Football Poets

Hammers are top of the Premier League

¶ 1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 Of course I’m dreaming
The most optical of all
Illusions
West Ham are top
Of the Premier League
Please give me some smelling salts
You have to be joking
Time for the court jester
To jump onto medieval tables
The merest figment of your imagination
Phantasmagoria.
Never in a million years
It’s some Hollywood fantasy
Sci fi at its most ingenious
They’ll never believe it
Some amusing end of pier joke
Roll up, Roll up
Ladies and Gentlemen
The distortion of those mirrors
West Ham finish the first month
Of the Premier League season
Top. Yes top
Time to wake from your delirious
Reverie
Step aside
Melancholy clowns
Cheer up
It may last a week,
Or not even the weekend
But beware trapeze artists
The Hammers love heights
This though feels like vertigo
Wobbling precariously
On the high wire
But next up for the claret
And blue suited gents
Are the Hatters
At Kenilworth Road
Let’s just catch our breath
And savour the sweet cinnamon
Scents of the highest echelon
They were massive in Prague
When parts of Europe were conquered
But now on the domestic hearth
Michal defies gravity and age
Two goals in two games
Sensation beyond belief
JWP opens his goal scoring account
And then Jarred Bowen
Stuns the Seagulls
In full flight
Incredulity personified
Wonder of wonders
A miracle of world class
Proportions
The Hammers are top of the pile
Surely not
Rub those bleary eyes again
Time for the cynics to giggle
Scepticism on a Saturday evening
Rather than Dixon of Dock Green
Undoubtedly a claret and blue
Landscape
Top of the class and tree
So scenic, so idyllic
West Ham on the highest rung
Perhaps for a while
Temporary elation
Oh come on West Ham
Believe in the impossible
Hold on tightly to the unlikely
The unbelievable weekend
Before the August Bank Holiday
You can do it
We know you can

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