In June and July 2008, we welcomed the following new contributors to this site :
Click on the names above to see that person’s poem(s), or browse some selected first efforts below :
You found your feet in Manchester,
The goal of so many Irishmen before,
But you didin’t come to cut canals,
Or lay tracks for trundling trains,
Or dig drains on mist-chilled mornings,
Or glean the wheat in autumnal shadows –
No, you scythed through hapless defences,
Navigating your own wayward paths,
Draining statuesque men of hope
As you harvested your golden field
Now in darkness at your painful passing,
But your gyrating genius will still be seen
By a thousand terraces of tearful eyes,
And the rapturous cheers will still be heard.
© Christopher Fernie
I wrote this poem in 2006 to commemorate the first anniversary of the death of George Best. The poem appears on a postcard which is on sale exclusively at the National Football Museum, Preston. Any income from the sale of the card is divided equally between the George Best Foundation and the museum in its charitable status.
Not again – this time it’s Sven
With England, he faced the nations wrath
But at City he led them down a structured path
He inherited a club, with no vision or hope
And brought players in to give it future scope
His target was Europe, no matter which way
And they qualified, all be it from the Fair Play
This was Sven the football man
No mention of Ulrika or Faria Alam
Calm and cool, his players listened and learned
The media took notice, his reputation returned
But now he has fallen foul of a ruthless Thai
He is not happy with his performance, my question is why?
As owner he can hire and fire, it’s his decision to choose
But how are things better by trying to bring in Mark Hughes?
City fans are used to change
But a former Red Devil seems highly strange
I can’t see his name being sung to the max
It certainly would never have happened, in the old Kippax
Sven will come back from this, that we all know
His pay off will no doubt soften the blow
But in a game of such pressure and the demands so high
It’s little wonder we keep waving our managers goodbye.
© Matt Hanson
I dreamed Bill Gates had bought West Brom on his banker’s good advice.
He said, ‘Tony, if it’s cash you want, you won’t need to ask twice.’
So Mowbray got to work and with the first stroke of his pen
He signed van Nistelroy, and with the second, Arsharvin.
Then Klose, Torres, Ribery, and more and more, they came
To strut along the Brummie Road, the finest in the game.
Within a year we’d won the Premier League and FA Cup.
Next year we won the Champions League, and things were looking up.
And for a while the Baggies fans boing-boinged and were delighted,
As their team struck fear into the hearts of Chelski and United.
But other changes came along, some daft, some quite insane;
You couldn’t get a balti pie – just lobsters and champagne.
And ticket prices rose and rose – you’d question the morality.
New boxes lined the Smethwick End for corporate hospitality.
They roofed the lot so that the nobs below would not get wet,
And built a strip where Bill & Co. could land a Lear Jet.
And year by year the Baggies grew in wealth and power and fame,
So I went to watch the Wolves; the Hawthornes wasn’t quite the same.
© John Williams 22nd June 2008
This poem started with me watching Arsharvin in Euro 2008, and wondering what might happen if the Baggies could sign him. (If only…)
A Girly Football Experience
He sits and listens, watches
i jump as they scream and shout
waiting for the next pub roar
I’m hoping they wont score
it happened once before
i got picked up, swung round, and dropped on the floor.
© Lucy Marciano