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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But He Dives
He’s a great player
and so skilful
but he dives.
He’s a fox in the box
turns on a sixpence
but he dives.
He is gifted
a born striker
but he dives.
He’s a match winner
a touch of genius
but he dives.
He’s got 50 goals
in the Premier League
but he dives.
He will get even better
become a superstar
but Mo Salah dives.
Reds shade seven goal thriller
Liverpool 4-3 Crystal Palace
All is good with the Premier League
In the land of the well heeled
Roy bought over his Eagles
For a goal fest at Anfield
Townsend got the ball rolling
Salah and Bobby look nifty
Tomkins makes it level again
Speroni gifts Mohamed his fifty
Mane creates some daylight
Milner sent off the park
Meyer with one at the close
Reds reach the thousand goal mark
This poem is a dedication
For a lifelong Red who’s flown
Farewell dear Jenny Hodge
You’ll never walk alone
In loving memory of Jenny Hodge (Sealeaf)
19 01 19
number7
© emdad rahman
Seagulls send Reds seven clear
Brighton 0-1 Liverpool
The blips over, we’re back in control
Salah with his seventeenth goal
Pascal Gross such a great host
We got a slender win on the south coast
Commanding, strong and warlike
All part of being Virgil Van Dijk
Cool, calm, and never suppressed
Even Hummels proclaims you the best
With City yet to play
Wolves visit the Etihad Monday
Liverpool still in third gear
Klopp’s side go seven points clear
12 01 19
number7
© emdad rahman
Spygate
There’s rustling in the bush
by the training ground,
could it be a pesky fox
or a sniffing hound ?
There’s noise in that bush
probably just a bird,
or maybe the whistling wind
that we have all heard ?
There’s movement in that bush
guess it’s a feral cat ,
looking for a mouse
then again it could be a rat ?
There’s weird sounds in that bush
it’s sending the gaffer insane,
Frank Lampard is paranoid
but all we’re doing is trying to train.
There’s a human in that bush
now that is really sly,
been sent by Leeds United
he’s a bloody football spy !
Messi Magic
Messi Magic
Mesmerizing, masterful, magnificent,
The plaudits just go on and on,
Lionel Messi has charmed us from a very young age
A magical player
On the world football stage.
Leaving Argentina for medical reasons
At the tender age of thirteen,
Who could conceive that he would become
One of the best we have ever seen.
Barcelona paid for the treatment
For the diminutive young kid,
He played in their Youth Academy
And now they are glad that he did.
The left-footed dribbler, creative sublime,
Looking so focussed,
Scoring time after time.
Magical Messi, what more can I say,
It’s always a pleasure watching you play.
That diminutive kid has now done it all,
And it all came about when he first kicked the ball.
Ianthe Exall January 2019
Sky Blues close the gap
Manchester City 2-1 Liverpool
The best team in the land
Lose to the second best
Pep is under no illusions
Klopp’s men are a real test
The Reds arrived at the Etihad
To meet Aguero’s loaded gun
Could this be the end?
Of a 20 game unbeaten run
Firmino finished a brilliant move
Sane scored as Citeh pressed hard
Every games a final says Guardiola
Klopp bemoans a Kompany red card
29 12 18
number7
© emdad rahman
Cup Final Forgiveness
CUP FINAL FORGIVENESS
Now here’s a little poem – that you’ll find you can’t resist,
It was written by the father – of the first girl that you kissed.
So what if you’re a footballer – on several grand a day,
You can never kiss a girl like that – then simply walk away.
I’m sure your days are hard enough – you’ve trained to be the best,
But my daughter can’t forget you – and won’t sleep without your vest.
I know this happened years ago – before she was a nun,
But the convent said “it’s all your fault” – their work had been undone.
So for seeking out forgiveness – then you’d best begin with me.
As I’d love to sit and watch you play – and it’s twenty-five to three.
Yes, we both know it’s a final – and Cup game after all,
And the chances are you’re nervous – as you’ve yet to kick a ball.
But the family could forgive you – and I’ll find it in my heart,
If you come and get me from gate three – before you flipping start.
©Dennis East
Liverpool Pie
A long, long time ago… I can still remember how
His football used to make me smile.
And he knew if he had a chance,
That he could make that terrace dance,
And make the people happy for a while
But September made me shiver,
With every paper soon delivered,
Bad news on the doorstep…
I couldn’t take one more step
I can remember yes I cried
When I remembered his great sides
And something touched me deep inside,
The day Bill Shankly died…
There’s Rafa with the magic touch
He met the lads down in the pub
Me Ma me Ma she told me so
Do you believe in pass and move?
Can football save your mortal soul?
Just go and watch Sir Roger’s goals
Well me Dad he saw us beat Milan
And God He cheered us from the stands
Aldo kicked off his football boots
Rushie did those Gwladys street blues
I was a young kid standing in the kop
We thought those times would never stop
But we knew the reds were out of luck
The day Bill Shankly died
We started singin’…
Now for 20 years we’ve lost the crown
But one day soon upon this ground
The Champions we will once more be
Dalglish and Hansen graced the team
In boots they borrowed from Paisley
And Digger Barnes he ruled the wings
And while the King was feeling down
The Mancs they stole the Anfield crown
The bitter truth was learned
But my sad heart still yearned
While Keegan played all off the park
And Supermac sits in the dark
We sang to Shanks sweet as larks
The day that football died…
Helter Skelter that game forever
The Redmen they have never played better
Razor quickly saw a chance and God knows he was class
When Fairclough called for a forward pass
”ALLEZ LES ROUGES” the kopites sang
Now his goal I swear a dream come true
And the final whistle couldn’t too soon
We all got up to chant
When we beat the greens of France
And the players tried to leave the field,
The Spion Kop refused to yield
We’re off to conquer Rome (believe)
The best was yet to be
We started singing…
There we were all in one place
A generation come to pray for 96 no time to start again
So come on Reds be nimble, Reds be quick
Saurez score for us hat-tricks
‘Cause truth is Justice’s only friend
As we watched truth die on the stage
Our throats were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in hell
Could break that satan’s spell
And as truth fled high into the night
Robed in threads stitched up with lies
We heard satan laughing with delight
The day the football died
We watched a lonely man in football boots
His skills for us such happy news
He made us smile before he raced away
I went down to the sacred place
Where I’d watched the football how it graced
With men like Clemence, Smith and Case
And in the streets we practiced every move
We tried and tried just trying to prove
But not a word was spoken
When the teams I loved were broken
And the three men I admire most
Paisley, Fagan and Shankly’s Ghost
They caught the last bus home to us
The day that football died…
The nights draw close ‘neath heaven’s skies
And what happened then can’t believe me eyes
3-0 down and the half time curtain falls
The Reds like Lazarus up they rose
The 12th man roars “You’ll Never Walk Alone”
With Gerrard’s, Vlad’s and Alonso’s goals
Well we picked our dreams up off the floor
And AC Milan they failed to score
Extra time then penalties
And Carra’s shattered on his knees
We pray to Bill “Shankly PLEAASE!”
Istanbul our 5th comes by
As Stevie holds Ol’ Big Ears high
The LiverBird she proudly cried
And with us singin’….
Now Klopp the new prince of the Kop
His magic smile and rising stock
Mane Mo and Bobby what a side
They give us reds a new-found pride
Oh, this is Lbpool this is home
Will we be kings upon a throne
This old cathedral Anfield church
And crowned in May back on our perch?
I watch the ghosts back on that park
And we’re still singin’ sweet as larks…
The Formidable Fulcrum of Football.
A Game of Two Halves
Football is our saving grace
90 minutes reliving a childhood long melted into the past
But lingers, for what are we but children
Divisively spiritual and calling on disciples to bear witness
In the form of banners and colours
With hymns that chart the deeds and disasters
Of matches won and lost
Replaying relaying the magic of goals and the menace of referees
Oh, those long-undimmed memories recalling misdemeanors
Before a roll call of glory
Football, the pulsing heartbeat
The wild feral beautiful creature of the terrace
Defying the corpulent corporate crocodile
And always the rebel, pushing hopelessly back against
The inevitable tides of change
Out singing those pinging ringing cash tills…
Then the rising pant of grassroots football
Fans taking hold of The Game, their game, our game
Bridging the divide of players wages, ticket prices, and support
The sparkling swaggering solidarity of the street
The formidable fulcrum of football.
Gunners gunned down at Anfield
The warning signs had been there
When Maitland-Niles scored first
Bobby hit back with two
From then the Gooners were cursed
Mane hits number three
Mohamed lays it on a plate
Arsenal back line sloppy
Could be many more at this rate
Salah is sure from the spot
Sokratis has a big strop
Firmino wraps up his hat trick
There’s a nine point gap at the top
number7
© emdad rahman
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!
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Latest Poems
kevin halls
21st January 2019
Emdad Rahman
20th January 2019
Emdad Rahman
17th January 2019
kevin halls
16th January 2019
Ianthe Exall
11th January 2019
Emdad Rahman
7th January 2019
Dennis East
3rd January 2019
sharon wilkie-jones
3rd January 2019
sharon wilkie-jones
3rd January 2019
Emdad Rahman
29th December 2018
Crispin’s World Cup Corner
Butler’s Bench
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Latest Comments
22nd January 2019 at 3:48 am
Hi Sharon, I’m so impressed by your “body” of work. Besides the enthusiasm, you are so technically accomplished. I’m a Toffee, but I’m one of those who thinks that Shankly is the greatest manager of that era (our “Cat” did some dodgy things at that time). I love to keep the post-Hillsborough spirit when the two clubs stood together. And appreciate your praise, eg, of Big Nev’s LGBT work. Re “Pie” I posted a similar verse based on Solomon Burke’s much shorter Stupidity some time ago. Create on, Dachlan
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11th December 2018 at 7:58 pm
great lines Kev
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10th October 2018 at 10:41 am
so true for so many clubs Denys
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7th August 2018 at 2:43 pm
Looking forward to welcoming Wolves to the King Power Stadium this season… where hopefully we will beat you! 😉 But truthfully welcome back to the top division! – Paul
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22nd July 2018 at 12:05 pm
Hi Crispin,
Many thanks for that. I’ve actually changed it back because I feel the more ridiculous it looks, the more Ogden Nash it is! My own personal choice, others may disagree. But I appreciate the thought. Cheers
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20th July 2018 at 6:49 am
Great poem Peter .I’ ve mucked about with the way it appears on the page if you don’t like it let me know.
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19th July 2018 at 5:19 pm
Nash’s genius?
How about the Pele of poets?!!! 😉
absolutely lovin’ it!
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19th July 2018 at 2:21 pm
Sorry everyone. Away on holidays and not very good at the computer stuff anyway.
I had thought I was commenting on Verse 2, Lines 3 and 4. The whole poem is done in rhyming couplets – I was merely commenting on the fact that the rhyme there / disappeared sticks out like a sore thumb!!
Nothing to do with black and white!
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15th July 2018 at 5:31 am
no sadly…it’s my good mate Fred Chance…Sharon..great live music pub…in our village..
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13th July 2018 at 9:04 pm
Big Yin! Is that Sir Billy Connolly far left on the main picture?
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