of dreams.
Years of victories from this April 5th date.
Up for the cup and championships run through,
Promotions, relegations all that’s between.
Poverty then prospering this island’s seam,
One city one club in the pink then the blue.
More trophies than most, (such as those down the road),
Players may change and the stadium reveal,
Each summer’s new paint until surfaces gleam;
Yet much is unchanged that mere time can’t corrode.
Put on your colours and then head to the ground,
One road to the next as rivers to the sea.
Memories in chatter all ages one theme,
Passionate and proud, to this we are all bound.
Each line joins another, towards Fratton Park,
Young and old in our faith, this one crowd to be,
Pass through the turnstiles and then upstairs we stream,
Launching into song with the whistle the spark.
And out on this pitch under floodlights’ bright beam
You’ll know by our roar why we’re held in esteem,
Underdogs, favourites we’ll shout, and we’ll scream,
Portsmouth one heartbeat, one city and one team.
At The Reunion – For John Milkins
He holds out his hands,
says they are sore every day.
Old knuckles so swollen,
he’s never worn a ring.
No protection like now,
gloves thinner back then
those stitched leather footballs,
weighted with rain.
Yet recalling his history
he smiles at the past
a life fully lived,
in all its victories and scars.
Joining other players
on this anniversary date,
for wide grins and laughter;
for memories replayed.
Followers
Like all those before we walk the streets
We walk the streets towards the light
The light of this place our one true calling
One true calling we hallow this earth
This earth this place this scrap of green
This scrap of green of nurtured dreams
Of nurtured dreams over so many years
So many years and my grandfather’s hand
Hand on my shoulder and ushering me through
Through clicking turnstiles to climb these steps
Climb these steps my son’s turn now
My son’s turn now for this is our faith
For this is our faith we proclaim in song
We proclaim in song with all those before us
Bird in Hand
Bird in Hand
The FA Cup 1939 – 2008
We drink in the presence of greatness.
A glorious bird of paradise
that fills the room with life.
Wanderers to Portsmouth all roads between,
a coach trip ride through hedge-screened fields.
This monochrome world that we engraved
as so many lives were sliding past.
Waiting for the blackout to end,
as if nothing we did really mattered,
as if watching was all that there was.
So we taped up all the windows,
made do with any small victory,
turned out the lights and kept quiet.
As the radio spat static and crackled,
keeping our hopes in the dark.
And here we are only nine months on,
a country pub where they kept it safe
for five lost years as the city burned,
payloads emptied on a scrap of earth.
Abide with me all flags at half mast.
Abide with me and a sea of blue.
Wembley stadium and Kanu scores,
forty-something men so close to tears,
my daughters and I in our Pompey shirts.
The final whistle on a perfect day.
And here we are on the journey home,
brilliant colours will fade to none,
as the flags we carry are furled away.
Like Tommy Rowe at ninety-two
leaving all thoughts in the dark.
So drink to the presence of greatness,
for everything you do really matters.
Enjoy all of your victories.
Turn on the lights and sing out,
for living is all that there is.
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
Denys E. W. Jones
31st May 2025
joe morris
31st May 2025
Clik The Mouse
30th May 2025
Clik The Mouse
28th May 2025
Emdad Rahman
28th May 2025
Mike Bartram
27th May 2025
joe morris
26th May 2025
steve mingle
23rd May 2025
Mike Bartram
22nd May 2025
joe morris
22nd May 2025
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
24th May 2025 at 7:19 am
Hi Steve
I’ve come across you before on the live poetry circuit…something I’ve also been involved in since the late 90s at slams, gigs and festivals. Did you ever get to Glasto?
I was also at Swindon when José subbed and berated Kevin in a League Cup game for Chelsea….
Salah as you point out went the same way…
Be interesting to see Kev’s next move?
Best
Crispin
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24th April 2025 at 1:05 pm
Hey Denys..love this
“You may be a miner working down a pit.
You may be a rock star playing sold out gigs.
You may be a fireman putting out a blaze.
You may be an inmate chalking off the days. ”
Not just Dylan but maybe an unintentional nod to and shades of Ian Dury’s enigmatic ‘What A Waste’ rhythmic scanning..eg:
I could be the driver in an articulated lorry
I could be a poet I wouldn’t need to worry
I could be a teacher in a classroom full of scholars
I could be the sergeant in a squadron full of wallahs
What a waste
What a waste
Was lucky enough to meet and interview him twice.
Best wishes from Forest Green to Genoa C
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8th March 2025 at 2:34 pm
Thanks Crispin
I’ve been to FGR a couple of times in the past – great food! Barnet look like they have the NL sewn up for this season, but I wish you well for promotion next season.
Regards, Beth
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11th January 2025 at 8:13 am
TO ADD THIS TO THIS POEM’S COMMENT:WELCOME BACK DAVID MOYES!!!
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27th November 2024 at 5:55 am
‘You’re Supposed To Be At Home’ is an excellent and moving poem Denys.
You start off thinking it’s just about another oft-sung chant, one we personally heard a lot last season throughout our second relegation in a row here at Forest Green(FGR) ! I always love poems where you think they are saying one thing and then they suddenly pull you deeper to somewhere or something else else.
I’m currently helping in a local school for FGR in a voluntary capacity using football to help young students with reading. At an upcoming session we will tackle racism, just like we did in workshops at football schools and grounds when we first started this site 24 years ago. I’m gonna try and weave your poem into a session.
We’ve added it to the Anti- Racism/Kick It Out section under Crispin’s Corner.
Best C
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26th November 2024 at 1:59 pm
Great poem and great to see you back Wyn.
Don’t leave it so long next time my friend!
More please.
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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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