Poems tagged ‘3 Lions’

The San Marino rout

England under Gareth, a formidable force
Once again, San Marino crushed like
A bulldozer, Monday evenings
Of cruelty, destruction and carnage
It could have been far more but
Oh for the suffering of humble
Little men in red and yellow
Pitiful rag dolls crumpled under
The weight of England’s stampeding
Feet, fleet of feet, nimble toes
Delicacy personified
10-0, a festival of mathematics
Wild and wanton goals
By the second, minute
Interminably, Citizen Kane
In goal scoring command
Even Tyrone Mings amid
The confetti of goal after
Goal, festooned all over
The history books, records
Broken, like smashed Greek
England poised for
Another World Cup destiny
The intervention of fate
May well dictate England’s
Form in the deserts of Qatar
But Saka, Abraham, Bellingham
In the first flush of youth
Will offer heart and soul
The full thrust of their gifts
Upon grandiose stages
In the depths of Saudi
Mid winter when Christmas
Hymnal churches
Pour rhapsodies of religion
Into the warm embrace of
Our hearts, Come on
Gareth, with or without
Waistcoats, a malt whisky
Or mulled wine
When turkeys and families
Unite the global themes
So in England we must trust
That Albania and San Marino
Were like feathers in the wind
Blown away, like the mercurial
Speed of Sancho, who, given
Half the chance will demolish
The great and good, Italy
Because they could be temperamental,
Germany because they can only
Be so thorough and without flaw
Yes San Marino, Of course
It was a stroll in your park
But Brazil and Argentina
Your heritage and swagger
Are ready to fall when
Gareth Southgate’s men
May just, but surely call.

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Football Coming Home, Hopefully

It surely will but maybe not
That same anthem ringing
In congested heads, rationalising
The whys, wherefores, mysteries
Of the universe.
Football could be coming home
But that’s a definite as opposed to
Could be. The web of possibilities
The probables that have spun around
In our head for 55 years when
We were barely conscious of life’s
Elegant tapestry, then it was there
At the summit of our hopes
The certainties misted over in
Our questioning minds,
But then suddenly it could just
Be ours, our heirloom for generations
To follow the dowry left behind by the
Aristocrats who were convinced
We could survey our manor
Our domain, chests puffed out
Football was our beef, lamb and
Sunday carvery, the apotheosis of
Saturday afternoons, the height of it all when rattles
Sent us into raptures of lyricism
Then terraces burst into life
Choirs of song, idolatry
The players who were our
Portraits, oils and watercolours
But England was ours to contemplate
Tonight from every village, pub and dining room
Where those learned discussions of Ramsey, Revie
Greenwood, Robson, Taylor were like mirrors and
Reflections on our past, the scene of what might
Have been rather than was
Oh for those moments
Of nail biting intensity
Then blown out of the
Water because of possible
Pre-occupations elsewhere
But we’ll be there, in body and soul,
Veins and arteries in perfect harmony,
Thinking of Sundays when we stopped
Stillness across the land, silence residing
In our heart, on the antimacassar from
Our sofas, from way back when
1966 was the centre of the universe
No need for black and white images
That once lit up theatricality, Coca Cola
London, Mary Quant, a culinary feast
Of swinging London, anything seemed
Within our clutches.
But 2020 or 2021, devout and sincere
Re- write the melancholy script
Gareth Southgate, let us please
Seize the day, carpe diem
Iconic, unique, it’s been far too
Long. wandering along with a
Defiant whistle, defeatist and
Regretful but not this time
We have to win
It’s in the stars, planets
And constellations
Another ambrosial victory
As Germany found to their cost
Let’s drop our coins into the
Trevi fountains of today
Stand proudly above
The thunderous roar
Of the Colosseum when
Romans challenged again
And again.
Football maybe coming home
Let’s hope and then it came to
Pass and pass and pass,
Triumphantly for this evening
When England called.

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WC2018 Day 5


stealing yards
and stealing points
does not a criminal make
but it does put a brake
on dashed dreams

it seems
we were just minutes
from another embarrassment
but all thanks to Harry Kane
who deftly heads away the pain

but first
he had to withstand the grappling
with Tunisian wrestlers
yet neither ref nor VAR discerning
which was ominously concerning

~ # ~


“Pardon Mrs Arden, dog’s in the garden….”
and so was I, most of the weekend
so I only gained glimpses of the gala
to which I add something penned

but I was committed, to pulling weeds
a lá Southgate (Wilshere, Shelvey, Smalling)
landscaping, grooming and
(like Monty Don’s calling)
clearing out a corner (Godin, Gimenez… and hopefully Stones)

and that playful opening line above?
was me reminiscing back to days of yore….
given the date (Father’s Day)
for that was Dad’s favourite ditty
(every time he’d burp or fart)
but as far as I can recollect
it was the only part
he played in my poetic backcloth

but howandever, we’ll reconnect tonight
by phone across the Irish Sea
after (we hope)
a 3 Lions victory

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Source: https://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/3-lions/