Welcome to Alan McKean & Glenn & …..
When I returned from a trip away last year, there was someone who had just started submitting to the site : Peter Goulding – and what an impact he’s had! Pete has to be one of our most poular and prolific poets.
Having just returned again from holyers, I’m enjoying catching up with another new crop : a warm welcome to Rob Lyn, Angela Stevens, Mark ‘Seahorse’ Staniforth, Glenn Walker and Alan McKean.
I’m reproducing a poem apiece from Glenn and Alan below. Glenn has been writing with real passion about his fears of Bradford City folding.
Alan McKean obviously works (or did) at Bolton Wanderers Reebok Stadium. He has been giving us a wonderful insight into the behind-the-scenes activies at a Premiership club. Fascinating stuff.
City ’til I Die
My heart beats faster with each passing hour,
My nerves are flaying at the thought,
A once proud club is at deaths door,
No solace can be sought.
No floodlit nights, no sunlit days,
No breathing in the thrill,
No fears, no tears, no joy, no pain,
No singing out at will.
No Wolves or Wembley, no Liverpool,
No great escape or more,
No heroes, foes or enemies,
No last bus home, no score.
No red and gold, no tales be told,
No dancing girls, no sound,
Only emptiness and decay is left,
On the Bradford City ground.
The ghosts of heroes from years gone by,
Wander through the gloom,
Whilst the pain and torment we suffer now,
Is pending on our doom.
One hundred years, ten thousand tears,
A million questions, why?
But no matter what the answer is,
“I’m City ‘Til I Die.”
© Glenn J Walker July 2004
And as for Alan McKean : So many good contributions to choose from! Being a big old softie, I’ve gone for two moving tributes.
Maine Road – Late 1950’s
I remember walking with my dad
To watch the mighty Blues
Ply their trade at Maine Road.
When you’re six or seven
A mile and a bit walk seems a world away,
Even when you’re small hand in large.
As you tramp through late 1950’s Manchester,
With it dark and damp winter streets
And its hissing trolley buses,
You anticipate, in your six-year-old way, the game.
But your first port of call
Is the “Big Alex”
So dad can have a pint before the match.
All the dads inside, with a pint
All us kids outside, with our crisps and lemonade.
It was acceptable then.
Time to go, the Kippax calls.
Will Bert Trautmann play, or Joe Hayes?
At six or seven, you don’t care,
You’re just happy to be there,
With your dad.
Special days back then.
The results weren’t that important to you,
Just being there, was.
City centre grounds were like family gatherings.
You stood in the same spot each fortnight, with the same people around you.
Players weren’t paid in telephone numbers
Tickets didn’t cost an arm and two legs,
But then, the grounds were tatty and smelly.
Times change, and the Blues now play in luxury,
And results are everything.
All games must be won.
The faithful now demand results
In exchange for their costly tickets.
© Alan McKean July 2004
Thanks dad (Died 1983)
The Groundsman
Lovingly, tenderly
He walks his hallowed turf
And ponders the dreams to be played out there.
From Arsenal to Manchester United to-
Almost any team, depending on the cup run.
He knows each blade of grass,
Knows when to cut,
When to water
When and where to make repairs.
Each square inch
Has been lovingly tended
Over the long summer break.
A long cut, a close cut
His decision.
As the opening game approaches,
The pitch is cut to perfection,
Marked out with precision.
The image seen is a tribute to his art.
The manager,
The players,
The Tv pundits,
All congratulate him on the outcome,
Before they start their work on his masterpiece.
He knows that his grass must stand the test of time,
But he’s just as professional as the players.
He knows it will.
The players also acknowledge his craft.
A professional.
© Alan McKean July 2004
For Richard at the Reebok Stadium
but for all groundsmen, who create the arena
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
Gacina Bozidar
8th December 2023
joe morris
4th December 2023
John Gilbert Ellis
3rd December 2023
Rowan Waller
2nd December 2023
Clik The Mouse
1st December 2023
joe morris
1st December 2023
joe morris
30th November 2023
joe morris
26th November 2023
Crispin Thomas
26th November 2023
Richard Williams
26th November 2023
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
19th November 2023 at 1:45 pm
Thanks Gacina, glad you liked it, and I have just posted a new one about our points deduction…
See in context
7th November 2023 at 6:34 pm
Today B.B.C post on F.B was titled:Premier League reduced to 18 clubs? I really think it may be interesting to see if this would be Everton’s nightmare and this poem is well suited for this concern.If there would be more difficult battle to stay if there were 18 teams.Great poem and somehow true.
See in context
6th November 2023 at 4:43 pm
Ashington FC have launched a £50,000 Crowdfunder appeal to meet the increased costs of winning promotion last season, to pay for urgent stadium improvements, travel costs and equipment
See in context
31st October 2023 at 4:26 pm
‘Three Teams Worse Than Us’ from our Toffee friend Denys in Italy, also sums up how FGR fans currently feel. Yes, in our case, with two going down to the Conference, it could be entitled ‘Two Teams Worse Than Us’, but three would make us feel even safer.
See in context
6th October 2023 at 11:49 pm
Enjoy it while you can, although I’m sure Mbappe could well be bound for St James
See in context
2nd October 2023 at 1:52 pm
There still remains a magic about the early rounds of the FA Cup that the premier league / internationals can never match.
Coventry Sphinx v Leicester Nirvana sounds so much more than a tale of two cities etc. etc.
See in context
24th September 2023 at 5:14 pm
Very accurate indeed!
Palace home for me is always a tough journey as well. From the wilds of west London to Selhurst is a random journey into the unknown.
See in context
20th September 2023 at 1:37 pm
Lovely stuff for one of the best.
We love him to death down at the Palace.
I’ll post my Roy poem a bit later. You’ve inspired me to finish it.
See in context
19th September 2023 at 5:06 pm
I’d like to think some of my scarves might get passed down the generations, but can’t see some of the “quality merchandise” I have making much past my son’s generation. They’ll fall apart before he even has kids, I reckon!
See in context
7th September 2023 at 2:43 pm
Very true Crispin. Thanks!
See in context