Poems tagged ‘Portsmouth’
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
joe morris
3rd September 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
3rd September 2024
joe morris
26th August 2024
Crispin Thomas
26th August 2024
joe morris
22nd August 2024
Mike Bartram
20th August 2024
Phil Brennan
20th August 2024
joe morris
17th August 2024
Rowan Waller
17th August 2024
Alex Saynor
12th August 2024
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
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.
See in context
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!!!!
See in context
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
See in context
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.
See in context
28th April 2024 at 5:59 pm
Thanks Denys. Yes your replay poem was superb.
See in context
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.
See in context
25th April 2024 at 7:33 pm
Hi Denys,
Thanks mate. I’ll do it now.
See in context
25th April 2024 at 1:56 pm
Thanks Joe,
you might like to write a poem yourself on the same subject…
See in context
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?
See in context
23rd April 2024 at 3:59 pm
Hi Crispin,
Yes sorry mate. Villa are still in Europe. Mistake rectified.
Cheers
Joe
See in context