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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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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
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
It’s 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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concession speech

Clik The Mouse

Wednesday, November 6th, 2024

She spoke to me, did Kamala:
“It’s OK, to feel sad and disappointed”

I’d forgotten
that we had shared ground:
each a true Blue!

But still
I imagined her woes today
seemed to Trump mine own (or maybe not)
I may have lost the plot
but if Palmer is truly injured, well:
where Kamala has been schmucked-
CFC / the World, is well and truly ……

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Rubber Crumb Gully

Alex Saynor

Wednesday, November 6th, 2024

Black cushions of recycled Continental
are semi-volatile compounds
like the Sandhurst centre-back
channelling his week into a tackle.

In Tiempos, feel the rubber crumb
of zinc-enriched non-organic infill
rush-tipped on a garden’s London Clay
for snails or insects to appropriate
a cost for keeping flesh wounds at bay.

Rake out the cork, sink a foot in the natural
here-and-there carpet of rotting mulch
approved by the Riverkeepers of Delaware
in place of rubber mists, clouds of lead,
magnesium from Apollo, General Tyre,

Hoosier, Kalani, Nankang, Orium,
Michelin, Westlake, Courier and Carlisle.

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Sir Geoff Hurst

joe morris

Tuesday, October 29th, 2024

In the vanishing mists of time
One man stood tall
But now remains in not so
Splendid isolation
Because we’re here for you
Sir Geoff Hurst
The man who set
Millions of pulses racing
With hat-trick heroism and
His brothers in arms
On that fateful day on
The last days of July 1966
The man who never even
Remotely thought it was
All over because he
Knew it would never be so
Three goals from the fields
Of glorious Nirvana
But now he tours the country
With soulful but forlorn
Cries from the heart
There’s nobody left, Sir Geoff
Empty rooms, silenced voices
Your faithful colleagues now
Residing in football’s most
Heavenly furnishings
It all now seems ages ago
When Sir Geoff, in acres of space,
Nodded home Mooro’s beautifully
Weighted free kick for 1-1
And then chaos and bedlam
The shot that hit the bar and line
Never a goal or was it?
It had to be undoubtedly
England bellowed it out
With the loudest lungs
Of course it was
Then Sir Robert Moore
With remarkable coolness personified
Chipped over an
AWOL West German defence
Sir Geoff in telepathic pose
Knew half an hour before
Everybody else
On his own, racing away,
Streaking clear
Head down
Then with a pulverising swing
Of his foot
Smashed the fourth goal
With a deadly signature
Game over
The lad from the
Hammers academy
Sealed the deal
But now 58 years later
Sir Geoff yearns for
The company of those
Who made our day complete
And only finds teardrops
Of dear old colleagues
The friends who once shared
His precious thoughts and
Memories that seemed to last
For ever but now
Gone, deserting him
So heartbreakingly
And poignantly
It was never intentional
But of course they’re there in spirit
Oh, nobody left in the building
But Sir Geoff will never be alone
You’re a gentleman and scholar
The World Cup was once ours
If only briefly
Never, ever forgotten

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Thomas Tuchel- the new England boss

joe morris

Thursday, October 17th, 2024

Here’s a word or two
To all you doubting Thomases
It’s Thomas Tuchel
The new England manager
It’s true, you know
A German at the helm of
The England hot seat
Irony of ironies
Particularly since 1966
When the Germans insisted
That cheating and subterfuge
Had denied them the World Cup
At the hands of England
But now 58 years later
You have yet to be convinced
But here we are
The roles have been reversed
A German in charge of England
You have to be joking
Totally baffling
Because scepticism is
Bobbing around in
A raging, thunderous ocean
Of panic stations
Tuchel, it doesn’t seem to fit
No surely not, time for
Thinking and questioning
Why, it hardly makes any
Sense, whatsoever
A penny for thoughts
Of the football community
Radio phone ins pounding
To the beat of disgusted
Of Dover
Tuchel can’t be the
Right man
Or will he surprise
Us all?
Social networks
Reduced to anguished
Groaning desperately
Bleating and complaining
How did Thomas Tuchel
Become manager of England?
Seemingly five minutes
At Chelsea but certainly
No Jurgen Klopp
Now he would have been
The overwhelming choice
But Thomas Tuchel
Winner of trophies
But not the poisoned chalice
Of England boss
The rumour mill was buzzing
Excitedly yesterday
With Pep as Blighty’s new boss
Now there’s one
Of the world’s finest
Coaches with four
Premier League titles
Unparalleled genius
But Tuchel is surely
No Sir Alf, nor Sir Bobby
Glen Hoddle, Kevin Keegan,
El Tel in his Barca pomp
Athleticism on the touch line
It’s true,
Scurrying and scampering
Like a liberated cheetah
On the run
Up and down the touchline
Gesturing and gesticulating
A war of words with a thousand
Referees, eyes blazing with
Anger, smoke pouring from boiling
Ears, baseball cap
Locked firmly on his head
But manager of England
Mr irate and irascible
Thomas Tuchel
It just feels as though
It’ll end in tears and tantrums
The England job requires calm detachment
Gareth Southgate
Showed us how to do it
Still, let’s see where
This coach will take us
So to speak
Let’s give the man a chance
Teutonic thoroughness
Guaranteed
No stone left unturned
Every detail researched,
Every formation studied
From every angle
But please no Christmas trees
Just yet
Thomas Tuchel
Manager of England
Patience has to be a virtue
Time is of the essence
For some
But let the probationary period
Start now
Thomas Tuchel
We place our faith
In you.

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Selling to Survive

Denys E. W. Jones

Wednesday, October 16th, 2024

Selling to survive is an art.
Some clubs do it exceptionally well.

They flog their star player for a princely sum,
Then unearth two nuggets that make their Ground hum.
Two young, bright prospects who cost next to nowt.
One bungs ’em in, and one keeps ’em out.

But GCFC have never excelled
At the wheel and the deal
Of the buy and the sell.

Three good ‘uns were let go
To balance the books:
Keeper Martinez, Retegui and “Gud”.

As oft-times before, we sold to survive.
But now we’re in trouble, gone into nose-dive.
Seven games played and points only five.

Sell to survive if you’ve mastered the art.
If not, keep best players,
Don’t let them depart.

10/10/2024
Denys E. W. Jones

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