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Poetry Archives

This archive contains every poem that has been published on Football Poets. They are listed ten-per-page in reverse chronological order so the most recent poems appear first. Click or tap the arrows in the corners of the page to navigate between pages. It's easier to use the search form below to find a specific poem.

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Unbelievable Strike

John Gilbert Ellis

Thursday, November 28th, 2024

Andros Townsend’s flash of sweet brilliance volleys Palace ahead, goal of the season, any season. To add to this wave of unreality I’m holding high an un-tethered sky-blue seat. We go on to win 3-2. The stewards ask for the seat back, I gladly hand the culprit over, and point to my bleeding leg.
We feast on cakes, biscuits, and beer, offer passengers opportunity to share in our delight. Sumptuous Bakewell Tarts and fondant fancies, fashioned to carry our day of sugar rush surprises.

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Claret and blue vintage on Tyneside

joe morris

Tuesday, November 26th, 2024

Finally the spell is broken
The witchcraft no longer present
Claret and blue vintage on
Tyneside
West Ham conquer the Newcastle blues
The drought lifts
The goal scoring famine over
Some of us were expecting
A comprehensive trouncing
The thrashing of a lifetime
Because the decline and fall
In the East End
Seemed to be darkening
Indefinitely
The skies over the London Stadium
Assuming funereal colours
Sepulchral grey
Then dropping into the murkiest pit
Of lonely gravestones of one
Defeat another defeat
But last night on a wintry night
Among the Gallowgate roar
And the Blaydon Races
The black and white stripes
Were flummoxed by a rich bouquet
Of red Hammers wine
West Ham flaring back into life
Once hovering in the dungeons
Of the bottom down and out
Hanging doom and laden
Over the relegation trapdoor
Now where have you seen and
Heard that one before?
Back in the bad old days
of Avram Grant
Who never smiled
None could blame him
West Ham
Tumbling into the Championship
For a while
West Ham stranded and marooned
On a desert island
Far out in a lagoon of woe
Then there was Gianfranco Zola
Genius festooned all over Stamford Bridge
Like a glorious Italian fresco and mosaic
But when Upton Park came calling
Zola became an author of disaster
Now Lopetegui, Spanish
Sweet as yet another bottle of sangria
But now it all appeared sour
Bland, dull, empty and desolate
Pellegrini mark two
Or so they said
But last night Julen pulled
A genie from the lamp
First Tomas Soucek
Our favourite Czech mate
Moved the knight towards
The king
A bullet of a header
From a perfect corner
Opened the Irons account
Then Pacqueta found Jarrod Bowen,
Lucas, we knew you could do it
England’s new kid on the block
Shifted the ball cunningly
Square to onrushing
Aaron Wan Bissaka
Clubbed the ball with a
Laser guided missile
Low shot flies past Pope
The Vatican silenced
Off the post
Victory sealed for our
East End favourites
Now for Arsenal on Saturday
We daren’t go anywhere
Rash predictions
After six of the best
From the firing on
All cylinders Gooners
Last season.
Still, West Ham
Keep the faith
And never give up

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You’re Supposed to Be at Home

Denys E. W. Jones

Tuesday, November 26th, 2024

Back when I lived in Blighty,
And went to football Grounds,
I’d sometimes hear a mocking chant
Around the place resound:

“You’re supposed to be at home.”
Away fans they would sing,
When their team was two, three, four up,
And heading for a win.

Myself I found no fault with that,
A mild, good-humoured taunt.
The home fans did not take offence,
Hurt caused was next to nought.

But now I often hear these words
Said with a darker tone,
Directed at all kinds of folk,
Who’ve come from lands unknown.

Perhaps their skin’s of darker hue,
Or eyes of different shape.
Maybe the women wear a veil,
To cover up their face.

“Where are you from? Where really from?
You came here on a boat?
Get back, get back where you belong,
You’re s’posed to be at home.”

Once Integration was the word,
But that’s now been replaced.
Of Deportation some now talk,
And purity of race.

In Washington and London,
In Paris, Berlin, Rome,
Again that football chant is heard:
“You’re s’posed to be at home!”

11/11/24
Denys E. W. Jones

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An Ode to Paperback Writer

Gacina Bozidar

Tuesday, November 26th, 2024

PAPERBACK WRITER !
PAPERBACK WRITER!
When I was a teen I loved the club
from my town in this way:

Searching and collecting
The articles from the press

That was in 1985 or 1986

There was no DIGITAL archive

I knocked on the doors of the neighbours
from surrounding buildings asking

“Excuse me do you have any Old Newspapers for me”

Then if they provided the bunch of old papers
I was looking for the articles to collect about my football club
Zeljo

Oh how this sounds now in this Digital Era

PAPERBACK WRITER !
PAPERBACK WRITER !

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Van De Ven’s Assist

Wynn Wheldon

Tuesday, November 26th, 2024

Football dinks about and occasionally
A long pass looks straight but indirectness
Tends to be the name of the game you see
So when Van de Ven slid by sad Rashford
We assumed a pass was then on the cards.
Instead, he was off, Lipizzaner-like,
Galloping into the United half
Red shades failing about him, beyond touch
Until an impossibly perfect cross
Was met by a smiling Welshman and buried.

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When Irish eyes aren’t smiling

joe morris

Sunday, November 17th, 2024

You have to admire their pluck
When you’re out of Lady luck
Irish eyes were never smiling
Sinking hearts were sighing
Then crying into greater quantities
Of foaming Guinness
And yet today the Republic were never
Finished, far from the best
And then just blitzed by the Wembley
Bombardment of English going Wild West
The UEFA Nations League, just a mystery
Now enshrined in the books of history
Disguised as a puzzle
All sinew and muscle
A sad excuse for football’s authentic
Heart beat, so some would say
Throw money at it, but it’ll never pay
Its way
Today Lee Carsley bid farewell
His path to promotion clear as a bell
England promoted, yes you heard correctly
Ever so delectably
5-0, it was a rout in the end
Irish spirit steamrollered into
Submission, never in a position
Citizen Kane, Harry that is
No arguments this time
Dropped but still fine
Penalty stutter but always decisive
Of course incisive
Then Gordon, Bowen, Gallagher
Joined in the coconut shy
Eire, goodbye
Before Taylor Harwood Bellis
Flashes in header with
The cherry on the cake
For goodness sake
Where did that one come from?
England promoted to higher things
Angelic wings
Where next for Thomas Tuchel?
Next year
England strike fear
With delicious flair
The conclusion of a calendar year
England in 2025
A force to be reckoned with
Of course we care

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Clawing Our Way Back

Crispin Thomas

Sunday, November 17th, 2024

it’s still a long road up ahead
we’ve only just begun
we’re right back where we started
among the fallen ones
the mountains that we’re facing
draw strength to just keep on
as our belief grows strong again
when hope had all but gone
you feel like you’ve lost your way
your passion starts to crack
but in a flash a light appears
we’re clawing our way back

two relegations in a row
can drain you if you let it
the constant losing on your watch
that won’t let you forget it
we climbed so high we touched it all
we faced the biggest teams
who brough twelve hundred to our home
the little village team
we watched them with euphoria
we thought we’d touched the sun
but we got burnt like Icarus
before it had begun
the little club upon the hill
who dipped and veered off-track
the journey starts again from scratch
we’re clawing our way back

when I first watched the Rovers
no-one knew our name
til Dale* arrived to save us
and nothing stayed the same
now ev’rybody knows us
from USA to Spain
they follow all our eco moves
and how we change the game
in learning to sustain ourselves
it’s courage we don’t lack
and daring to be different
we’re clawing our way back

this rural outpost in the West
where Rugby rules the hills
where Farmers Markets pull the crowds
and ev’rybody chills
our crowds are not the greatest
we have no burger van
among the non-league battlers
we’re back where we began
they taunt us for our oat milk
our Quorn Pies make them sneer
our pledge to save the planet
can fall upon deaf ears
but all who venture up here
care not for what we lack
it’s green and clear in black and white
we’re clawing our way back

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Thanks Mark Robins

kevin halls

Sunday, November 10th, 2024

So Mark Robins has been sacked
ruthlessly shown the door,
leaving fans bemused and asking
‘ why and what the hell for ? ‘
He did so many great things
frequent visitors to Wembley,
penalty shoot out and trophies
proud times for fans of Coventry.
An exciting FACup semi- final
cruelly robbed by dodgy VAR,
Mark Robins a Sky Blues legend
a Coventry City superstar.
Yet football will carry on regardless
but just to say thanks Mark Robins anyway,
for all those great days and moments
and memories which are here to stay.

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City lose again. You what?

joe morris

Sunday, November 10th, 2024

City arrived on the South Coast
Riding the crest of wave
Arrogance pouring from every
Bead of sweat
Neck muscles heading every ball
Taut as rope
Measured passes
In their heart
And compelling script
But suddenly,
City human and flawed
Four defeats in a row
After four Premier League titles
What goes around comes around
Not the right equation
Maths shot down in flames
But then Brighton came calling
At the Amex
Another mind spinning defeat
For Noel and Liam’s beloved
In light blue
An explosion and implosion
At Manchester City
A mini crisis
Through the gentle breezes
Of Hove, then Hastings
Before drifting disturbingly
Across City’s blurred vision
This is unthinkable
City’s once barely challenged
Superiority
Punctured as their egos
Deflated as the bicycle tyre
That once languished at Maine Road
Long after the Bell, Colin that is, rung
Sir Francis Lee ruled with a rod of iron
Now City, once heir presumptive
Once lords of the manor
Stretched themselves across
The fair green acres of
Premier League pre-eminence
Legs gracefully honed
Cocksure, heavy with hubris
But yesterday a Dane
Named O’Riley,
Makes his name
By the elegant esplanades
Now a Seagull flying high
Headline maker for Brighton
City, now winless
For what seems an age
But they’ll be back
Pep told us not to panic
Mr Mainwaring
Keep the home fires burning
At the Etihad
Crackling autumn leaves
Scurrying and chasing
Around winter’s clawing fingers
Manchester City
Will not be going anywhere
Still warmly embracing the future
Arsenal, Liverpool, who are they?
Exactly
City undaunted of course they are
Explosive fireworks
In recent weeks, but
Normal service restored
You suspect by Christmas
Pep full of verve and vim
By Boxing Day’s bounty
Manchester City
You must never count them out
They’ll always be in the mix
Just watch them go
Slowly but surely

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Remembrance Sunday, 11/11/2024

Clik The Mouse

Sunday, November 10th, 2024

WE must NEVER forget
never, ever, forget
in the same way
that we never forget
our first match
our first goal
our first victory
our favourite dink
our favourite nutmeg
our favourite skill / tackle / save
our first icon
our first visit – to anywhere and everywhere;

we must never forget –
because if we do
we’ll be beaten
in a way that is unforgiveable;
for if we forget
we’ll troop off the pitch, heads bowed
because we left something out there

~ # ~

TRAITORS XI

REMEMBER:
Many went to war
for us,
for our freedom
for our right – to exist, as we must, as we should
free of choice
free of voice;

our voices –
cheer for the exalted –
icons on verdant green
where they preen, and primp
and yes, block, haul down, deny
but where the better ones, fly…
through the air
meeting leather, with leathered foreheads
or with rainbow laces, mid-air, in contorted
but controlled, fashion.

They play, with a passion
we cheer, with even greater passion;
but Passchendaele
Verdun, Somme, Dogger Bank;
Midway, Dunkirk, Alamein, Normandy…
we can all agree
drew many, in their hundreds of thousands, nay millions,
to battle
to witness
to steer
our future – OUR future
in a way, that could never be their futures;

they waded
through mud and blood
and trenches soiled with death and fear
so that we might never have to fear – for OUR lives;

on their journey
was a tiny detour –
a “Stille Nacht”
where Wehrmacht, und Tommie
played out a match so revered –
that it is not yet forgotten;
and forgotten – it must NEVER BE;
the poppies and wreaths that we lay….
Commemorate all before us
so that we may play….
in PEACE.

So lining out for a Traitors XI….
Putin; Kim Jung On; Pol Pot; Idi Amin; Suddam Hussein;
Gadaffi; Marcos; Hoxha; Bin Laden; Videla; Karadzic
and too many subs, too many squads, to mention

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Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/