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.

The close season.

Oh the commotion and rumpus
It’s the end of the season
And now the close season
Football in summer holiday mode
The empty void between high summer
And early autumn sooner this year
Since World Cup carnivals loom
Amid the tinsel and glitter of festive
Christmas revelries
How absurd, almost unseemly
But now the domestic season
Ends with City as champs again
And Liverpool on the verge of yet
Another landmark Champions League
Trophy, how many will be that?
Almost a trophy cabinet among more
Trophy cabinets of silver with only
The Mighty Real of Madrid in their way
Oh, trembling lips, hearts suspended
In readiness for another open topped
Procession through the chatty
Murmurings of garrulous Anfield streets
The neutrals are willing Liverpool onto
Victorious podiums, it could be theirs
And yet now there is silence across
Football’s playing fields broken only by
Barking dogs on far distant roads, cross
Country trains now heading for the seaside
Proms rather than Old Trafford, Anfield, the
Etihad, the Emirates and Spurs new domain
A break, a hollow hiatus before the first day
Of August when the Premier League’s big boys
Stoke up the competitive fires, normal service
Referees whistles hidden in discreet
Corners of FA chests of drawers
Where none can argue their case
For a while
Recreational goal posts and bars in once
Atmospheric parks now reduced to empty
Green spaces of now white flannelled cricket
Summer splendour
Displaying their sedate finery
Next to white marquees and dusty
Wickets among deep mid wicket
Leisure and pleasure, soaring
Sixes to different continents and fours
Hooked over good natured drunken taverns
And third man boundary patrol
Football though takes a back seat
Nobody to mock or insult, vilify
Or even humiliate since essentially
The fans love their targets of abuse
The opposition are hopeless
And always will be
The boo boys will always have
The last word
But now it’s summer and football
Is just a memory from way back
When, now a Rothmans Year Book
Page recording another season’s
Highs and lows, trials
And tribulations,
The kids will probably still play on
The pavements, the spacious grassy
Parks, rush goalie, coats for goalposts
Scenery of timeless five a side exchanges
But football may not be the dominant force
Until August blows another round of whistles
And jocular banter
But now football will turn into its familiar
Shop window of transfer gossip
Towards the rumour factory where
Thousands of South Americans, Africans and
Obscure corners of Europe and America
Will hold out for at least 30 billion in the bank
And that’s just for a week’s work or maybe by
The hour, the millions are non negotiable
Yes it’s The Greed is Good League
The great Brian Glanville was absolutely right
Anyway let the bucket and spade brigade
Descend on their exotic islands in the sun
Top up their leathery faces with tans and
Massage weary egos and privileged accounts
The close season always seemed that peculiar
Moment when the pre-season fixtures coincided
Neatly with Wimbledon tennis, strawberries and
Cream, the resounding
Clatter, thump and crack of the smaller ball
Football on its summer holiday again

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What can you do in five minutes

You can boil an egg
Make a sandwich
Return a phone call
Pay someone a compliment
Or you score three goals
And win the Premier League !

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Wembley Way
the foil off an FA Cup
booted homewards

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It’s A Blue Moon (Haiku)

Manchester City
they win the Premier League
by a single point.
Liverpool second
so the quadruple now gone
so hard to achieve.
But Leeds United
they win away at Brentford
final day escape.
Burnley lose at home
drop down to championship
end of six year stay.
Top and bottom games
it has now all been settled
over till next time.

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Goodbye Mike’ It’s All About You’ Dean

you were the one we loved to hate
your reputation wasn’t great
we dreaded when we knew
and evr’y time you ever came
we taunted you throughout the game
with “It’s All About You”

and in the middle you would be
surrounded in controversy
whenever you came back
so many times you spoilt the show
and we would always let you know..
“the w**ker in the black”

and even when you were’nt in charge
you always had to give it large
like some big macho male
and when you came here as a fan*
with Tranmere we all saw you stand
upon the leaning rail

yes you were who we loved to hate
your reputation wasn’t great
we dreaded when we knew
and evr’y time you ever came
we taunted you throughout the game
with “It’s All Bout You”

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The finishing line

After 38 editions of private teeth clenching
Month after month of emotional investment
The Premier League finishing line finds
Its final bend, the last chicane, the gallop to
The post. It has indeed gone to the line
Neck and neck
City and Liverpool
Hard to choose
City would seem to hold the aces
And should burst through the tape
With adoring hymns ringing in their ears
For a moment, recalling another Bell,
Sturdy, tireless, running himself into the
Ground, Colin, here, there and everywhere
Mike Summerbee, Rodney Marsh, Francis Lee
When football met Pannini stickers
In a delightful rendezvous next to the
Maine Road faithful
But today’s City are more than upright
Citizens, more commanding lieutenants
Sergeant majors of today’s platoon
Smartly attired men on the parade grounds
Of City’s 21st century generation
Now the palette holders of today
Raheem Sterling, still conjuring,
Jesus, almost religious but certainly
A man with that mystical aura
About him, scoring goals and
Answering prayers
But then Merseyside could
Still be the architects of their
Own triumph again
Like the artwork at the Sistine
Chapel, frescoes
Of timeless beauty,
Heralds of future
Greatness since 18
Old First Division titles
Remain impeccably beyond
And finally one Premier League title
To boot, another flourish from the
Fountain pen
That underlined the
Anfield signature
But Klopp can become
The sainted one, holier
Than thou
The figure of reverence
That Bill Shankly became
Worshipped by those
Who never stopped believing
In the wholesome ideals
Of past deeds
Faithful followers
Fidelity was never in doubt
Sadio Mane, Jordan Henderson,
Virgil but not the one from Greek
Mythology but a defender of some
Value, weight and substance
It could be the year of years
For Liverpool to snatch
Back their Premier League title
On solemn, then sonorous Sunday
Homages to rousing Jerusalem
The last page of the last chapter
What a pot boiler, a nine month
Labour of love, the season
Ends on a conclusive, percussive,
Note, a thunderous crescendo
The last day of football’s Maypole dance
Oh, Sunday, Sunday.

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The history repeats
at Goodison
Wimbledon game in 1994
in which Everton came back from 2-0 down to
survive is the story of yesterday

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End of a stress-laden Season.
Vital points needed for safety secured.
Each to his own –
Relegation for some, but no Drop for us.
Too good, too big, too great to go down.
Onwards and upwards.
Nil Satis Nisi Optimum.

Denys E. W. Jones

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Mark Noble

Mark Noble claret and blue
Through and through
Mr West Ham
Farewell for now
But you’ll be back,
You’ll never lack
18 years at one club
Above the hubbub
It only seems like yesterday,
But never grey
Dedicated and loyal
Almost royal
Happy to be here
Without a care
And forever in the glow
The game seemed to flow

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Farewell to A

Farewell Inter, Milan, Juve,
Farewell Roma, Lazio too.
Farewell Spezia, Fiorentina,
Fair Verona’s Gialloblu.

Bye Bologna, Atalanta,
Udinese, Empoli.
Ciao Torino, and Sassuolo,
Sayonara Napoli.

Lastly there’s “So long Sampdoria”,
Cousins from our selfsame town,
Taunting us: “Sic transit gloria”,
So glad that we’re going down.

Yes, we’re falling through the trapdoor,
Dropping into Purgat’ry,
Slipping to the Second Level,
Also known as Serie B.

But no way are we downhearted,
We all trust the future’s bright.
Confident when next May comes round,
We’ll be back in the Top Flight!

Denys E. W. Jones

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