A Welcome in August
In August 2007, we welcomed the following new contributors to this site (surprisingly few, given the advent of a new season 🙁
Brychan Humphries 8 yr old brother of Non Humphries – what a talented family!
Debra Humphries – and Mum joins in the act too!
Neil Rockley
From Manchester Grammar Public School, we welcome :
A blast from the past – a welcome return to
Chris Boothby , whose tactics to date appear to be to post up a season opener only!
Click on the names above to see that person’s poem(s), or browse some selected first efforts below :
Non’s keeper patch
In my garden I have found
a big brown circle on the ground.
Don’t tell my mum or she will scream,
she thinks the garden’s only green.
If she knew, she’d stand and stare,
and wonder how the patch got there.
My sister, Non, is to blame,
That’s where she practises the beautiful game.
Penalties and corners for hours on end,
if Mum sees the patch, she’ll go round the bend.
© brychan humphries
I am 8. Mum knows about the patch in the garden. My sister, Non, once dived into the wall – but she did save!
Arsenal Everything
They wake up in their arsenal beds,
and walk accross the arsenal floor.
They open the arsenal curtains,
and exit by the arsenal door.
The two Arsenal kids at the table,
eating breakfast off their arsenal plates.
Run off to put their arsenal kits on.
Before playing with their arsenal mates.
Back home to watch arsenal on the telly,
they have a great arsenal time.
while I am in the garden,
hanging arsenal on the line.
They sit at the table now.
I ask “kids, what are you doing”
They look up at me and smile
“we’re writng an arsenal poem”
© debra humphries
i’m not a poet and i know it! my kids made me do this.
If
If you can reach a header when all about you are missing theirs and blaming you
If you can shoot yourself instead of passing but make allowances for the rebound too
If you can run when you are tired of running
Or being talked about but don’t talk about others
Or being taunted but don’t give way to taunting
and yet don’t look too smart or talk too much
If you can dream of glory and not make glory your master
If you can think and not let thoughts affect your aim
If you can see triumph and not disaster
and treat home games and away games just the same
If you can bear to hear results you have dreaded
Twisted by strikers that beat an off side trap for fools
Or watch your goalie beaten and stoop and build him up with worn out boots
If you can make one cross connection and all free kicks count
If you are losing and can come back and win it
and never doubt that you would win it
If you can play from your heart keep your nerve you’ll win now
To swerve and turn your man sees you are gone
And hold up play when no ones with you
except the will to just hang on
If you can please the crowds and keep your shirt on
or win each game with just a touch
if neither foe’s or friends can hurt you
if all the team can count on you, not one but all
If you can play for 90 minutes with both halves filled with skill
yours is the premiership and all that’s with it
and which is more you’ll be a man of the match my son
Inspired by a poem by Rudyard Kipling
© neil rockley
I wrote this poem when Bradford city entered the premiership
Football Passion
Recalling the brightest sunny days
Of April, after the close of haze
Of Winter leading gorgeous months of Spring,
Leaving melodies of jingle ring,
When I was at High School!!
Day passed away in reading books,
Imagining her in clear brooks,
Of ideas, of love and fear,
How would her departure this soul bear?
When I was at High School!
Oh could not forget Football hours,
When I played in ground, she poured,
Drops of support from her deeps eyes,
I always won in hue and cry!
When I was at High School!
She loved football, she love the game,
Her passion gave me highest fame,
Winning her hand was but my aim,
Winning football was winning the Dame!
May she live long and watch the world,
The rising contests and flags unfurled.
The World Cup, Peelo, Zedan,
All new old and new thrilling men,
When I was at High School!!!
© mujtaba haider zaidi
Haiku : It’s tough being a Spurs fan
Frustration again
Two games in and hope departs
Reality bites !
© Chris Boothby
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
3rd February 2023
Gacina Bozidar
3rd February 2023
joe morris
3rd February 2023
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
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!
See in context
16th November 2022 at 11:04 am
[Football on soiled turf]
This is a wonderful phrase which I shall be using from now on!
See in context
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.
See in context
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
See in context
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!
See in context
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.
See in context
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.
See in context
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.
See in context
4th September 2022 at 12:37 pm
see above
See in context
18th August 2022 at 10:20 am
To put it politely!
See in context