A Welcome in April
In April 2008, we welcomed the following new contributors to this site :
Hannah Brown
Peter Daniel
Nicky Kelly
Nick Buckle
Robbie Barrett
Steve Hill
Anthony Hofler
Click on the names above to see that person’s poem(s), or browse some selected first efforts below :
Looking for a Knockdown
I`ve been looking for a knockdown
Since 1966
A shimmy or a nutmeg
In me little bag of tricks.
I`ve curled it
And I`ve chipped it, but
I can`t turn on the flame,
My final third is dismal
There`s a much more pressing game.
© steve hill 5/4/2008
My interest in football was , like many, galvanised by the build-up to the World Cup. First match: Wolves 1 Crystal Palace 1. Davey Burnside equalising in the second half. What useful stuff we remember…for we are blokes.
Roots
I feel like a pensioner
now the pensioners have all gone.
Shut my eyes and travel back
to the roads I once walked on.
Led like a giant python
by old bill holding hands.
The smell of burning onions
pumping out of burger vans.
To where a corrugated iron temple
rising above the mere spectator.
Clunk through the under sixteens
to the sound of Liquidator.
Take my seat in what was the benches
but is now all plastic and chrome.
And as the ref blows for kick off
it still feels good to be at home.
© nick.buckle.2008
LIBERTÉ, EGALITÉ, JULES RIMET.
Soccer’s like a baroque poem
of players you have a gem
of a rose, for the rest
you sort out a petal best
the linear, dewy morn
than after a long, dry, circling
time, by the rootstock shaking
(oh the athletics of the thorn!) ,
unless a rumble of war
red or whatever flags
bawdy or moral tags
darken the lucky star.
© nicky kelly
Behind The Ball
Analysts of football matches often say that all
The men in the defending team have “got behind the ball.”
Am I right to think this is as daft as it could be?
To show you why I do, I offer an analogy:
If you walk towards a door and there is someone in your way,
Is he behind you, or in front of you? Now, which would you say?
It would be very puzzling if you said ‘Behind,’
So surely it can not be thought that I am being unkind
In believing that the commentators are not talking sense
When saying the same thing about a football team’s defence.
I’m going to my garden now. I’m going to prune a tree.
The saw is stored inside my shed; the door’s in front of me!
© Anthony Hofler 2008
A Life or Death Situation
2-2 is the score
5 minutes to go.
Both teams are lagging
Wet and cold in the snow.
Why not call off this game
I hear you say.
Why it’s a crucial game to the season
Whatever anyone might say.
At 89 minutes
My fellow striker scores!
Oh what a great relief
Team spirit returns, and more.
The final whistle
Oh at long last!
A win for us this time
They will want to forget, this game put in the past.
© hannah brown
C’mon ‘Pool
Moaning Wenger
And the library from Highbury
Sons of Shankly send ’em home.
© Robbie Barrett
Kop will be in full voice for this one, bouncing in row 306
Liverpool 3 arsenal 1
Torres 2 Gerrard 1 – arsenal 1 (pen)
Crossing the White Line
Tull could see that the Germans had broken through,
So in retreat he led his frightened men,
Who realised their chances now were few,
Of getting back to their own lines again.
As shells and bullets screamed their mean intent,
Walter’s life seemed to flash before his eyes,
A grand drama began in Folkestone Kent,
Takes one more final curtain here and dies.
As lines of bullets zipped above his head,
He hoped and prayed that they would pass him by,
But from amongst that deadly shower of lead,
A shot struck him and passed out near his eye.
As the thunder of the guns died in dark,
He felt his mind begin to drift away,
To a painful time which had left its mark,
His father’s death, a sad and tragic day.
He saw his arms around his brother wound,
On a cold, wintry scene from long ago,
As father’s coffin slid beneath the ground,
To Bethnal Green they knew they had to go.
And then himself a boy at Bonner Road,
Dressed in the colours of their football team,
His reddened eyes, the signs of tears they showed,
As Glasgow bound his brother left the scene.
Once more he held Clapton’s Amateur cup,
Their six goal win had been his final game,
For the grand sum of ten pounds he’d signed up,
For mighty Spurs in search of football fame.
South America in nineteen hundred and nine, (1909)
Helped him gain the respect of all at Spurs,
Prepared him to cross over the white line,
To face up to every challenge that occurs.
‘THE FIRST BLACK PLAYER SINCE ARTHUR WHARTON,’
‘TULL’S PASSING SKILLS PLAY SUCH A CRUCIAL ROLE.’
Some headlines praised but some would report on,
His Spurs games using names like ‘Darkie’ Tull.
When it all went wrong down at Bristol City,
Where the crowd screamed out their names of racial hate,
He’d needed Spurs support, not their pity,
But what they did was hard to contemplate.
Instead of helping him when he was down,
They’d made him leave and join a smaller club,
A lower league side called Northampton Town,
From Spurs this seemed like such an awful snub.
It’d felt like that first day at Bonner Road,
But boss Chapman had loved him like a son,
And through his skill upon the pitch he showed,
That those thugs who’d abused him had not won.
Rangers had just offered a bright future,
When he’d opted to ‘PLAY THE GREATER GAME.’
War put football in a different picture,
Playing on would have only offered shame.
He’d signed up as a Footy Volunteer
And joined the likes of Vivian Woodward,
He’d wanted to prove that he had no fear,
Of fighting as an English soldier should.
The Somme he’d somehow managed to survive,
As his mates fell one after another.
Shell shocked and so lucky to be alive.
He’d been sent to England to recover.
He’d been a Sergeant, one of the lads, when
Returned to France he’d found that they’d all gone,
He’d felt just like an orphan once again,
But still did his duty and soldiered on.
What his orders told him broke every rule,
‘TULL TO REPORT TO GLASGOW O.T.C.’
‘Back then the Army’s rules said in battle’
Black officers should surely never be.
As the first Black Briton to lead in war,
He’d made history fighting in Italy.
Why he’d won no medal he wasn’t sure,
As he’d once been listed for an M.C.
Now here he was in France about to die,
Returned back to the Somme to meet his fate,
A pale gold ball above him in the sky,
Perhaps they played the game at heaven’s gate.
Just at the moment Tull, our hero, died,
The sun’s bright rays broke through the gloom to shine,
As Private Billingham knelt down and cried,
Walter crossed that white line one final time.
In Memoriam
Now I am a soldier with no known grave,
I was orphan, footballer, soldier…
-The first Black combat officer,
Dear Eddie, do they still remember me?
Walter, your name will live for evermore.
© Peter Daniel February 2008
This poem was written as part of a Heritage Lottery project run by Westminster Archives to celebrate the life of Walter Tull. Tull was orphaned at the age of 10 but became a pioneering black footballer with Spurs before becoming Britian’s first black combat officer in 1917. He was sadly killed at the Somme on 25th March 1918. On the 90th anniversary of this remarkable man’s death we acknowlege a truly great Briton.
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
John Gilbert Ellis
28th November 2024
joe morris
26th November 2024
Denys E. W. Jones
26th November 2024
Gacina Bozidar
26th November 2024
Wynn Wheldon
26th November 2024
joe morris
17th November 2024
Crispin Thomas
17th November 2024
kevin halls
10th November 2024
joe morris
10th November 2024
Clik The Mouse
10th November 2024
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
27th November 2024 at 5:55 am
‘You’re Supposed To Be At Home’ is an excellent and moving poem Denys.
You start off thinking it’s just about another oft-sung chant, one we personally heard a lot last season throughout our second relegation in a row here at Forest Green(FGR) ! I always love poems where you think they are saying one thing and then they suddenly pull you deeper to somewhere or something else else.
I’m currently helping in a local school for FGR in a voluntary capacity using football to help young students with reading. At an upcoming session we will tackle racism, just like we did in workshops at football schools and grounds when we first started this site 24 years ago. I’m gonna try and weave your poem into a session.
We’ve added it to the Anti- Racism/Kick It Out section under Crispin’s Corner.
Best C
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26th November 2024 at 1:59 pm
Great poem and great to see you back Wyn.
Don’t leave it so long next time my friend!
More please.
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13th September 2024 at 6:14 pm
Welcome to Football Poets Beth
Great evocative poem Beth….
More please !
Haiku always welcome.
Hope we (FGR) get to play you again soon
Best
Crispin
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26th July 2024 at 6:25 pm
Great poem Mike Bartram. Eddie was a legend, affectionately known in Liverpool as, “the first hooligan.” Even the hoolies were well dressed in those days. The amazing thing was he was only 26 when that picture was taken. He’d played for Everton youth team and was well known to the players. He never got arrested. They threw him out and he climbed back in, just in time for Derek Temples winner.
I used the picture of him being tackled to the ground on the front cover of my book, “Once Upon a rhyme in Football.” It’s worth looking on youtube and finding the re-enactment of the Wembley scene. Frank Skinner and Baddiel went around to Eddies home in the 1990’s and acted it out on the green outside. It’s hilarious, especially all the effort they put in to get Eddie sober enough to shoot the scene.
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10th July 2024 at 6:07 pm
Hi Crispin,
I don’t know if you’ve see the picture in social media today…
a picture of a teenage Lionel Messi cradling a baby in Africa as part of a photoshoot…. the family had won a lottery to have their baby pictured with him….
the photographer has just revealed that the baby is actually in fact Lamine Yamal!!!!
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26th May 2024 at 2:30 pm
Hi Denys…
Re Man City:
OK it was 20 years ago but Criag Wilson did write this and a few others on them back in 04/05.
BTW I’m more Forest Green Rover since 2014 (and Chelsea) these days . I drum and am a standing season ticket holder .
Best
Crispin
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29th April 2024 at 2:47 pm
Hi Denys,
Yes Richard Williams you’re a brilliant wordsmith, my friend. When I first saw your football poetry I thought it was the superb Guardian sports and music writer. I once had the honour of sitting next to Richard Williams while at the Independent on the sports desk. He writes about music and sport with immense knowledge and authority. I’ve read a couple of Richard’s books recently. Great writer rather like you Richard Williams the Pompey fan. Congratulations on promotion.
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28th April 2024 at 5:59 pm
Thanks Denys. Yes your replay poem was superb.
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26th April 2024 at 4:46 pm
Nice work, Joe. You were quick off the mark with that! Good one from Richard Williams too I see.
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25th April 2024 at 7:33 pm
Hi Denys,
Thanks mate. I’ll do it now.
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