War and Christmas – 2 pieces for peace
Christmas 1914
It came upon a midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
And the angels bent down to the earth,
And the machine guns changed into harps,
And the leaden bullets turned into golden carols
That drifted across no man’s land,
On an otherwise silent but holy night,
And all was clear and all was bright,
But with stars and moonlight
Instead of shells and flares and whiz bangs,
And choirs of soldiers joined the angels
While all the bloodied uniformed citizens
Of heaven above watched in hushed exultation
As helmets and caps and whisky and schnapps
Were passed from frozen side to frightened side,
And all the barbed wire shone with wintry hope,
And all the dead rose from flooded fox holes,
And men who dug and mined and shot and killed,
Looked for a symbol of Christmas peace and goodwill,
And a tommy kicked a football up into the air,
And there it stayed, suspended high up in the sky,
Shining for ever in a continent’s memory,
A star of peace in a bleak mid winter’s century.
There he stands, one eyebrow arched
In a handsome film star pose,
Ready to fight again for king and country,
Not long married and only just a father,
Ready to hack his way through the jungle
After doing his bit in the desert and at Tobruk,
My dad, engineer and killer,
Now standing in a frame on by back room book case,
Reminding me of how he’d put me on his knee,
And tell me tales of his Chindit campaigns,
The Japanese soldiers calling through the trees,
Insistent hidden voices slowly driving you mad,
“ “ Over here Tommy, over here”,
And if you gave yourself away son, you were dead.”
And this man, carpenter and sparky and genius,
A man who could sing and drink you under the table,
The man who taught his eldest son the beauty of geometry,
The man who taught his youngest son the beauty of the dribble
And all the mathematics of the touch line hugging body swerve,
Squats in the Burmese jungle in 1943,
And pens these acrostic lines for his darling daughter,
My sister, the aptly named Felicity –
Few Xmas tides you have known
Each one with daddy far from home
Lonely though these appear
I am with thoughts to you near
Christmas is a festive season
In which to celebrate a reason
This is the time when Christ was born
You won’t forget on Xmas morn?
Thanks Dad – We’ll never walk alone.
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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!
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Latest Poems
Stuart Butler
2nd February 2023
Denys E. W. Jones
30th January 2023
joe morris
29th January 2023
Crispin Thomas
25th January 2023
joe morris
23rd January 2023
Denys E. W. Jones
23rd January 2023
joe morris
14th January 2023
joe morris
8th January 2023
kevin raymond
7th January 2023
joe morris
6th January 2023
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
5th December 2022 at 8:11 pm
Stuart, you are not alone, in your dichotomy of doubt
but without dissention
you stand alone
in hogging our attention!
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16th November 2022 at 11:04 am
[Football on soiled turf]
This is a wonderful phrase which I shall be using from now on!
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15th November 2022 at 3:54 pm
Well said Crispin. One of the reasons for The Ball 2022/23 is exactly this – that FIFA need to know. The Ball is essentially a petition to FIFA to honour their commitments to the UN Sports for Climate Action Framework. They signed up; they should act. The Qatar tournament takes the World Cup in the opposite direction to that commitment. And 2026 looks like it’ll be even worse.
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8th November 2022 at 2:06 pm
Hi Guys
Re ‘Lets Boycott Qatar ‘ poem
You probably hate me banging on..and problably know (like me) that my/your not watching the World Cup in Qatar will make no difference.
Of course it won’t. That’s not the point.
OK someone might possibly eventually publish a minimal drop in terrestrial TV viewer numbers, but I fear that is unlikely.
But please above all, do go on writing poems about the World Cup, as/you we have always done. I hate to think a poem or two of mine might l make you feel bad about comenting on a game or country …or that I’ve put you all off about wanting to contribute.
So we’d love to hear from you and read your thoughts and observations, as ever on what’s going on.
Some of us have been here since Football Poets website birth/inception for the Euros 2000 ….
All my best wishes
Crispin
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18th October 2022 at 10:06 am
Shoot! (Something we’ve also been screaming in vain at our team all season !)
Great memories Joe . Before Shoot, it was Roy of the Rovers comic too, dropping through my letterbox.
Anxiously waiting each week to see if they survived in the mexcian jungle after an ambush..or a pre-season earthquake!
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3rd October 2022 at 8:32 pm
Thanks for the kind words Sharon. Yes, it was a shame with Billy Shako, but with five subs now being allowed, he might yet make it off the bench. Even if it’s just a cameo to close out a poem.
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2nd October 2022 at 1:49 pm
John, your new book is an absolute delight and more please. It’s a shame ‘Swapping Shirts With Shakespeare’ never made it off the bench, but quality football poets light up the writing fields like Roman candles. Go well.
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4th September 2022 at 12:42 pm
Great memories Greg. Took me right back.
Today I stand on a small terrace in the hills where I live watching Forest Green Rovers in L1, and keep up with Chelsea on highlights. It’s a far cry and a world away from those times when I lived as a child within walking distance of ‘The Bridge’ – just off the Ifield Road, which led to Fulham Road. The Blues were rubbish for so long, but we loved them and somehow we stayed in the old First Division for so many seasons. And of course we got to see Greavesie at his impudent best, scoring goals for fun. Mad unpredictable games where we’d score 4 and let in five.
The looming floodlights in the dark and mist on magic night games. The big games when the ground heaved.
I don’t think we ever realized how magical and incredible it was back then. The atmosphere and arriving there so early – like you said.. just to make sure you got in. Back when Bovril, tea and cake and roasted peanuts for sixpence a back were just about all on offer.
Good times.
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4th September 2022 at 12:37 pm
see above
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18th August 2022 at 10:20 am
To put it politely!
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