Football Poets

First Premier League weekend

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 And so we kick off yet again
After 120 plus years of hostility,
Adversity and truly
Remarkable achievements
Picture postcards of triumphant
League titles and horrific
Promotion and relegation
Pain and pleasure
The fascinating extremes
But it’s Sunday evening
And the Premier League
Has yielded its certainties
Predictabilities and
Yes, you’ve guessed it
Inevitabilities
Oh what sweet joy
Palace are broken
Into by the brutal
Ammunition of
Gunners firing
Flamboyant flares
Accurate missiles
Arsenal, opening
Up the first page
Of their picturesque
Prose and verse
A profusion of
Perfect diction,
Page after page
Of theatrical
Movement
Melodic reminders
Of Wenger’s Invincibles
Patient and sharply
Innovative, passing,
Refreshingly ambitious
Could be contenders
Meanwhile Bournemouth
Inspired by invigorating
Bracing seaside air
Beat Villa at the Vitality
Steven Gerrard with
Homework and revision
To concentrate the mind
Then Fulham once mocked
By the cynics
For their lack of buoyancy
Back in the top flight
After sliding from view
Into the darker waters of the
Championship
Just for a season
Everton, relieved to
Be among the earls
And dukes of the
Premier League elite
Fulham though
Silencing the Anfield rap
Jurgen’s Liverpool
Held to ransom
But still jaundiced
And poorly under the
Weather
Too much heat and
Sun and heightened hopes
Everton, though
Where once Goodison
Was once the Bank of
England
Now possibly a high
Street building society
Some would say
A farcical charade
A freak show
Of harlequins
And court jesters
Jugglers and acrobats
In the big top
But Frank Lampard
Will attempt to be
A capable pair of
Hands at the tiller
Beaten by a Chelsea
Without Russian
Trappings of luxury
And affluence
Moody, brooding
Sulky Lukaku
But still a goal
Too much for
Everton to handle
And now Leeds
Maybe a contradiction
In terms at times
Neither hot nor cold
Brilliant and breath-taking
From a historical perspective
Before plunging to the bottom
Of the well in League One
An embodiment of disasters
But yesterday brand new,
Respectable, spick and span
It’s amazing what an American can
Do in the heart of Yorkshire
Jesse Marsch as opposed to
James, flinging open the
Wild West saloon doors
Get me a bourbon, barman
Leeds devour the latest pack
Of hungry Wolves
Old gold but never ominous
Leeds leading the way
And models of resurgence
Back where they belong
Newcastle finally breathing
Fire and full of intoxicating
Ales from Geordie breweries
Overcome
Forest, back among the big boys
Where once Cloughie delivered
Sermons and lectures
Loved by the purists
Who believed too
That football should be
Played on the grass
Rather than next to
The old Concorde
Or Jumbo jets at the
Highest altitude
And then Spurs
Now there’s an
Interesting case
Microscopically
Analysed, attacked
Viciously in one
Breath before
Handsomely despatching
Less than saintly Saints
With a dismissive sweep
Of both feet and head
Utterly contemptuous
Bombast and bumptious
Revelling in August splendour
First day of the season grandeur
Farewell Southampton
Four goals of supreme quality
Tottenham out of the blocks
Like the nearby Harringay
Greyhounds in the old days
Leicester fair to middling
Honours even
At the King Power
With charming Brentford
Still living on old wartime
Anecdotes but now modern,
Forward thinking, go ahead
Playing football under the sweetest
Danish, icing on the cake
Inspired by the right directors
And producers
Lovely choreography
Perfectly conceived
And executed
By men of honour
Finally Manchester United
Oh woe again
Surely this is a Greek
Tragedy, beaten
At Old Trafford
Bountiful, breezy
Brighton, no
Saucy postcards
Or seaside humour
Just a Potter moulding
The finest material
Not quite a crisis
For United
But Accident and
Emergency are ready
And waiting
Manchester United
Lose to Brighton
On day one
Liverpool not quite
Up to their Saturday
Lunchtime best
Room for improvement
One and all.
Finally City, perhaps
Just stately and leisurely
At the London Stadium
Champions always know
How to pace themselves
Winning without moving
Out of first gear
West Ham still reflecting
On last season’s European
Jaunts, not quite at the
Proverbial races
Basking in Mediterranean,
Sweltering fahrenheits
Beaten but far from bowed
37 games to go.

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