Poems tagged ‘West Ham United’
Farewell David Moyes
So it’s farewell David Moyes
It was the engagement party
Before the wedding
The noisy introduction
Before the main event
When Manuel left in
A solemn slump
Relegation loomed
Moyes stood by the wings
Acclaimed by Fergie
Sir Alex always knew best
Madrid briefly
Then Sunderland
The red carpet
Treatment at Old
Trafford before
It all seemed to
Veer off in the wrong direction
At Manchester United
Not nearly good enough
For the United aficionados
Purists of the most
Knowledgeable kind
Used to winning trophies
Without a bead of sweat
No trouble
Premier League titles
By the conveyor belt
A profusion of purpose
And ambition fulfilled
But Moyes failed
To step up to the plate
When West Ham came calling
In dire straits
Without the assistance
Of Mark Knopfler
To guide the Hammers
Through raging tempests
And yet David Moyes
Brought his fire engine
To the London Stadium
And all would end
In wine and roses
When Prague played host
To European glory
For the claret and blue
Devotees and traditionalists
At long last the East Enders
Had finally broken the
Hoodoo, that obstacle
That always looked so
Awkward and irritating
A Cup or trophy so elusive
But let’s send David Moyes
On his way
With the best of all wishes
It was four and half years
Of gentle recovery,
Then intensive rehabilitation
Before the pain and ache
Of the relegation trap door
Remained firmly shut
And suddenly the Hammers
Discovered Europe
Phew! What a journey
That was
Idyllic scenery
Europa League semi finals
Eintracht Frankfurt
So near and yet so far
But it felt so good
And then the dream ticket
To the Euro Conference
Final where the Italians
Of Fiorentina briefly
Barred the way
When Jarrod streaked clear
From Lucas Paqueta’s
Thread and needle
Through pass
Sent Bowen away
Who scored the winner
And the drought was over
Drink in the amber nectar
Of victory
West Ham
David Moyes
We’ll never forget you
Oh what a massacre.
For those of a claret and blue
Disposition repeatedly
At times or so it seems
A massacre on a monumental scale
First it was Villa a while back
Now it was down by the Cottage
West Ham sunk by the hottest
Properties
There can be no dressing this one
Up, flattened by Fulham
London Stadium estate agents
Are speechless and dumbfounded
Villas and Cottages
Outclassing the Stratford
Claret and blue pied a terres
The studio apartments
Overlooking the River Thames
Now in Fulham’s safe possession
West Ham, well and truly hammered
Five of the best for the Cottagers
Tommy Trinder would have been convulsed
With gales of laughter
You lucky people
He might have said
Now beat that one
Or even Beat the Clock
On Palladium stages
When Sunday meant church
And rest rather than
Toil and exertion
That’s 10 goals in two
Games for the Cottagers
A dressing down
Lambasting and blasting
Of Thames Ironworks
Into submission
Poor old West Ham
But no tea and sympathy
Excuses redundant
Moyes muttered mumblings
Grumblings of too much
Too often
No time for rehabilitation
Recovering in time
For Sunday lunch
It could have been double
Figures but for the wind
Next to Father Thames
Time to forget
The Villa and Cottage
Let them nestle
Gracefully by the river
Maybe just a forgettable day
At the office
We never did like that printer
Or photocopier anyway
Fulham administer revenge
For the 1975 FA Cup Final
Emphatically
Unequivocally
Knocked down onto the canvas
And then into another country
Demolished
Like the wrecking ball
Fulham full of themselves
West Ham
Just annoyingly unpredictable
Shell shocked
Nay less traumatised
By chronological
Discrepancies
Now say that with a mouthful
Of chocolate biscuits
Thursday and Sunday football
For the claret and blues
Surely Wednesday and Saturday
Would have been far preferable
For the faithful Irons fans
Who used to look forward
To three on a Saturday afternoon
Time frames correct
And we knew where we were
But today was inexcusable
It’s Freiburg in the final
Europa League round robin
On Thursday
Concluding bouts
Yet more ever increasing circles
Though, dizzy and perhaps stale
And just before Christmas
One last weekend
Before exhaustion and
Battle fatigue set in
But today the Cottagers
Hammered opponents
With mallets of formidable skill
Please let there be never
Any repetition
Claret and blue triumph again
This hardly seems possible
Christmas festivities just
Around the corner
And West Ham begin to
Believe that Santa
Has already arrived
In garments of claret and blue
The European odyssey
Has now taken them
Beyond their wildest dreams
Credit rather than debit
To our Scottish guru
And motivator supreme
David Moyes
Yesterday drinking
The heartiest whiskies
On St Andrews Day
Job done, complete
Out of the probationary
Period when group stages
Tested their mettle
But last night
West Ham underline
Their significance
On the European stage
Prestige and supremacy
Confirmed
Signature on the dotted line
Through to the knock out
Point of serious business
Of Europa League combat
Backa Topola of Serbia
Now just some historical
Footnote in the dusty
Pages of yellowing
European football
Documents and files
Well thumbed and read
Soucek, another Czech mate
Greets knights and bishops
With a withering glare
Now that was too easy
West Ham rest your weary feet
And prepare again for Euro
Travels yet again next year
A goal that meant nothing
In the bigger picture
But this one had been
Completed ages ago
Back to the Palace
At Sunday lunchtime
It was always thus
Where the London Stadium
Awaits its regal guests
And Roy Hodgson
Looks for notorious
Soft spots in the Hammers
Defensive bastions
Sunday was never their day
For play
Where once Family Favourites
Would normally take up
Our sabbath leisureliness
But normally would occupy
That spot where the gravy
Dresses our roast dinners
And we just drooled over
Our simple pleasures of
Jogging gingerly and then
Sprinting for the line
And dad, how I loved you,
That commitment to cleanliness
Of the Ford Cortina
With sponges constantly wet
Then washed so wonderfully
To the point where
He could see his adoring neighbours
Reflections on his wing mirror
Of times long since gone
And yet West Ham are now
In our vision
Football was never part
Of his beef and brussel sprouts
Your lunchtime exchange
In family kitchens and
Well prepared feasts
Thanks mum, you were always
There
We knew and recognised as such
I knew that football was never
Your Saturday journey to
5 in the late afternoon
And classified results
But West Ham
Return to the Premier League
Turn on the ignition
Fire up the engine
Crank up the gears
Premier League revelry
Again, again
This weekend
It has to be
Domestic rivalries
Football of course
It has to be when
TV says so
We can hear and
See you clearly
In the distance
Thundering over the
Hills and moors
West Ham be
Prepared
Don’t stop West Ham
Oh no we knew this would happen
You feared the worst
That hunch,
The crashing
Thump of
Premonition
An earth shattering
Fall from visibility
Shattered shards of once
Colourful mosaic
Now no more
Than optical illusions
Where once there
Was gold, now bronze
Would do nicely
West Ham
Fizzling out
And running
Out of steam
Claret and blue
Losing its fine
Bouquet
The grapes of
Pungent flavours
And vintage
Fragrances now
Turning ever so
Sour for the moment
Held to a draw
By Newcastle’s
Relegation battlers
Defiant where before
They might have been
Cowardly and submissive
Settling for second best
But not now
Since the Hammers
Have taken their pedal
Off their once
Streamlined motor
And the preposterous
Idea of a Champions
League finish
Has been laughed and
Chuckled into some
Hollywood studio
Factory, no more
Than some comical
Rumour with
Nothing of any
Substance
That has any
Legal claim
To reality,
Just a charade
Of the farcical
Rumour
It was always
Destined to
Be
Craig Dawson
Planted a decisive
Lead with a knowing
Head
But then the
Multi millions
Of Newcastle’s
Black and white
Vast aristocracy
Displayed the
Fulsome obscenity
Of wealth, Fraser
But not Private
From Dad’s Army
Challenging the
Claret and blue
Battalions with
Tireless scurrying
While Jo Shelvey
A native of East
End charms
Essex in his blood
But now of Geordie
Accents and mannerisms
Stylish at times
With maybe a point
To prove
West Ham in his heart
But never on his sleeve
Yet today was the day
The Hammers were
Dulled by thieving
Magpies, stealing
The thunder and
Well prepared
Script,
Newcastle at peace
With themselves
Clear as clarity
Itself in mind
And thought
Liberated from
Apprehensive
Mind sets
Nervous as
Protagonists
On the first
Night
Making sure that
No more lines
Are fluffed
Eddie Howe
Who once
Brought bracing
Invigorating airs
To Bournemouth’s
Seat of seaside
Education
Wears the
Newcastle
Mantle,
Time to roll
Up the sleeves
Of heavy industry
In those fanatical
Hordes
At the Gallowgate
End, where trophies
Are now demanded now
Tonight just before the
News at Ten rather than
Some far off hinterland
Where only torrential
Monsoons of disappointment
May lie ahead
Newcastle want now
Not the immediate future
No idle curiosities, wild
Speculation, just the
Premier League trophy
With their tea and toast
On Sunday morning
Without fail
Black and white
Stripes, world
Domination, an
Immensity of
Premier League
Frequency
Always kissing the
Champions League
Award ceremony
Winners always
Acclaimed and lionised,
By kings, queens and prime
Ministers, leaders of
The free world
The greatest thing
Since sliced bread
For West Ham
Though this is a
Moment of harsh,
Grating and metallic
Anti climax
Of brooding,
Stuttering reflection
Just enough petrol
In the tank
But surely no
Champions League
Top four contenders
Content with more
Modest gifts
Rather than the
Rock of delusional
Grandiosity
Or stop the season
Now
Geoff Pike – Unsung hero
A live FA cup replay at Old Trafford
Ward’s corner, Pike on the hunt
Power header from the edge of the box
To put the Hammers in front
FA Cup winner, League Cup runner up
Let Dev, Bonds, Brooking shine
Third in the League in 86
Made the flair boys look mighty fine
262 fans at the Boleyn
Watched Pike strike a 25 yarder
Paul Goddard and a Cross hat trick
In the ghost match against Castilla
number7
© emdad rahman
Martin Peters Shone
unassuming style
crucial in our finest hour
Martin Peters shone
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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!
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Crispin Thomas
17th November 2024
kevin halls
10th November 2024
joe morris
10th November 2024
Clik The Mouse
10th November 2024
Clik The Mouse
6th November 2024
Alex Saynor
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joe morris
29th October 2024
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17th October 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
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11th October 2024
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
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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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
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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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