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Repeat of the 1975 FA Cup Final
No we’re not in the land
Of glam rock, fashion
Crimes against humanity
Flared trousers, denim
And ridiculous platform
Shoes that defied
Imagination and belief
This is not 1975 again
The FA Cup in a 21st
Century incarnation
The Hammers against the
Cottagers
It’s West Ham and Fulham
Reunited by Premier League
Fate and circumstances
Like two army buddies
From friendships long ago
East meets West
London linked by
Perfect geography
Back in the late winters
Of our lives
The Cottagers left
The Irons
Like an ailing industry
Fulham demolish the
Irons battlements
With five of the finest
5-0, yes 5-0
We were stunned
Subdued, deflated,
Startled, silenced
What happened there?
West Ham just dazed
By the Fulham stampede
What would John Lyall,
Ron Greenwood and Alec
Stock thought of this
Iconic score line
Alec as was always the case
Would have giggled lovably
But then composed himself
With a wry smile
But on the day,
Brooking, Bonds, Holland,
Paddon, Lock, Jennings
And Day on his day
While never forgetting
Alan Taylor
Cut the smartest suit
The Rochdale Rocket
For peanuts way
Back when footballers
Were oblivious to greed
And gigantic bank accounts
But back in 1975
Followed entirely different
Cultural themes
The 1970s, oh woe
A historic low
Industrial unrest
Three day weeks
Switch off the power
No electricity Harold
Floodlights dimmed
Candles were the light
Of your and my life
Dickens makes a brief
Comeback, muted applause
At the London Stadium
The Cottage visit royalty
The Queen Elizabeth Olympic
Park awaits its visitors
Her Majesty would have
Been flattered
How we felt honoured
To be part of her
Generation, a game of
Two halves
Today the Hammers
Face the final back straight
Now striving after another
Season of European conquests
Beaten by the Germans
Last Thursday
And surely the end
Of the road is nigh
A top 10 finish surely
Within claret and blue
Capabilities but still
The questions remain
Like scudding grey clouds
Persistent as the April drizzle
Moyes ball
Is still the unpalatable
Bone of contention
Does he stay
Or does he go?
To misquote an old song
Nauseating and awkward
On the eye
Style based on
Well rehearsed counter
Attacks, plodding
And pedestrian
At times,
Passing backwards,
Side to side,
Then across and beyond
The lines
It’s predictable and formulaic
Going nowhere
Pace on the flanks
Crosses galore
But never pretty or painterly
The Upton Park traditionalists
Miss the independent
Free spirits
Sir Trev and Dev,
Swapping erudite mental notes
Brooking floating across the mud
Devonshire slim as a stick
Running in harmony,
Football from the sweetest
Box of Quality Street of
Chocolates,
Deceptive directions
Leading opponents a merry dance
Today though
Lucas surely now
City bound during
The close season
He’ll be at
His most beautiful
And Brazilian on the
Ball
But the Paqueta mind
Is totally preoccupied
With Premier League
Trophies
Soucek, steady and
Sturdy but surely
Our best Czech mate
But running out of
Kings and bishops
Tomas, call a cab
For East End departure
Bowen a fundamental cog
In claret and blue
Jarrod, jaunty and goals
Galore, gallivanting here
And there
A vitally important
Component in the
West Ham machinery
So West Ham
It’s the last run into
The cricket season
A sequence of sixes and fours
Would be more than welcome
But realistically not
Top 10
That’ll do
Anfield Protest 11/4/24 (No To Ticket Price Increases)
No flags or banners will fly on the Kop tonight.
On a big European night, such an unusual sight.
The Club have raised ticket prices without a care.
So, no banners big or small, waved high in the air.
No consultations with the LFC Supporters Board.
Well done our club…a massive own goal scored.
All the LFC fan groups protest together as one.
Flags on the Spion Kop tonight, there’ll be none.
No banners waved during ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’.
As all those familiar banners will be left at home.
Tonight not one Koppite will have a flag on show.
To a ticket price increase, we say a resounding NO!
Germany calling
It could be the night of nights
But probably won’t be
When push comes to a shove
West Ham
Germany calling
Your country needs you
To be present and correct
Possibly a match too far
Bayern Leverkusen
Racing away with the
Bundesliga
A force of nature
Like a runaway train
Unbeaten since the
Beginning of time
Seemingly so
It could be a formality
For our Teutonic opponents
No real point in turning up
At the lavish German spectacle
Silently Hammers
Resigning themselves to
What will be will be
It was a pleasure
To be associated with
European company
But unless the fates
Know something different
Then tonight marks
The exit point for West Ham
And yet who knows?
Since Liverpool were once
Three down in a Champions League Final
And miraculously won
Against the odds
But harsh reality should intrude
Tonight, yes, the final swansong
For those battle hardened
Warriors from the East End
London Stadium crusaders
We’ll settle for Prague
Last June
Something to salivate over
And pinch ourselves with joy
We’ll take that stirring run
From Jarred Bowen
Head down on goal
Clean through
Before emphatically planting
The ball into the net
West Ham Euro Conference
Memories like golden ingots
Winners of the trophy
We thought we’d never see again
But did
Bayern Leverkusen
We can see you
And although we’d
Like to believe
We might be able to
Embrace this wondrous
Challenge
Realistically not
And yet who’d have
Thought the United States
Could ever beat England
In World Cup conflicts
Of 74 years ago
It materialised before
Our eyes
And dazed astonishment
Ensued
America beat England
The country we’d assumed
Would just crumble
Under the relentless
Onslaught of goals
From England’s green
And pleasant land
So West Ham
David Moyes
Before Lucas Paqueta
Finally decides to
Call it a day
In the East End of London
One more trophy perhaps
Wishful thinking
But then some walked on water
You never, ever know
Cirrus Never Whispers
‘Be quiet; the weather’s on the night news.’
Stephen Malkmus, Watery, Domestic
Cirrus never whispers, or was that Texas?
What you really meant was cumulonimbus
with deep grey future rain around its base.
How it was heaving, piled up like a mountain range,
future stories blurred in heaviness
through the onrush of torrential rain.
Mystic currents or predictable science,
how suddenly the air cools and leaves pick up
through whistle-punctuated silence.
Now air, spinning round a shifted vortex
leads its life outside the barricades
which needed to be pre-prepared.
The fog of rain left hope unleavened
and in the fog we said our prayers
to whomsoever conducts from silence
this aberration among beige apartments
conditioned for sun. Then the rain
in intermittent tranches rinsed mud
down gulleys, goals lifted in the wind,
their metal frames travelling, stones
assailed our faces as yours dug in
with teeth through heavy clothing
to somehow survive this wind
and rain and hail of everything.
Updated Hokey Cokey
You take ten points off.
You give four points back.
Off, back, off, back,
You hang ’em on a rack.
You do the Hokey Cokey,
And you turn around,
Is that what it’s all about?
You take two more off.
Two more docked.
Off, docked, off, docked,
It’s way over the top.
It isn’t okey dokey,
It’s right out of bounds,
What is this all about?
Oh the hokey cokey.
Oh the hokey cokey.
Oh the hokey cokey.
How much more can we take?
8/4/24
Denys E. W. Jones
Joe Kinnear- a tribute
Joe Kinnear always in the know
Farewell to the show
To the football pitch
Never kitsch
Joe Kinnear
Where the White Hart Lane
Purists were in mutual appreciation
Of his valuable sense of
Morality which always seemed to
Be the agenda of the day
Joe was always there
Impassable and impenetrable
Safe as the houses
Along the Seven Sisters Road
As reliable as the kettle
That so frequently boiled
Every morning
Where men in training bibs
And tracksuits heavy with
Testosterone and hard graft
The sweat of today, tomorrow
Future generations
Yet to be witnessed
Were permanently infatuated
With that medicine ball
From yesteryear
That almost broke
Your school boots
Like kicking dynamite
But Joe of course
Basked brightly in
The ebb and flow, a paragon of virtue
To those who cared with
Compassion when the chips
Were down for Spurs
A rounded character
Decent geezer in
A dressing room of
Gin and tonic
That restorative boost
To demoralised spirits
Joe brought certainty
Wherever he went
Always there in the
Background noise
Assurance personified
Never flustered
Just business like
Hard but flair and fair
When John Pratt
Mopped up the wreckage
And then
Steve Perryman
Was still refining his craft
Joe brought a glow
To the tools of his trade
Self made, his own person
And then the playtime
Of his well rewarded career
Faded into the woodwork of
Those noisy tunnels
From whence Joe emerged
With the distinction of
A Saturday lord of his manor
His manor, his chivalrous domain
Guarding his front door
With lock and key
Never moved from his spot
Spurs through and through
Manager of Wimbledon
But never common
A don amongst dons
Suitably qualified for
That much maligned job
Since nobody ever seemed
To have time for
For those who once
Stood at Plough Lane
But Joe Kinnear
Football will of course
Will miss you
Unquestioningly so
Rest in peace Joe Kinnear
The Man In Black
Of footy in the 60’/ 70’S, I’ve been looking back.
Nobody took much notice of ‘the man in black’
Those were the greatest days it has to be said.
They carried a notebook and cards yellow and red.
What else do you need to referee a footy game?
The referees never became a household name.
The best Refs, you hardly noticed were even there.
For the spotlight and stardom they didn’t care.
The Refs back then, seemed a decent, likeable lot.
Help from the linesmen was all they needed or got.
Referees just did their best and for not much pay.
They got stuff wrong, that’s human nature I’d say!
Some decisions, you’d lose, some you would win.
At the end of the day, fans just took it on the chin.
Players moved on too when the final whistle blew.
I miss those days of football… do you miss them too?
Oh woe West Ham!
Seven goal thriller
At St James Park
Oh no through closed eyes
Another catastrophe
Leaks through the sieve
Dripping sombrely
Through porous holes
Of West Ham’s fondest
Hopes of another European
Campaign next season
Typical West Ham
It could only happen
To them again
Yesterday the absurdity
Of bonkers scenario
Goals raining down
On our Easter Parade
But then the Hammers
Conform to the usual
Typeface
Just when you thought
It was safe to assume
That maybe, maybe
It could have been
Another pivotal day
When centrifugal forces
Were on their side
Sadly, just horrendous
3-1 up and cruising
When suddenly
The steam roller
In black and white stripes
Flattened claret and blue
Delusions of grandeur
For that is how it seems
Never remotely reminiscent of
Early season
Metronomic rhythms
When firstly Chelsea,
Then Spurs, Manchester United,
Famously at the Emirates
During festive glad tidings
When the Gooners were shocked
By the Hammers
Who must have thought
They were hallucinating
Now the status quo
Is no longer rocking all
Over the Premier League,
Yesterday claret and blue
Seasoned troopers
Bloodied, dazed by four
Fatal blows to the temples
Of their heads
Caught up in the craziest
Plot of them all
Madness in the land of
The Gallowgate revival
Geordie voices
Back at their mellifluous
Best, serenading the Angel
Of the North
Newcastle may be wiping
Disbelieving bliss
From faces of pure
Elation.
Don’t hold them back
David Moyes
Looks away in horror
At the scene of the crime
West Ham fallen from the heights
Eddie Howe temporarily livid
When West Ham scored
From debatable sources
Surely not a free kick
But given nonetheless
Comedy of errors
After the Hammers trio
Of goals when the game
Seemed beyond the reach
Of Tyneside attacking prowess
But then the claret and blue
Brick wall crumbles
Then totally disintegrates
Enough said
End the season now
European football again
Next season
You have to be joking
Hammers
End of pier
Gallows humour
Still resides
Though
We’ll always have
Prague
The top three battle it out
And so the Premier League
Hits the final straight
It’s good to be Friday
But tomorrow promises
To be even better
Even more virtuous
Boats on the Thames
Over the weekend
For traditional
University head to head
Since time immemorial
For Oxford and Cambridge
Read Manchester City and
Arsenal while never overlooking
Liverpool on their shoulders
Tally ho chaps
Let the battle commence
It could be the most
Gripping Premier League
Title race
Since both Liverpool
And Arsenal arrived
Together at the
Finishing post
At an Anfield
Fever pitch
And Nick Hornby
Was poised to pen
Literature that sung
In our hearts and his
1989, Tony Adams
Alan Smith and then
Michael Thomas
The game now at boiling point
Another crashing, dramatic
Crescendo of noise
The last kick of the game
It certainly was up for grabs
Much loved Brian uttered
Thomas through and then jabbing
The ball into the net
The old League Championship
In the Gunners pocket
Now though Arteta’s artists
Poised for a reproduction
Of that scintillating moment
When football simply
Went above the call of duty
Surpassing all other nights
Arsenal, it could be their
Season of seasons
The fans think they deserve
It for being who they are
It’s their prerogative to be
League Champions
Since their history demands
Yet another trophy
At the Emirates
Odegaard, Saka, Rice,
It has to be inscribed
On that gleaming silverware
And nobody would begrudge them
Yet more glorious feats
Of skill, strength and athleticism
Passing from Mount Olympus
But then there’s City
In their rear view mirror
Threatening to overtake
If heavy traffic gets in their way
Pep’s football painters
Manchester City are clinging onto
The coat tails, never
Underestimate football’s classicists
Always playing from memory and instinct
Serene as the softest breezes
From the whispering winds
Silence please
The top three heavyweights
Are preparing their assaults
For the crucial finishing line
The winning feeling
The open top bus parade
Around those local streets
Where so many victorious fans
Gathered from everywhere
Last but not least Liverpool
But of course
Klopp’s last throw of the dice
Anfield is presumptuous
And almost expects
Almost as many as trophies
As their fierce rivals
Glinting reflections of
Yesteryear when Bill Shankly,
Bob Paisley, Bertie Mee
And George Graham
Then the professor Arsene Wenger
Who was remarkably unbeatable
During that season of Invincibles
While City were profusely thankful
To Joe Mercer, Malcolm Allison,
Manuel Pellegrini
Gave City status and stature
Recognition in the shadow
Of Fergie’s United
Manchester United
Who set the tone and pitch
Manchester’s giants
Now boasting and gloating
Premier League titles
Crowned on the same day
At season’s end
So the Premier League
Lifts the handbrake
Presses the accelerator
Pedal, go for it
Gentlemen,
Let this one go
To the final day
Of the season
Radios by the ear
On terraces of tears
And trepidation
Then that indefinable
Feeling of
Yes we’ve done it
Lap of honour
The Premier League
Is theirs, ours,
Yours
How we relish it
Nameless shirts
When was the last time England really got me excited?
I forget
Who was the last England manager that I really, really trusted to lead our troops?
I forget
Why was it that Lampard, Gerard, Scholes didn’t gel?
I forget
But I do have my own opinion
And in mine own dominion, I’ll hold court
Like as not, I’ll pause….
Not so much as “hold that thought”….
But… where did it go?
I’ve seen my forbears tread that isolating path
From the first forgetful moment (treated as a laugh)
To the locking up of doors, and added safety features
Sadly limiting the elderly, in an unedifying way
(and all too often mis-labelled, as God’s crazy creatures)
So in my own future
When I look back to this game
I may not remember the Toney & Bellingham goals
But deep down in my heart and soul
I’ll know
That the absence of names on the shirts
Was a meaningful and well-intended message
To raise awareness and concern
And hopefully I’ll be able to discern
The many fruitless England attacks
While my mind jumbles, at the behest of warring tau proteins
and inimical amyloid plaques
About This Site
Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.
Publish your football poems here and then discuss them with your team mates and fans. We're archived by The British Library, so your masterpieces are in the safe hands of a world-class keeper. What a result!
My Account
Latest Poems
joe morris
25th April 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
25th April 2024
kevin halls
23rd April 2024
Alex Saynor
23rd April 2024
joe morris
23rd April 2024
Crispin Thomas
22nd April 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
21st April 2024
joe morris
20th April 2024
Clik The Mouse
15th April 2024
Mike Bartram
15th April 2024
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
25th April 2024 at 7:33 pm
Hi Denys,
Thanks mate. I’ll do it now.
See in context
25th April 2024 at 1:56 pm
Thanks Joe,
you might like to write a poem yourself on the same subject…
See in context
23rd April 2024 at 4:03 pm
Hi Denys
With you all the way on the abolition of FA Cup replays. What are they doing to the game?
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23rd April 2024 at 3:59 pm
Hi Crispin,
Yes sorry mate. Villa are still in Europe. Mistake rectified.
Cheers
Joe
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20th April 2024 at 12:04 pm
Hi Joe
Shouldn’t your title read your poem Farewell Europe England to everyone exccept Aston Villa ?
I know you mention them in your poem , but I do feel sorry for Villa re the national press .
Largely ignored. the hype was was all about Man City & Arsenal with a bit of a nod to the Hammers..but hardly a mention of Villa..
So well done to them
C
.
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19th March 2024 at 8:00 am
Hi Crispin. Chris Sutton on the radio has gone for a Chelsea v Coventry final. As we know anything can happen in the Cup, and I reckon we can go to the final.
We’re still in with a chance of the play offs too, so lots to go for.
See in context
19th March 2024 at 7:41 am
Hey Kev
Let the masses drool over their odds on City v Unted Final, but who knows how pressure can hit.
Cov and Chels will be rightly labelled as having no chance..but hey …stranger things have happened..
so Chelsea v Coventry…that’s the Final for us!
Best
C
See in context
29th January 2024 at 10:03 pm
Hi Crispin,
How are you doing mate? Yes, you’re probably right but hey football is all about emotion and passion and I just love writing about the game. I try to keep my poetry to a reasonable length but there’s so much to write about the game and its literature just lends itself naturally to poetry. Sometimes I just get completely carried and I do apologise for the length of my poetry but it’s a great thrill to be associated with Football Poets.
Cheers mate
Joe
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10th January 2024 at 7:52 pm
You’re right of course Joe but…..it’s actually more of a big welcome break for everyone who is not into Premier League ..I’m talking fans of EFL National League and below…..
Btw …is this actually your longest poem ever !?
Best
Crispin
See in context
8th January 2024 at 4:45 pm
Thanks!
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