MATCH OF THE DAY
SUNDAY OCT 23RD 7.30AM
You can catch a great bunch of really enthusuastic kids working on and reading their poems on Racism on Match of The Day on Sunday Oct 23rd at 7.30am… so set your alarms and videos ..or recordable DVDs i guess! The Kick It Out Anti-Racism Football Poetry workshop was run by Crispin Thomas of The Football Poets and took place at Fulham FC Study Centre, at Craven Cottage on Wednesday 19th October.Also present were Fulham players who were brilliant chipping in with help on poem-writing and eventually selecting the best poems to win tickets for the Liverpool game.It was a particluarly poignant day at the home of Johnny Haynes,with the beautiful flowers and tributes adorning the ground gates for a true legend..the great Johnny Haynes.
We’re a little behind on new names on the site as we approach 7000 poems, it’s hard keeping up with all..but we’ll get there…so this from August….
Incredibly, we have only one new poet to welcome this month. Take a bow,
Shaun Williams, Southampton fan.
We should of course, welcome in the new Premiership season, 2005 / 2006.
We do welcome back, two of our European friends, who have posted again after absences of over a year :
Flemming Mclind, from Denmark.
And Yodi Iwan from Germany.
Both their latest contributions are featured below. We are always happy to highlight the fact that this site is appreciated far and wide.
Possibly there is another new poet contributing to the site (I have my reservations) ….. if so, welcome Brigante. (Carlito?) Their poem below.
But of course, the BIGGEST, LOUDEST and MOST WELCOME welcome has to go to …. Our new fellow editor ….
We’re really thrilled to have her on board. She has been such a valued contributor for many years, and now her quality shines out from an editorial perspective.
We Three Saints
Come on lads put on your shirts,
paint stripes upon your face,
its Saturday and we are off to that very special place,
St. Marys is the name and Football is the game,
where the boys in red and white seek the glory and the fame.
The Arena by the ocean draws us to its core,
ninety minutes of excitement,
win, lose or draw,
floodlights in the distance kick off not far away,
questions all unanswered will we win today,
the fans all stand and have a drink at Le Tiss’ feet,
and we pace forward with some purpose down the red and white filled street.
We are at our place of worship and we are loyal and we are true,
and we don’t like any other teams especially those in blue!
through the gate and up the steps,
we observe the hallowed turf,
Niemi, Beattie, Phillips its time to prove your worth.
Heart is beating faster,
tension starts to build,
as our heroes emerge from the tunnel and walk onto the field,
hold on to your hats my boys the actions on its way,
90 minutes of drama on the menu here today.
Ooh’s and Ah’s, anxiety, emotions they run high,
please don’t let the others score,
you’ll see a grown man cry!
but wait a minute there he goes,
Fernandes down the right,
and Phillips he heads in the cross,
much to our delight.
Well we hold out to the whistle,
three points are in the bag,
but Saints are very modest and I resist the urge to brag,
we dissect the match when walking home in a series of replays,
but my sons these times I spend with you are truly Golden Days.
© Shaun Williams
A poem written by Shaun Williams to his two sons Tom (11) and Liam (9) Christmas 2004
Life we dream
The breeze upon our faces
on terraces and benches
with laughter and love
trust and belief
be there and console
revel in the glory
even when the fight’s done and told
Give what we can
watch them do what we cannot
jump with athletic joy
cry tears at the final whistle
whether we win or lose
pride ourselves in our players
our team, our muse.
when the needs must
see them in a pub
watch them at home
the back of a bus
on a small black and white
on the worst television of all
in a hotel lobby
or at Anfield’s bustling ball
Thrill at the kicks, shots, passes and runs
sit upon the terraces and benches
the breeze of history upon our faces
teaches us so much of life
of what we’ve seen
other than the life we own
of the life we dream
of the life we dream
© Brigante 23/8/05
We`re Rubbish And We Know It
WHO cares about winners medals, TVspots and glory?
WHO cares about trophys, spoiled kids and stories?
WHO cares about millions, golden watches and honours?
WHO cares about the devils, the blues or the gunners?
OUR cupfinal is a lower division bottomclash, year after year,
OUR cupfinal is standing together staring at our worst fear,
OUR cupfinal is heartattacks when everything is over the top
OUR cupfinal is a late goal somewhere else meaning: We stay up
OH YEAH, In my weirdest wildest dreams, we win the triple in style
OH YEAH, for a taste of the league I`d walk the world and a mile
OH YEAH, sure I`m jealous and I`d love to go to Europe and shout
but maybe hard work without millions is what football is really about?
© Flemming McLind
Dedicated to my favourite club, Aarhus Fremad, playing in the Danish 2nd division.
I had a hard time translating it, but I hope the outcome is all right?
And I hope some British and Irish supporters can recognize the feelings in it.
To Michael Owen
Owen, we want to ask you
What will you do in Bernabeu?
Less chance of playing by Luxemburgo
We think better for you to go
With Rooney as your pair
England duet would be fair
Behind you two, we have Gerrard
Owen, sometimes life is hard
With Beckham by the right
Figo has then out of sight
With Raul and Robinho
Owen, less chance, do you know?
Owen, where was your school?
Will you consider Liverpool?
We’ll watch you with relish
Along the line up with the spanish
Owen, think of the future
Seasons lead you to be mature
We want to see you in Germany
But then before, you must play many
Owen, you are no longer cute
You should not be a substitute
In other club you’ll get more chance
We need you both to beat the France
With the offers still going
You should consider of moving
But then you know the best
Owen, maybe you think it’s test
With every minutes goes, bitter
In second half you’ll join later
As substitute, you’ll save the team
Owen, is it really your dream?
© Yodi Iwan Aug 22 2005