A Welcome in November
In November 2008, we welcomed the following new contributors to this site :
Paul Hunter
Anthony Emmerson
John Hodgeon
Ben Craig
A welcome to all our contributors from Gloucester school in Germany :
click here to see all their poems
Tom Atkins
Emily Attenborough
Talitha Brown
Jake Fleetwood
Bryan Gibson
Jack Greenwood
Jade Heard
Natalia Liddell
Yasmin Leigh Hough
Nicholas Martin
Darren Hicks
Kaleigh McLauchlan
Billie Millar
Curtis Murray
Brendan Powney
Brodie Ronaldson
Amy Sewell
Bai Turagabeci
Click on the names above to see that person’s poem(s), or browse some selected first efforts below :
Idol
Not much rain that month they say
May of nineteen forty six;
the ache of war, still in the bones,
where Cregagh boys kicked tries
down at Malone and dodged the sixes
from the next-door cricket pitch.
Wednesday the twenty-second
an ordinary Belfast day,
but some alignment of the spheres,
some sorcery, conspiracy of Gods,
some fate; a child was born
a boy, blue eyed, dark haired
different from the rest,
and soon this world would come to worship,
to call him great, “the one”, the best.
A slight kid, “too small, too light” they said,
to kick a ball for our Glentoran,
as they watched him claim the greens round Burren Way.
But a Bishop’s wise eyes
watched, and saw the spark of a messiah,
a message arrowed down the wires to rainy Manchester:
“I think I’ve found you a genius.”
Your fate was sealed that day.
At just fifteen uprooted from the green of Ireland
Busby’s newest babe.
In red they led you down the Warwick Road,
where Munich’s ghosts still strode and whispered in the stands. Perhaps they never knew back then,
of magic in your feet, the future held in those two hands.
Two years you waited,
training every day,
and scrubbing the muddy boots of legendary men;
until at seventeen
your dream came true named on the sheet,
a number on a shirt,
they let you out
to play.
How did it feel, that walk out of the darkness,
trembling in that deafening wall of sound?
A wide-eyed kid, still damp behind the ears,
let loose to run with giants;
the chance to walk on hallowed ground?
Did you see that day, the world waiting at your feet?
That every ragged kid on every street
would take your name?
The shimmy through the papers, from the back page
to the front – a beautiful face
for the beautiful game.
Did you start to feel that devil’s trident pricking at your heart,
the flashbulb lightning storm of words, the demons,
slowly picking you apart?
Yet in those golden scarlet years,
was no other God but you,
no other game, no other team.
And from the Streford End the faithful sang your name,
while you played out
their every dream.
The clubs, the clothes, the cars, the girls,
the champagne-comet trail you blazed.
While we just watched;
glazed-eyed in the glory of of a supernova superstar.
“Those were the days”, your days, and ours.
Your face upon a million walls,
while your feet danced through defences like Irish mist,
to tunes no one else could hear.
Each passing year we polish up the memories;
The big men cried the day they laid to your rest.
For their brilliant, blue-eyed Belfast boy,
their youth,
their dreams,
their Best.
© Anthony Emmerson
Boro Fan
My friend John’s
a Boro fan,
supports the Boro
rain or shine,
win or lose.
He says
someone has to.
It’s how you tell
a real supporter.
He’ll be there, will John,
fair games, fouls,
good days, bad ones.
He says
someone has to.
Every season
these new signings
with wages bigger
than anyone dreamed of
when John was a boy,
they don’t suffer.
He says
someone has to.
Most of them leave,
they get injured, they don’t
come back from holidays,
their wives complain,
it’s too cold, boring,
they catch the plane, John knows
most of them don’t last.
He says
someone has to.
John agrees with them,
it’s cold and boring.
They’re right, not wrong,
they don’t belong,
don’t know the song,
haven’t put the years in
on the terraces
the thick and thin years.
He says
someone has to.
It’s John. He has to.
It’s a job for life
being a Boro fan.
He tells me again,
he says
someone has to.
© Gordon Hodgeon 14/11/2008
I wrote this for my friend John, who is indeed a Boro fan. He says every word is true.
One Day.
One day, I tell myself,
One day.
The Black and white ribbons
will flutter aloft.
Attatched to some iconic silverware.
In some far distant stadium.
In London or elsewhere.
One day, I tell myself,
One day.
How many will come close,
to soaking up the noise,
as glistening in the sun
or lights,
or pouring rain.
One day I tell myself.
One day.
© Paul Hunter
The life and times of a Newcastle fan.
Liverpool Rule
Liverpool rule, winning the game,
We don’t submit even when it’s shame,
Red is the colour even though sometimes grey blue and yellow,
Cause all of our chaps are brave strong Anfield fellas.
When the whistle blows
The crowd always cheer,
They are the fans that we hold so dear.
When the ball
Hits the net,
It’s usually our scorers
Who are winning that bet.
Champions League is the game we love the most,
It’s much better than all the rest,
We easily pass the group challenge test,
and head to the finals,
Go Liverpool you are the best .
We like to write poetry in our spare time,
Our manager likes it done with Spanish twang,
Please don’t tell our wags that we can be clever,
As they are away at the minute
Spending on the never never!
This is the end of my Liverpool ditty,
I hope you found it really quite wiity,
We are not a serious bunch,
And maybe you could
Come round for lunch.
© BENJAMIN CRAIG
CAUSE SOMEONE WITH THE SAME NAME AS ME WROTE ABOUT FOOTBALL POEMS AND I THOUGHT I COULD DO THAT TOO,
I AM EIGHT YEARS OLD
Editor
One of our youngest and always welcome!
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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