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Poems tagged ‘West Ham beaten again’

Deeper and deeper

joe morris

Thursday, April 6th, 2023

Deeper and deeper
West Ham plunge into
The abyss, spiralling
Out of control
Help goes the cry
For this was the ultimate
Warning, lose today
And it could be curtains
Loose draperies,
The end of the road
Perhaps for the claret and blue
Platoon
A crisis undoubtedly
But not now surely
We can fix the problem
Or is this now terminal
Incurable, incorrigible
This is just West Ham
Being West Ham
Fighting that traditional
Battle of battle
Last night
There were high fives
But not of the East End
Variety and yet
No variations on a theme
Newcastle with Saudi pots of gold
Wallop the Hammers with emphatic
Conviction. 5-1 to the Toon
A statement of real intent
Perhaps a Champions League
Masterclass, next season
But West Ham now resigned
To the last 10 games of
Scuffling, scraping the bottom
Of the barrel, struggling to
Remain a solvent Premier League
Force of nature
Gripping desperately onto weather beaten
Rock faces
Twisted with terror
The Championship still
On the precipice of our
Imagination
But not again
It only seemed like yesterday
When Sam Allardyce
Heaving the Hammers
Back into the Premier League
On that sun kissed day
Back in May 2012
Told us it would happen
When Blackpool came to
The Wembley Arch
And opened up Tangerine Dreams
Then 11 years later
The worst case scenario
Another season out of the sun
In the murky depths
Of Championship obscurity
It was always thus
But maybe not.

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No joy at Old Trafford- again.

joe morris

Tuesday, November 1st, 2022

Oh this grim foreboding
But we knew
About the West Ham
Dread of Old Trafford
Now almost as hoaxed
As Anfield
Yet another cataclysm
As the clocks go back
So too do
The claret and blue
Brigade
When time stopped then
Started
Another retrograde step
One step forward against
Bournemouth, then
Much further back in
Manchester, United
They stand, slowly
Re-surfacing and
The first cries of rejuvenation
Under Ten Hag, Erik to you
And football’s fascinated
Observers casting yet
More critical eyes
Over the sleeping giant
In recent years
Never the same
Since Fergie time
Called it a day
No more chewing gum
Little tolerance for the
Sloppier side of the game
But the Hammers once
Again fell awkwardly
On their feet at Manchester
United,
Almost there but not quite
Tantalisingly close
But such words don’t
Meet the criteria of
Three points
For the Happy Hammers
Benrahma still stylish but
So near and yet so far
On the threshold of victory
At OT. Sadly deprived
By the world class excellence
Of De Gea, magisterial
Saves when West Ham
Looked as though they might
But then the red carpet whipped
Away by Red Devils
United far from fabulous
But opening gradually
And breathlessly from
The ordinary seasons
Of static, stasis
Neither here nor there
Like orchids once withered
But whose petals now emerge
Red as carnations perhaps
Shivering in wintry winds
But Manchester United
At the developmental stage
Mighty under Fergie
One Premier League after
Another
A sequence of dizzy euphoria
But Marcus Rashford established
Even sturdier building blocks
The foundation stone in place
Bulleting home headed winner
West Ham sent home empty
Handed once again
Soucek check mated once again
Declan, a shining bulb
In the dim depths of Hammers
Glowering darkness
Victories at Old Trafford
Like the three buses that
Never came,
Seemingly blossoming
At the London Stadium
But stagnant, dormant
As a claret and blue volcano
About to blow up and impose
Stunning exhibitions at the
Old Upton Park
Destined never it would appear
To be ready for something
Resembling positivity
Where once Paolo De Canio
Steered home the winner
In the FA Cup
As Barthez reminded
Us of the Heathrow
Air traffic controller
The United keeper
With convincing offside
Claim, arm raised
But never recognised
And then there was the final
Curtain call at Upton Park
When Winston Reid
Memorably wrote his signature
Winning goal for the Irons
Closing the book on the old
Boleyn, how Anne would
Have been so proud
So boisterously loud
And certainly not under a cloud
West Ham bobbing in mid table
Anonymity, not really anywhere
At the moment,
Those shadows and parodies
Of last season’s former selves
Unbeaten in Europe
But under domestic servitude
Looking up at the Premier League
Keeping company
With the lower sculleries rather
Than the moneyed and entitled ones
With their upwardly mobile airs
Above them
The affluent elites
In their comfy seats
Hammers mid table bound
Marooned and trapped
And simply struggling to
Make sense of contrasting
Shades of recent season
Exertions and strivings
When European air tickets
Were confirmed
But then
As World Cup combat looms
We may hope for claret
And blue bottles of cheer
A glass of Chardonnay
To wipe the bitterness of
Old Trafford sourness
From the discerning palates
Of claret and blue fans
Now accustomed to the
Pools coupon mentality
Win one, lose one
Oh how can this keep
Happening, like an annoying
Habit, like the tapping of
The fingernails on pub coasters
Restless, impatient, waiting
For a hat-trick of Premier League
Triumphs, that’ll be the day
Pour me another lager, barman or woman
The creeping, surging, dull ache
Of losing, then the uplift of another win
Emotions scarred, torn
Pieces of A4 paper
Like the confetti that rained
Down on Argentina’s World Cup
In 1978
West Ham defeated at
Old Trafford yet again
Oh anguish for breakfast,
Lunch, then for tea and supper
When will three points
Ever happen again

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Oh woe on Merseyside

joe morris

Sunday, September 18th, 2022

Not quite the apocalypse
But seven games into the season
And claret and blue
Bubbles are bursting in
Pastel shades of profusion
Gloom and doom
Merchants are growing
Moodily cynical
In East End cafe
Discussion groups
At the highest level
Writing not quite on the
Wall for West Ham
But the graffiti is
Simply grotesque
Defeat on Merseyside
Against one of their favourite
Sons, Lampard
Gloating from within
Still harbouring grudges
When rejection at his
Hometown club felt
Like the end of his world
Then Chelsea brought
Him back to back
Premier League titles
Everton, back on Goodison
Good terms, first three points
And West Ham falling into dark
Pits and fiery furnaces of hellish
Form. Nothing but greyness
Seeping into every pore of
Their football
Sackcloth and ashes
Piteous, pitiful, almost
But not quite
So what about the Three Musketeers
Who warmed the bench
Scamacca, Cornet and Benrahma
Primed and poised to strike
Like cobras in the undergrowth
The rattlesnake hissing
With lethal intent
Then suddenly
The vultures and vampires
Hover over Stratford
Relegation surely unthinkable
But we’ve been here before
More goals in Europe
Than the autumnal domestic
Hearth at the London Stadium
Just flickering flames rather than
Fire and brimstone
In the East End inner sanctum
Poison in the air
The natives are restless
For David Moyes
More of this fiasco
And P45s will beckon
For the genial Scot
Five defeats by the odd
Goal or so
Relentless misery
Maupay scores a cracker
Of a winner at the once
Wealthy landowners
Of Everton
But then showbiz
Impresario Bill Kenwright
Brings a gloss and sheen
To Goodison,
Who once witnessed
North Korea stunning the
World in the World
Cup of 1966
With their frills
And festivities against
Portugal
But latterly Everton
Have been architects
Of their downfall
Slumping, struggling, shrugging
Their shoulders
Arrogantly, disdainfully
The rest of the Premier
League was somehow
Beneath them, a degrading
Sight for sore eyes
Bournemouth, Brighton,
Fulham totally undeserving
Of the Toffees respect
Mere feathers in the wind
How dare they share
The same platform as Everton
But the side from the other
Side of Stanley Park
Are back on the big screen
While West Ham nurse
Their hangovers, sore
Heads
Bewilderment for Sunday
Tea, the Hammers devouring
Their customary pie and mash
With bleak faces to the world
Four points but seemingly leaderless
Rudderless, no brakes, faulty gears,
Empty tanks of petrol and diesel
The hard shoulder now the cold shoulder
Stuck in the sticky, mud caked quagmire
Low in intensity, little appetite or stomach
For the fight,
Thankfully the international break
Looms again
Major refurbishment, structural tweaks,
Needed urgently before
Worst case scenarios
Tighten the bolts, adjustments to
The collective moods and mannerisms
West Ham lost in a world of their own
Buried heads of introspection
Where to go, not that road
Off that roundabout
Ever increasing circles
Of yet more doubt,
Step up to the plate
Soucek, Benrahma and Paqueta
Before birthday boy Bonzo
From Hammers yesteryear
Blasts ear drums with meaty
Reprimands, juicy expletives
Invectives to strip off paint
In Upton Park dressing rooms
Billy Bonds would have demanded
Blood, sweat and tears
Now hungry Wolves
Await the Thames Ironworks
In a fortnight
Time for East End stevedores
To roll up their sleeves.
Hammers, saws, chisels
At the ready, while
The muscular Christianity
Of docklands
Remind you of the early
Days of Syd King and Charlie
Paynter when men in proud
Waistcoats and caps
Gathered in pools of delight
If only our claret and blue
Yeomen could summon
That robustness of spirit
From way back when
They were young and
So were we
West Ham neither good
Or bad, simply just
Unpredictable
Sinking deep into predictable
Relegation quicksand
But now that autumn
Is among us
Greeting new carpets
Of brown and yellow
On the ground
Wolves will be howling
Sadly
In the London Stadium
A fortnight from now
Where once Olympians
Plied their legendary trade

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/west-ham-beaten-again/