Poetry Archives
Search Poems
Hammers in America
West Ham now in the
Land of the Free
Where Trump and Biden
Swap elderly status
Hammers in Disneyland
A big kids playground
In fabulous Florida
Trump, still babbling absurdities
Biden, lost in a world of confusion
Oh poor Joe
Meanwhile the claret and blue
Latest edition
Building empires
Tortured at times with
Transfer hearsay
Linked with players
From every continent
Throughout the world
At least a thousand
On the last count
But maybe an exaggeration
Lopetegui, mixing and matching
With new fangled philosophies
Imprinting his mindset
West Ham, learning the ropes
Under radical regimes
Beaten by Palace in
Palatial form
A 3-1 setback for
Those East End entertainers
But still finding their feet
At the court of our Spanish
Toreador, bullish yesterday
But no need to panic
Just yet
More new arrivals
Summerville, the new Rembrandt
On the London Stadium easel
Art and beauty
So hard to find
At the beginning of August
But they’ll get there
Still though, a work in progress
Today Wan Bissaka perhaps
From United’s Theatre of Dreams
Waiting in the wings
The roar of the greasepaint
Aaron awaits the claret and blue
Reception committee
His stage to shine
Much needed defensive strength
And security, locking doors
On creaking hinges
WD 45, just a drop
Of oil needed
For a decent season
Then the great striker conundrum
Fulkrug, German goal machine
But 31, worrying but perhaps
The dream solution
Up front for a Hammers
Hankering desperately after
Another Pop Robson, Tony Cottee
Frank Mcavennie, just to
Keep recent seasons momentum
Alive but now firing
On all cylinders
We must hope
Forget Duran and the reflex
Villa, demanding a kings ransom
So West Ham
Enjoy those roller coaster rides
In the country that gave us
Hollywood glamour and schmaltz
A plethora of pancakes
To sweeten the pill of defeat
Meet and greet Mickey and Donald
But remember where you are
In a fortnight
It’s the late summer virility
Of vivacious Villa
Unai Emery’s Champions League
Bravehearts this season
Opening day jitters
Oh no, not again
What we’d give for that
Rarest of species
A West Ham victory
Just before the first
Conker fall of autumn
If the engine and carburettor
Are working, then who knows?
It could be the season to savour
But how often have we said that?
A brand new Stratford project
We can but hope.
The Magic Sponge
Through rain drifting across floodlight beams
and smoke off the hotdog hut
from a corner by the Thames
you can see through black metal railings
through the smog and instant snap of fag ash
a distant heap slumped on the floor.
Who is it? Please not Houghton or Davies.
A medical phenomenon, our hopes to resurrect –
for all its flaws and holes in the argument –
is the dank and rebounding beige air brick
with dabs of refreshment,
placebo brushes of renewal
like a non-consensual splash on the bonce
at the font to appease an unknown devil or god.
If you break your metatarsal
or have a problem metaphysical,
here’s a dab of water to the arm or head.
Rainwater runs off
through all the drainage infrastructure
or cascades from an outflow pipe
and freezes in the night.
You’re winded, distended, bloated,
fractured, strained or just not right.
Something snapped; was it a twinge,
a strain, a pull or phantom twang,
but through the rain and smoke and mist on all sides
as from a dry ice machine evacuating all
at the start of a meeting where dry ice was on,
but really not needed, no matter the break
or convalescent years ahead,
what you need in the moment is a dab on the head.
Walking Through Woods To A Game
whose woods these are I do not know
but to a hilltop ground they go
and as we climb in Summer heat
this well trod path beneath our feet
will lead us high above the town
and carry us both up and down
through air so humid thick and still
as we rise further up the hill
I stop for breath above the stream
as fans pass by from either team
this ancient wood is steep and green
the most unuusal way I’ve seen
no other route to watch a game
will somehow ever feel the same
my cheeks are red my climbing slow
as Andrew cries “not far to go”
when suddenly the trees are passed
and here’s a level road at last
and through a clearing we have found
this tiny hilltop football ground
You can hear and see the new season
Far beyond the distant horizon
Where churning oceans meet
Auspicious dawns of the
New football season
Hark we hear thundering boots
With purple or yellow laces
Oh, surely a figment of the imagination
City, Arsenal, United, Spurs,
Chelsea quite possibly
Liverpool never knowingly underestimated
Heating up late summer barbecues
Of early August meaty contests
At the moment, a sweltering heatwave
May yet reach boiling point
When the Premier League fires up
Its seasonal crackling flames
Of end to end penalty area boxes
Of tricks and flicks,
Low blocks and presses
Playing from the back
And delivering stacks of goals
Yet more contentious VAR,
The proverbial pain in the neck
Scrap it now before
Gary, Alan, Danny and co.
Burst blood vessels
They can take no more
We’ll always have Match of the Day
Whatever the final score
And so the new Premier League season
Is upon us, summer
Tans now ancient history
On players faces of pristine hope
We hope you’re ready
For the mighty and dominant
Household names
To prove their worth
On the birth of August
Where everybody starts on
A clean slate,
Egalitarianism rules OK.
We’re all on a level playing
Ground, no points on
The board and all in hot
Pursuit of flying starts
It’s three points for some
And none for the rest
But the Premier League season
Will probably have nobody
At the top of the pile
Come the end of the first weekend
Since football opens up
A fresh page with a brand new
Chapter of errors
Defensive blunders
Stunning goals,
Near misses and gasps of delight
The rich tapestry of life
Takes pride of place
In the art galleries
Of the rich and pampered
The new boys and those
Simply aspirational
Let the fun begin
Premier League football
We can hardly wait
Help!!
Each day there is something new to learn.
When I hear of a brand new football term!
Is a ‘false number 9’ a number 9 or not?
That’s something I need to ask Arne Slot!
‘Seriously, I just don’t understand that role.
Is Nunez expected to miss every open goal!
What’s a ‘double pivot’ I haven’t got a clue?
If Trent’s ‘inverted’ what’s he now got to do?
Does ‘Heavy Metal’ footy, require long hair?
So will Arne Slot be given a wig to wear?
Another thing I hear now on The Spion Kop.
‘Up front’ is very outdated… it’s now ‘up top’!
Sorry, what does a ‘holding midfielder’ hold?
I bet you can tell by this, that I’m getting old!
Yes I am, and I suppose I’m stuck in my ways.
Because football was simpler in the old days!
The Claret and Blue land
So here we are again
Ready and braced for
Another nine month marathon
Of Premier League hot air
And classic cameos
Local rivalries and
Household names,
Legendary spats,
Familiar friends
And foes, thrilling
Contests and battles
And then there was
The Land of Claret and Blue
In the heat of East London
Your genuine Hammers
West Ham go flamenco,
Paella for tea,
Matadors at half time
Julen Lopetegui
Spanish Harlem
At the London Stadium
No Inquisitions required
Just a delicious hors d’oeuvre
Of European Championship winning
Style of football,
Hopefully,
Followed by a rare to medium
Chateaubriand steak of
Quality
Gastronomic heaven
But today we learn
Of Colombians scheming
Behind the scenes
Surely no drug cartels
Amid the West Ham academy
Oh no simply not, never
The Hammers always do clean,
Pure and puritanical
Duran due in the East End
But, hold on,
Since when did Simon Le Bon
Have any allegiance to the
Iron clad Irons?
Wan Bissaka was about to
If not quite join West Ham
Then he was close, in the vicinity
Of the Happy Hammers
Approaching the front door
Then advanced negotiations
Became a stagnant pool of water
Just the daftest of rumours
The first transfer window shut
Firmly in claret and blue faces
Meaningless transactions
That may as well have been
Double Dutch, whatever that meant
Kyle Walker Peters,
Yet more hyphenated Hammers
A year since James Ward Prowse
Became a fully fleged JWP
KWP was just a whisper
At the back of the classroom
Dissolving and melting in
Transfer factory gossip
We do though, have three
A breathtaking Brazilian blend
Luis, barely out of
The school playground
Glorious Guilherme
And Wes Fotheringham
Another goalkeeper
Just in case Alphonse
And Fabian falter and
Lose their way
Some of us do like
The sound of Ivan Toney
From the buzzing Bees
Goal scoring oozing honey
Danes demanding ransom
Tomas Frank wants at least
A billion for Ivan
Certainly not the Terrible
Tomas, it’ll be a pleasure
To do business with you
So deals still in the pipeline
Nothing concrete in the jungle
Of football’s dangerous
Back waters
Just shifty, nudge nudge wink
Wink, know what I mean
And before you can say VAR
It’ll be back as inevitably
As Christmas, then the
August opener against fellow
Claret and blues
It could be a vintage year
For either
Letter from Gareth (Pass it on)
Gareth penned a letter
His decision he laid bare
And he passed it on to Postie
Who passed it on to Soho Square
The F.A. suits read Southgate’s note
Then went out to drink and dine
And ten hours later they all agreed
That Gareth should resign.
“We accept your resignation,”
They wrote in the letter back
“It’s a better way to settle things
Than giving you the sack.
We wish you all the best
We hope your future is much calmer
But why on earth did you not start
Young Gordon or Cole Palmer?
Southgate read the letter
His face was full of pain
And he looked around at his team
Passing the letter on to Kane.
Kane he passed it back
To Jude who read it twice
Then passed the letter sideways
To the studious Declan Rice.
The note was deciphered thoroughly
By the England number four
And when Rice had finished reading it
He passed it out to Shaw.
Now Luke’s known to be a reader
He’s not much of a talker
And after reading it thirteen times
He passed it across to Walker.
Kyle Walker got emotional
As the note was quite a weeper
And he decided the best form of attack
Was to pass it to the keeper.
Jordan Pickford wasn’t happy
He flung the letter in the crowd
Where it ended up on E-bay
Being sold by an England fan from Stroud.
Two Nations went to Germany
Two nations went to Germany
In search of Silverware.
Now read these lines of poetry
To see how they both fared.
The Scots played with true grit and pride,
But they could not progress.
Their fans drank lots of booze alright,
The rest we’d best forget.
The English set out with high hopes,
Their first three games were dire.
But then against Slovakia.
They really lit our fire.
Next came a match against the Swiss –
One-One, and then to Pens.
This time not one White Shirt did fluff –
They proved that they are Men.
And then we faced the Netherlands,
A match not for faint hearts.
The Dutch sure played with courage,
Got off to a fine start.
But Kane he levelled from the Spot,
And then on ninety mins,
A wonder-strike from Watkins
Sent us heading to Berlin!
As usual, there we fell behind,
But Palmer equalised.
The Spanish went ahead once more,
And claimed the glittering Prize.
Two Nations went to Germany
To win some Silverware.
Both came back empty-handed,
With Nothing to Declare.
The English reached the Final,
The gave it a good try.
But one thing should ne’er be forgot:
The Scots drank Munich dry!
15/7/24
Denys E. W. Jones
The Famous Tale of Eddie Cavanagh
Onto the Wembley pitch Eddie races.
Wearing his jacket, tie and braces!
Fleet of foot, he leaves behind the law.
And why not Eddie, 2-2 now the score!
This is the famous Eddie Cavanagh tale.
One cop pulled at his jacket, to no avail.
Eddie slipped out the jacket, arms raised.
He carried on his pitch invasion, unfazed.
So copper number 2 took up the chase.
Careful now Eddie, this guy’s got the pace!
But this is not Twickenham, Eddie beware.
That cop’s rugby tackle, that’s so unfair!
Eddie lied outstretched on the 18 yard line.
The funniest ever Cup Final moment of mine.
Brian Labone tried his best to intervene.
As 4 coppers now duly arrived at the scene!
Eddie was carted off, a legend he’d become.
In the best Cup Final, Everton have ever won!
The lull before the storm
A haunting silence
Falls across English
Football once again
Like a hollow bowl
Of emptiness
So near and yet so far
Another tournament
That promised jewels
On German foothills
But only yielded
A pitiful whimper
In Euro 2024
Another Final,
Another defeat
But hold your heads high
It could hardly have been
Any worse
Now the Premier League
Beckons like
A lighthouse beacon
Winking lights
In the distance
Just under a month to go
Business as usual
Before, as if
Nothing had happened
The Beautiful Game
Slaps on its
Garish, cosmetic make up
Mustn’t forget the lipstick
And yet why?
Since football always
Looks pretty without
Any of those facial
Adornments
Handsome in August
When the bowling greens
Of football’s pristine
Petticoats,
Re-start in earnest
The Premier League
Flaunting their finest clothes
Not long to go before
Well clipped and manicured
Grass, smooth as coffee
Drink in that atmosphere
Players and managers
Take to centre stage again
Bare chests on late summer
Terraces and stands
Stretching far and wide
Football’s loveliest tapestry
Ready for the nine month
Marathon again
City, once again favourites
To do it all over again
Not five in a row, surely
The Premier League
Must be dreading this
But records are there
To be broken
Arsenal and Arteta
Like dragons breathing fire
Down clammy Manchester City
Shirts and skies of
Light blue
Arsenal, probably
Lucky at third time
Of asking, it has
To be their season
Never felt better,
Fitter or stronger
Law of averages
And there was
Legendary Liverpool,
Leafing back through the
Ancient pages of history
When Bill Shankly and Bob
Paisley made it look
So effortless
Jurgen now gone
But never forgotten
Heavy metal football
And yet light and nimble
On their feet
Spurs, now almost
Too comfortable on
Their richest sofa
Of the top flight
But the Double, like
Some vanishing star
From an age ago
Somehow Blanchflower,
Medwin, White, Dyson
And Jones
Are now strangers
In modern playgrounds
But let us never exclude
Manchester United
From the glittering lights
A stunning tour de force
Under Fergie’s fledglings
Who swept all comers
Under dusty carpets
Winning Trebles, cups
Premier Leagues, FA Cups
Champions League twice
Garlanded by the great and good
Now though Eric
With all the delicacy of
The Dutch
Who never made the right
Grade at World Cup jamborees,
Eric Ten Haag
Can those all conquering
Unbeatable days
Be recaptured?
Can modern day Beckhams, Giggs,
Butt and Scholes
Break through the summer haze
Into autumnal shades
Of fabulous football fiestas?
The Premier League just
A couple of weeks away again
Just for a week or two
Football on level playing fields
All equality since
Three points mean nothing
In early August or September
Before the juddering juggernaut
Sets off on that memorable journey
To who knows where?
By Christmas and the New Year
Clear pictures emerge
City, giggling in the background
Catch them if you can
Arsenal chase in hot pursuit
Spurs, Liverpool, Villa
You’re on their elusive coat tails
They could be contenders
And Bogart could only agree
Rub your hands with
Chants of choice words
It’ll be the Premier League
Again
Coming to a cinema
Near to you
Let the drama and chaos
Begin once more
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
17th November 2024
Crispin Thomas
17th November 2024
kevin halls
10th November 2024
joe morris
10th November 2024
Clik The Mouse
10th November 2024
Clik The Mouse
6th November 2024
Alex Saynor
6th November 2024
joe morris
29th October 2024
joe morris
17th October 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
16th October 2024
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
13th September 2024 at 6:14 pm
Welcome to Football Poets Beth
Great evocative poem Beth….
More please !
Haiku always welcome.
Hope we (FGR) get to play you again soon
Best
Crispin
See in context
26th July 2024 at 6:25 pm
Great poem Mike Bartram. Eddie was a legend, affectionately known in Liverpool as, “the first hooligan.” Even the hoolies were well dressed in those days. The amazing thing was he was only 26 when that picture was taken. He’d played for Everton youth team and was well known to the players. He never got arrested. They threw him out and he climbed back in, just in time for Derek Temples winner.
I used the picture of him being tackled to the ground on the front cover of my book, “Once Upon a rhyme in Football.” It’s worth looking on youtube and finding the re-enactment of the Wembley scene. Frank Skinner and Baddiel went around to Eddies home in the 1990’s and acted it out on the green outside. It’s hilarious, especially all the effort they put in to get Eddie sober enough to shoot the scene.
See in context
10th July 2024 at 6:07 pm
Hi Crispin,
I don’t know if you’ve see the picture in social media today…
a picture of a teenage Lionel Messi cradling a baby in Africa as part of a photoshoot…. the family had won a lottery to have their baby pictured with him….
the photographer has just revealed that the baby is actually in fact Lamine Yamal!!!!
See in context
26th May 2024 at 2:30 pm
Hi Denys…
Re Man City:
OK it was 20 years ago but Criag Wilson did write this and a few others on them back in 04/05.
BTW I’m more Forest Green Rover since 2014 (and Chelsea) these days . I drum and am a standing season ticket holder .
Best
Crispin
See in context
29th April 2024 at 2:47 pm
Hi Denys,
Yes Richard Williams you’re a brilliant wordsmith, my friend. When I first saw your football poetry I thought it was the superb Guardian sports and music writer. I once had the honour of sitting next to Richard Williams while at the Independent on the sports desk. He writes about music and sport with immense knowledge and authority. I’ve read a couple of Richard’s books recently. Great writer rather like you Richard Williams the Pompey fan. Congratulations on promotion.
See in context
28th April 2024 at 5:59 pm
Thanks Denys. Yes your replay poem was superb.
See in context
26th April 2024 at 4:46 pm
Nice work, Joe. You were quick off the mark with that! Good one from Richard Williams too I see.
See in context
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?
See in context