A Welcome in October

In October 2007, we welcomed the following new contributors to this site : (see below).

We also welcomed the publication of ‘Inner Goal’ – Crispin’s own collection of football poems.

..the poetry of football a journey in rhyme
by Crispin Thomas

His first collection of football poems published on October 15th !

“Poems in the street, in the ground and in the heart…
….poetry with balls!” Michael Foreman
Book Launch – Gig & Signing
Poetry In Motion- Exhibition Gig with Crispin
@National Football Museum,
Deepdale Preston.Oct 25th 11am &1pm-Free.
Exhibition runs :Sept 29-Jan 2008 .Admission Free!

I’m sure Crispin would appreciate your support in spreading the word.

New contributors this month :

Emmanuel Soyombo
David Hulme
Akshay Basavaraj
Dale Boughey
Joe Tracy
Brian Robert Neal
Simon Parr

Also a welcome to the world to Luke O’Keefe (click here) , – poor young fella : condemned to life as a City fan – up the Ramblers! ūüėČ

From Queens Park Primary School in Reading, we welcome :

Heather Montieth
Jin Abdalo
Youcef Bennadja

Click on the names above to see that person’s poem(s), or browse some selected first efforts below :

‘and You Have to Say That’s Magnificent…!!’

I’ll never forget
When Maradona punched the ball into our net, for the first,
The ‘Hand of God’ he reckoned
But I think if God had got involved at all
It was with the second.

© Simon Parr 05/10/07
I was watching this video the other day. Twenty odd years ago & it’s still in my opinion the Greatest goal ever. Mind you, he did only have to beat Terry Fenwick.

Glory United

The multi-headed monster roars
As Hughes the hero turns and scores
The winning goal

And kneels upon the blessed grass
In praise of that delightful pass
And goal.

Connect! And see the opposition die
Beneath a cloudless London sky.

‚ÄúIn comes Giggs ‚Äď he crosses, oh,
And Hughes is there….
A goal! A goal!‚ÄĚ

And one United mega-soul
Soars up in one delirious whole
Above the steel and concrete bowl
Of Wembley.

As forty thousand hearts unite
Within this furnace of delight,
Whose cantilevered cliffs deflect
And echo, bend and then reflect
The sound of this, a human ocean,
Swept by currents of emotion,
Hold up the Cup
And up and up

And in the glinting silver’s gleam
Reflect the glory of a team
Who forged their skills in winter mud
In shirts the red of Flanders blood.

With northern grace on southern grass
(The ballet of the working class)
The Reds reclaim a golden age
Upon this hallowed London stage.

© David Hulme, April 25, 1995
This was written in the mid-90’s and is not based on an actual game but refers to an FA Cup Final that I hoped Man U would figure in. They didn’t. But hey – who cares, given the glory to follow later that decade. Mark Hughes and Ryan Giggs are still making their mark on the beautiful game – amazing! The new Wembley was just a fevered gleam in the eye of some FA apparatchik. (This poem has never been published anywhere, by the way, so I hope you enjoy it.)

My Finest Football Moment

My finest football moment
Still warms my heart today
I scored a total screamer
I heard the opposition say

Was I nine or ten or older
Those facts I can’t recall
But I still can feel that moment
When I volleyed that football

It soared across the acres
My eyes can still see yet
The keeper barely moving
As it sailed into the net

A shot from such a distance
I saw, this truth is pure,
To that distant low horizon
and the earth’s curvature

I left the field to handshakes
They were amazed at what I’d one
But still it made no difference
We lost the game, 9-1

© J Tracy 9 Oct 2007
A true story, unfortunately. I scored from 30-odd yards as a nipper, and in my mind’s eye I’m sure I can still see the earth curving away as I was so far out when I shot. And we did lose 9-1. My school team was rubbish.

Viva Bra-sil
I remember, when I was nearly 10,
& Dad back then,
drove a Ford Cortina
and we were @ War with Argentina
and the whole country needed cheering up.
It was just as well it was time for a world Cup.
Which eventually went to the Paulo Rossi posse,
who no doubt celebrated by raucously singing,’ Viva Espana’
whilst probably downing loads of Cianti & plates of lasagne.
But in ’82 it was Brazil who made me see
how beautiful a thing that football could be.

I remember the game against Scotland, a team that were keen to follow their dream & make their mark.
They obviously hadn’t seen the Brazillian spaceship in the carpark.
And the ‘tartan army’ were dreamlng, the whole place must have gone up like a sauna,
when David Neary sent a screamer into the top corner,
one nil.
But Brazil didn’t find it remotely scarey, it just seemed to mildly irritate them a little bit.

And so they rallied & very soon one-nil became 4-1
Scotland were like the moon usurped by the sun.
They couldn’t take anymore,
they were on the floor.
This was surely the football that God might play,
on the eighth day,
Scotland were just blown away
with no dribble too flirtatious,
no free kick too audacious
from the likes of Zico, Eder and Socrates (the commander-in-chief). They started a hurricane as the World shook their heads in total disbelief.

© Simon Parr 02/10/07

They’d caused me my first childhood crush. I couldn’t wait to rush into school to show them all the things that it was possible to do with a football.

And I’m sure you know, eventually Brazil succumbed to Paulo Rossi’s wheels of industry.

Science overcame art.
Italy won the cup
But Brazil won my heart.

How I became a kopite

I can never forget the day I first saw LFC play
I don’t know the date but it was on a Sunday
At that time I didn’t know much about football like I do today
At half time LFC were a goal down
On Houllier’s face I could see a frown
Then came a kid who was the talk of the town

He stepped in and changed the course of the match
Scoring two goals in six minutes making it tough for Seaman to catch
I learnt from him that day that LFC don’t give up without a fight
That’s what they’ve been doing for over a 100 years day and night
That itself convinced me enough to be a Kopite!

© Akshay Basavaraj

The Supporter

It’s Saturday afternoon
and were off to the Molineux
to see our favourite footy team
who wear the gold and black

Their name is Wolves F.C
they are the best you’ll see
they play with pride and spirit
untill the final minute

Our leader is Mick McCarthy
of the Wolves barmy army
he shouts directions from the touchline
to guide us to the premiership in no time

When we win the match
by 1,2,3 or even more
we celebrate with glory
and the days ends with a great story.

© D@le!

great gunners

the gunners are great,
they’re the best,
i can see premier league medals, hanging down their chests
if you don’t like how they play, then you don’t like the game
without the gunners in the world, footy wouldn’t be the same.

© emmanuel soyombo 31/10/07

Source: https://footballpoets.org/news/2007/11/01/a-welcome-in-october/