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.

Still Swapping Shirts with Willie The Shake

still swapping shirts with Willie the Shake
taught us words can make the heart ache
showed us life is just a stage
where we run and strive and guage
this Peoples’ Game that carries on
until the day that we are gone
that changes unbelievably
into a money monster tree
as all our words and all our dreams
for ‘fave’rite’ matches players teams
the grounds on which we perched or sat
all down the years in scarf and hat
with rattles badges and rosettes
on terraces we can’t forget
when you and I like sailors stood
or sang on well worn seats of wood
and swapped nostalgia for the new
but still we write ..it’s what we do
and still we watch or listen on
like Shakespeare here our words prolong
for though we never really know
what lures us all to football so
we still swap shirts and words with Will
who taught us how love can fulfill
and make hearts burn and understand
just what it is to be a fan
to pen and share upon this stage
like grass our online printed page

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16500 poems haiku

eighteen years of verse
sixteen thousand five hundred
poems on football

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Where have all the Great Captains Gone?

Organizing – Pointing- Shouting Man-On
Where have all the great Captains gone?
Urging –Goading- heart on sleeve
When did all the great Captains leave?
Memories of Bremner and Mackay
For the cause prepared to die
Bobby Moore and Chopper Ron
Oh where have all our Captains gone?

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Ode to Paper Tickets ~ Haiku

I for one will miss

paper tickets for the match

when they scan my eyes

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If Paradise Is…

Half as nice
As watching Eden scoring thrice
Who needs paradise?
Seeing Eden net thrice?


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there was a time

when our team scored
a goal

out of respect
the other players shook
the goal-scorer by the hand

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new season, no wins
and six games played
bottom of the table
promotion hopes
already faded

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New boots, old body

oh the sordid satire of screaming sinew!
and the blistering bantz of boots belying “buy new”

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We see and yet don’t comprehend
how the ability to defend
successfully stymies
all the style and substance
of the natural artists;

They, with extravagant brushstrokes
wish only to depict the valiant and vain
but it is the proud defenders of faith
who battle and belittle
in the vexatious wind and rain;

These bold stalwarts who link arms
yet boast little, in the way of charms
they stand tall and strong
and give credence to every underdog
that wants much more, than to play along;

Cast a cold eye on a raging night
and just see that audacious delight
when a criss-crossed pattern bulges not
and seething strikers shiver and sin
with not an ounce of a winning shot!

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Our First Home Game ~ Chelsea 6-2 Wolves .30 Aug 1958

I recall that Saturday like yesterday
a steaming summer
our first home game in ‘58
and childlike expectation in the air
August in London and sweltering
“stand clear of the doors!” “wear your colour!”
“official programme sixpence a go!”
“roasted peanuts ‘tanner’ a bag!”
welcome to the season welcome to Wolves
stopping to gaze at star badges
of Blunstone and Greaves in plastic and blue
as bearing down on Stamford Bridge
those teeming weaving crowds
all short-sleeved in the Fulham Road
and in the distance floodlight pylons
tower and loom on blue blue sky
while sun sparkles on concrete old and open
ninepence for kids one and six for adults
but wait what’s this ? sold out and heaving!!
you said “let’s try bunking in” and we did
between the legs in turnstile mayhem
nervous and torn clutching melting lollies
and passed down the front
we sat in awe upon that track
62,000 behind us baying swaying

and do you remember the score?
a blur of blue and gold
of goals and cheers
young Jimmy rampant as that crested lion
nabbing five and making the sixth
Billy Wright chasing shadows
you with two ribbons to a wooden rattle stapled
and me in my rough striped scarf
that mum had sat up half the night
embroidering strange names upon
but I wore it in the heat anyway
and later in the street
on neighours walls with chalk for goalposts
between the ice cream van and the pavement
we lived it through again and again and again
and never knew that to this day we always would

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