|

Saturday

Jon Tait

Saturday, March 21st, 2009

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 The seagulls lined up
on the back breeze block wall
shriek mockery at the goalkeeper
with bobbing heads.

2 Leave a comment on verse 2 0 Large empty skies
grey as old chewing gum
as the fog steadily lifts,
revealing the red, white & blue
of Union Jack flags
hanging limply from
the green perimeter fence.

3 Leave a comment on verse 3 0 Shadowy ghosts hidden
behind the nicotine-yellow net curtains
of crumbling bacon & egg B&Bs
with sauce clagged round the bottle top
the bookies & pubs
& cheap discount stores

4 Leave a comment on verse 4 0 those lost names a muster call
howked out of the black belly
of the earth
& trundled along the belt…

5 Leave a comment on verse 5 0 Bates
Ellington
Whittle

6 Leave a comment on verse 6 0 programme folded in jeans back pocket,
groundsman poking a fork in the pitch.

7 Leave a comment on verse 7 0 The music from the p.a. speakers
distant, gone in the wind,
blown out of the ground with
swirling empty crisp packets.

8 Leave a comment on verse 8 0 Corner flags flapping
like Tibetan prayer silks.

Notes

Editor Note; More & Louder!
Continuing wordsmithery and imagery encounters of the the third kind here. Jon’s stark but real portayals of common-place lower league footie scenes set a fine new marker for the would be ‘anyone can write football poetry brigade’. You wouldn’t believe the number of :
“man united are the best
they are btter than all the rest..”
poems we receive and delete ! (Not that we we would ever dare as neutrals to dispute such comment (?) Crispin

Source: http://footballpoets.org/poems/saturday-3/