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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.

Up For The Cup

The Sky Blues were the underdogs
not given much of a chance,
up against Wolves of the Premier
who would surely lead them a merry dance.
But the City had other ideas
a team that just never gives up,
even when they went 2-1 down
they were still up for the Cup.
Wolves thought it was game over
their fans started to celebrate,
yet the Sky Blues kept on pressing
but maybe it was now far too late ?
Nine minutes added on at the end
then Simms heads the equaliser in,
and us supporters then go nuts
when Wright scores and the City win.
Our fans will be there in their thousands
a mass of sky blue down Wembley Way,
and though Manchester United are favourites
I’ve a feeling it’s going to be our day !

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77 Minute Haiku ~Peterborough v Portsmouth 16.03.24

go on go on go
yeeeeeeaaargghhhaaaarrrggghhaaaaaaaaaahyeeeaaaassssssss
aaaaaaaaahhhhyesssssyesssscooommmmeooonnnnn!!!

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Not another repeat FA Cup Final

Oh no not another
Repeat FA Cup Final
It seems only a year ago
Since the spring equinox
Brought us the cherry blossom
Of the all Manchester Cup Final
And here we stand again
The real possibility of
An identical menu
With the same hors d’oeuvres
Canapes, vol au vents
Cocktail sausages
Football just replicating itself
Gazing at the mirror
And seeing an uncanny resemblance
To football’s fabled past
Manchester United, still suffering
From the indigestion of a gluttonous
Seven goal feast against Liverpool
Face those who would rather be
Sent to Coventry
United realistically back at
Wembley twice for both semi final
And surely the Final
But of course it’s a funny game
If Coventry are looking for a
Glimmer of hope
Look no further than Plymouth Argyle
And Chesterfield
Last four Cup semi finalists
From decades gone by
Football never obeys the script
It just keeps you on the edge
Of your seat, feverish
Thoughts of the unexpected
And then City, the other
Half of the equation
Against Chelsea
The impartial neutrals
Would lick their lips
In anticipation
Of a Chelsea- Coventry
Wembley showpiece
But football never
Makes any room for sentiment
And the cream normally
Rises to the surface
So a pot of pasteurised
For family tea
Although we could witness
A familiar re-run of 30 years
Ago when Manchester United
With that great philosopher
Eric Cantona
Took Chelsea to the cleaners
And hung them out to dry
Four of the best that day
For Fergie’s most profound thinkers
Unstoppable, far too streetwise
And shrewd for the Chelsea whippersnappers
But the FA Cup must have elements of surprise
So please no more Manchester
Cup Final derbies
Unless Manchester demands
This to be the case
There has to be an alternative
Scenario
To yet more photocopies
Of a recent age
Tedium may set in
Something different
To appeal to our eyes
And ears

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The Lads in the Rain

The forecast isn’t too good today –
The sky is o’ercast and grey.
By three pm ’twill be bucketing down,
‘Least that’s what the weathermen say.
But my favourite team is playing at home,
And there are three points to gain.
So come to the Football Ground with me,
And cheer on the Lads in the rain.

The match can be seen on rights-grabbing Sky,
Or on YouTube after the game.
But to watch on TV or your laptop screen,
It never feels quite the same.
To be part of the crowd, to sing and shout loud,
It’s almost as if you were playing.
So come to the Football Ground with me,
And cheer on the Lads in the rain.

It’s windy and cold, I don’t need to be told,
If we fall sick, then I’ll be to blame.
But I’m taking the risk ‘cos I cannot resist
The lure of the Field of Play.
What matter if we get soaked to the skin,
Or some mockers call us insane?
Come down to the Football Ground with me.
Come root for the Lads in the rain.

17/3/24
Denys E. W. Jones

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Down to the last four

And then there were four
Well, not quite
The FA Cup reaches
Boiling point
Yesterday we remembered
The heroic exploits of
Jimmy Hill
When Coventry City
Drove his first
Fleet of cars
Into Europe
But who could have
Known what would
Happen almost 60 years
Later?
Coventry now a match
Away from another
FA Cup Final
It’s the truth
And this is no dream
Since the hungry Wolves
Were hunted down by
Their Sky Blue neighbours
In a dazzling rainbow
Of local derby difference
Of opinion
The football world
Held its astonished breath
It was only 37 years ago
Since the land of
The noble cathedral
And cars by the conveyor belt
Lady Godiva et al
Ruled with matriarchal heart
A woman of substance
But never really much bothered
By the likes of Willie Carr,
Ernie Hunt, Tommy Hutchison
Tony Hateley, Micky Quinn,
Bill Glazier, a one man fortress
Between the sticks
From many years before
And yet in the brightness
Of Wembley FA Cup Final
Late 1980s yesteryear
Dave Bennett, Keith Houchen
Stopped the globe
On its axis
After over a century since
Their first cries of inception
Coventry win their first trophy
A historic achievement
Overcoming the London cockerels
Of mighty Spurs
Houchen heading for the heights
A magnificent nod to glory
Swooping header, a goal
To treasure
And when the final whistle
Blew, George Curtis and John Sillett
Lifted the Cup for high flying
Highfield Road high society
Coventry FA Cup winners
Once but perhaps twice
Although highly unlikely again
But now Coventry are back
At Wembley
For semi final displays
Of swordsmanship
And then there was the
Remarkable Manchester City
Swotting Newcastle aside
As if they simply weren’t there
The FA Cup does love to flirt and
Tease repeatedly
Romantic charmers
But City have the Cup
On their minds
Again
It could become
A yearly pilgrimage
Or maybe the FA Cup
Has other ideas
The Cup has other plans
Treble winners City
In a class of their own
Head prefects
Academic swots
European champions
FA Cup, Premier League,
It’s a litany of honours
At the highest level
While Coventry can only dwell
On what might have been
If only the 1970s had avoided
The following decades
Time for no fond reminiscences
But Coventry are in a semi final
Of the FA Cup
It would only have been a pipedream
In recent seasons
But City beware of giant killers
Since once you found yourself
Lost on Wigan pier in 2013
Before falling into
The FA Cup Final abyss
City beaten by Wigan
Oh nonsense it’ll never happen
Again but you never know
Stranger things have been
Known to happen
Manchester City
It could only be one team
Although the FA Cup
May have a trick up its sleeve

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World Pi Day

14th March, annually; where Pi = 3.14159 etc

IF ONLY
my team could generate Pi for points
based on: not only winning
but winning well
with audaciousness
with commitment and effort
with an extra element of skill
and all in all, to enthrall and thrill

All I want from my team
is to be like Pi:
for its infinite number of decimal places
to match my infinite love and enjoyment of watching
and for me to dotingly appreciate
however many points – we might actually be notching!

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Germany again

And so the European odyssey
Surges forward unabated
Like the rolling stone
That gathers no moss
With one notable exception
The claret and blue collective
Locks horns with the land of Teutonic
Discipline and efficiency
At ease gentlemen
Shine those boots laddie
Your attention undivided
This is your night
And the opposition are trembling
With fear and terror
Or so Bill Shankly might have said
West Ham, destiny awaits
Our East End acquaintances
Against the one and only
Freiberg, you were conquerors
Once so do it again
One down after the first overture
Now let’s reach a thunderous crescendo
In the second verse
The London Stadium
Hardly knows what to expect
After Premier League
Burnley, yes Burnley
Basement dwellers snatched
A point with purpose
On weekend assignments
Claret not so appealing
Leave that bottle in the wine cellar
And yet tonight
The Hammers must be
At their bludgeoning best
To Iron out the wrinkles
Of that Sunday during
The Ides of March
Freiberg, completely
Overshadowed by Bayern
Munich, Borussia Dortmund
And possibly Leipzig
Swallowed up by bigger
And stronger fish
In the Bundesliga
But still a power
In their neighbourhood
A smaller but tighter
Community of skillsets
Clever and delicate
And not to be dismissed
Or brushed under the carpet
Taken for granted
One European trophy
In the claret and blue cabinet
But the Europa League
Could be a trophy to be polished
For the devoted London Stadium
Followers for many a season
Memories bound in leather for
An eternity
But let us not get ahead of
Ourselves
Surely one trophy in our lifetime
Should suffice
We see Liverpool and Roma
In the headlights
Mighty European institutions
World class on their day
Pedigree personified
Breeding of the highest rank
Still, it could be a night
Of nights
In the East End furnace
Simmering and bubbling
Ready to pass judgment
Happily forthright
Bubble blowers
In the rarefied Stratford
Air with no airs or graces
Olympians in the Olympic park
But then again no fretting
If defeat means the departure gate
But let’s concentrate on
Premier League dynamics
Villa on Sunday
Dangerous this season
In fact lethal at times
Trampled on by Tottenham
Last time out
But frighteningly formidable
On their day
Villains of the piece
Ollie Watkins on fire
John Mcginn, like a puppet
Pulling strings
They seek him there
Everywhere
Goals on their minds
West Ham fragile as glass
On Sundays
Don’t drop the box
Thursdays and Sundays
Never did make sense
Faulty, dodgy connections
Loose wires
Perhaps still in the land of Nod
First though Freiberg
Communication has to be correct
Before Unai Emery’s
Aston Villa
Test the vulnerable chin
Of David Moyes, West Ham
Doughty band of warriors
On the day of Sunday sermons
Germany though
Calling tonight
Defeat far from shameful
But those disgruntled will
Wallow in a slough of Despond
Miserably supping at what
Might have been
Clouds of amber nectar
Scudding across hang
Dog cheeks, sunken
For a while but never mind
So close but so far
But then again victory
May climb off the ropes
Now that’s another story
Happy Hammers
Once again

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The business end

Time to roll up the sleeves
It’s the business end
Of the Premier League season
Be prepared for ugliness
Wars of attrition
Desperate measures
Relegation travails
Trials and tribulations
Scrappy, hell for leather
Football, throwing kitchen
Sinks at severely troubled
Egos, Struggling for survival
Of the fittest or just not
Up for the fight
Or maybe they are
Today it’s the collision
Of the Clarets
In East End environs
At the London Stadium
West Ham and Burnley
Contrasting bouquets
One a fine fully bodied
Flavour in the top 10
The other sinking fast
And wondering whether
Promotion back to
Premier League routines
Was some fruitless quest
We’ll take the red, please
But now the Premier League
Becomes totally unsympathetic
No mercy, no respecters of
Reputation who ever you are
For Sheffield United and Luton
The dark chambers of gloom and doom
Drop down ominously
The Blades now cut down to size
And destined to drop through the
Trap door from whence they came
Unless the intervention of miracles
Come to their rescue
Walk on water, Sheffield United
You may need all the help
You can get
Held by the Cherries
Of Bournemouth
On the South Coast
A point by the Hampshire
Promenades but surely down
No cherries on any cake
Then the Hatters of Luton
Still booted and suited
But still seeking smart
Bowlers to remain
In elite company
Particularly amongst
The City of Manchester
Boys against men
But Luton we commend
Your gallantry and valour
When the odds are stacked
Against you
A last second leveller
At the Palace
Where the royal courtiers
Will always meet with
A courteous bow
Meanwhile the Gunners
Still firing on all cylinders
And gorging on goals
Only two against the Bees
But no sign of any indigestion
Arsenal indulge in latest jars
Of honey
Today though it’s the epic battle
Royale, Blow the trumpets
Gladiatorial dignitaries
Will assemble in the
Etihad’s amphitheatre
Lions are prowling
Circling the wagon
Manchester City and Liverpool
It simply doesn’t get any better
This is serious
And they’re not joking
No holds barred
No concessions
It could be the
One we were hoping for
And of course expecting
This is no time for compromise
Win at all costs
Cards on the table
Lock those horns
Pep and Jurgen
It’s now or never
The blow could be
Either painful or fatal
Lose then Arsenal
May be ready to rejoice
With chilled champagne on ice
Ready for May celebrations
Yet another Premier League trophy
It’s been a while now
But patience could be a virtue
For those who once walked
The Highbury roads and streets
Boasting George, Radford, Brady,
Simpson, Kelly, Graham,
The richness of Rocastle’s talent
When North London was the centre
Of the capital’s hoi polloi
Fashion and flair for lunch
But now it’s Havertz, the winner
In the nick of time yesterday
Odegaard, Rice, Saka
A treasure trove of gifts
This could be their season
To restore the status quo
Premier League champions
It sounds so good
Pleasing to the eye and ear
Those Emirates connoisseurs
They know a trophy
When they see it

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Oh for days of yore

Oh for the cruel injustices
Of the offside law
The very definition of
A mundane goal-less bore
Fine margins, sprays and
VAR, toes, elbows and nose
Quite frankly who knows?
The game seemed so
Straightforward and clear
With cherished ideals so dear
There was the half back, inside
Forward and the stubborn
Stopper
Now as ancient
As the proverbial gobstopper
We had goal-keepers, full backs
And fine, upstanding centre halves
When defenders did their utmost
To find elusive calves
And shin pads, still the case
The loyal and trustworthy bootlace
As time stood still
We never lost the will
At 3 in the afternoon
Anytime soon
And Saturdays couldn’t
Have come more quickly
Even when we were sickly
Now they track back,
No time to be slack
The mysterious low block
It’s so easy to mock
High pressing and dressing
Never messing
Just confessing, what a blessing
Professing to be our game
When tackling was so lame
The game with its floral pattern
We gather it’s played on Saturn
So this weekend please remember
Even in December
The days when football was all
About coats and goalposts
And the home side were but perfect
Hosts
And nothing will take away
The vocal solidarity and the
Kids just loved to play
And we passed and crossed
Midfielders who bossed
And striker was a giant
So pliant
Whose shorts brushed his ankle
Those refs would so persistently
Rankle with fans riled and wild
Matthews, Lawton and Dean
Football never lost its lustre
And sheen
The game had simplicity
Authenticity but you always knew that
Please no more back chat
Since they’ve now chanced
Upon the blue card
What can be so hard to understand?
The game was never played on sand
First there was red and yellow
There goes the jolly good fellow
Colours so bright and vivid
Yes we know you’re utterly livid
But now there’s all seating
Fans united and hearts beating
Throughout the ages
Regardless of wages
Football was there for us
Even in the days of the old
Route Master bus
And they lit up the tobacco
Crosby and Hope
Led us to the road
To Morocco
Milk and bread were a shilling
Flanagan and Allen dominated
Top billing
Now the millions and billions
Of football’s maddening money
How can that be funny?
But we’ll always have football
Its cheerleaders and bandleaders
Come rain, snow and shine
To be sipped with the finest bouquet
Of wine, please dine
In hospitality boxes
Seemingly toxic
Then laddish banter
We’re sure win to in a canter
Bullish humour and bonhomie
The ultimate camaraderie
Half time followed by full time
No excuse for a whine
While injuries dragged out
By at least half an hour
Football holds of course
All the power
Now come on lads
A quick shower
Before counting the costs
Of pulled groins and joins
Football revels in the present
The bold and pleasant,
City, Rovers, United and Town
The despondent frown
When defeat means no crown
Of three points and more
Hat-tricks at the door
Please football keep going
We love its endless gloating
4-0 to us and nobody else
We deserve it all ourselves
Promotion what a blast
We knew it would last
Premier League on our mast
On the front foot and make
It fast, now pronto
The enduring sign
On our motto
Football on any day
We wouldn’t swap it
For any other way

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When Dominic Finds The Net

When Dominic finds the Net again, hurrah, hurrah,
We’ll give him a stand’ ovation then, hurrah, hurrah.
We’ll all beg for his autograph,
And a selfie, and we’ll share a laugh,
And we’ll be all smiles when Dominic scores again.

Our Dominic’s gone right off the boil, alas, alas.
He works so hard, he sweats and toils, oh yes, oh yes.
He hits the post and he strikes the bar,
He comes so close and he’s still so far,
Cos that ball refuses to go in the Bag.

Time was he scored in ev’ry game, hurrah, hurrah.
And got a call from G. Southgate, hurrah, hurrah.
But oh dear, then he picked up a knock,
And he spent months sidelined as a crock,
And he just ain’t been the same since he came back.

When Dominic scores a goal again, hurrah, hurrah,
He’ll start to rock ‘n’ roll again, hurrah, hurrah.
The cocks will crow and the dogs will bark,
And they’ll hear our roar across the Park,
Yeah, we’ll raise the roof when Dominic finds the Net!

3/3/24
Denys E. W. Jones

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