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Poems tagged ‘England’

England & Netherlands Win E24#3

in the late late show
Poland shine but just fall short
Oranje wall stands firm

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Eriksen strikes first
Danes hed by Slovenia
stalemate helps us loads

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

difficult again
Bellingham the diff’rence here
one goal is enough

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Farewell Europe, England

And so English football
Bids farewell to Europe
Apart from Villa of course
It was nice to know you
For a season or quite
A few, it was a blast
Firstly West Ham
Toppled by the German
Infantry and cavalry
Bayern Leverkusen
Class told
We knew it would be
This way
Overwhelmed by Bundesliga
Champions
Still washed by
Gallons of champagne
The end of the adventure
For West Ham
An odyssey into European
Terrain, a fantasy land
That held us in thrall
But it was good to be there
Involved in the heat
Of it all
Fraternising with Germany’s
Finest, in a league of their
Own, alone, just dominant
No answer West Ham
Baffled and bewitched
In Bavaria
And then last Thursday
Just given their
Marching orders
Never mind claret and blue
Bravery shines through
At the London Stadium
But not enough
On the night
Heroism a tune to hum
For many a year
Seasons in the Sun
No, that’s a song
But a good one
From way back when
Still, Euro trophy
To flaunt in our dreams
And peripheral visions
Before shimmering through
The blinds and velvet curtains
And then surely that
First crack of dawn
We witnessed the
Glorious sunshine in
Prague, you were all
Peerless, happy Hammers
Thanks for those gold,
Silver and bronze nights
Where trophies were brandished
Like swords of honour
Never forgotten
Then there was Liverpool
And Manchester City
Feasting at the top table
Of Europe
Driven out of the Champions
League and Europa League,
The biggest and glamorous
But for the last three seasons
The Irons from the East End
Were also at the anvil
The sharp end of European
Conflict, never to be
Discounted, just as good
Liverpool, though, Jurgen’s band
Of merry men
Also leave the European party
Italian fashion role models
Atalantata, cleverly pacing
Themselves and sealing
The deal
But Liverpool have seen it
All before
Shanks, Bob Paisley,
Kevin Keegan, Tommy Smith,
Terry Mac,
In ironically Rome
1977 when the European Cup
Was sampled and claimed
Italy simply the hosts
That memorable night
Rome was never built in a day
And yet Liverpool established
Their right to win in Europe
Sadly though Liverpool are out of
Their favourite geographical
Hot spots
Manchester City
It’s all been said
Treble winners
Last time out
But now the mighty
Gladiators of
European football
Real Madrid
Hold their shields
Scintillating as usual
Football’s headmasters
Kings of Europe
How many times?
Would somebody pass
An abacus, please?
Just swagger into
the semis,
Champions League that is
England’s finest ambassador
Jude Bellingham
At least representing
This fine island
In a Champions League final
It could happen
His moment to shine
At the highest seat of
European power
And yet there was one glinting
Shaft of light in the darkness
Aston Villa still in
European backwaters
Bobbing buoyantly
In the shallow end
Where their fellow claret
And blue warriors were
For West Ham now read
Villa, inching closer
To their first Euro
Trophy since the bearded
Peter Withe
Grabbed the winner
For Villa
42 years ago
Better late than never
European Champions
Incredible but true
Yes, Villa wearing the
Ultimate crown
And now Unai Emery
Back on the claret and blue
Road to the land
Of Euro conference glory
Glory days
And yet for West Ham,
Here’s your
Passport back home
Stamp or scan that document
Go through customs
With nothing to declare
Proud as punch though
The boys did well
Pick up your cases
Gentlemen
Tangibly triumphant
Nothing to be ashamed of
Liverpool, City and West Ham
You were our appointments
With destiny
European Champions at all levels
Take a bow again

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England – Brazil

So here’s the deal
Football’s Harlem Globetrotters
Are in town over the weekend
Art and beauty
Merge as one
A splash of yellow
Across football’s
Kaleidoscope of vivid
Colours
Brazil, yes Brazil
Footballing royalty
Gracing the most
Exalted stage
The country who
Once left you spellbound
When a child of nature
Searching for a meaning
And finding fields of
Lace and silk in
Filigree finery
Brazil flaunting majestic
Purple and ermine
Cloaks of greatness
Defying similes and analogies
Metaphors and verbs
Animated adverbs
Pungent pronouns
In 1970, a sudden
Awareness of style
Serial World Cup winners
Adored by the purists
Classical exponents of the
The Beautiful Game
At its most aesthetic
Gerson, Tostao, Rivelino,
Pele surely pre-eminent
Carlos Alberto, what a goal!
Sending palpitations through
Our breathless heartbeats
Like oil paintings and
Watercolours
Degas and Matisse visiting
Sao Paolo and the
Copacabana just for a while
This was our first glimpse
Of genius incarnate
From far off Mexico
When commentators sounded
As if they were reporting
From another planet
Brazil though
Parodies of their former selves
Perhaps
In 1974, 78, and 82
Although Zico made us swoon
With delicious delight
Socrates of course the
Cerebral, thought provoking one
But now it’s Lucas Pacqueta
Live from the East End
Claret and blue imagery
Although on Saturday
Inheriting the mantle of
His wonderful predecessors
Rodri of City
Supple and subtle
As they come
Touch and vision
Inked in his soul
Naturally inventive
Always picturing in his mind
Almost instantaneously
The geography of goal, net
And post, etched in his mind
Passing to melt your heart
Foreknowledge and
Male intuition
Wit, guile and craft
Second nature
To any Brazilian
Sensing goals from
Far off districts
Postcodes and continents
But English observers
Will hug to themselves
The slinky, weaving,
Jinking and dinking
John Barnes
In the Maracana
Adopting the samba
From his opponents
For 90 minutes of
Dancing before slicing
Through Brazilian defenders
Pirouetting on fleet of feet
As if privately longing to play
For those South American
Sorcerers
Before scoring that
Heavenly goal
England against Brazil
A friendly in name
But a springtime herald
On our early morning window
Where daffodils lean across
And wave to passing humanity
A picturesque potpourri
Of football at its
Most scented and perfumed
With the loveliest of smells
The essentials of feathery
Touches and latticework of
Passing patterns
Wembley can hardly wait

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Euro 2024- the draw

On the day when
The FA Cup’s grand
Bourgeoisie found
Their station in life
The January third round
And those at the higher
End of privilege
And entitlement
Meet the earthy
Grassroots of the
Artisans and tradesmen
Of the lower Leagues
Once again Euro 2024
Hoves into view
Yesterday the draw
Paired together
Europe’s ennobled
Emperors with
Those who quite
Frankly just make
Up the numbers
It’s inferior although
Adequate against France,
Germany, Spain, England,
Facing the fishes swimming
Against the tides
That follow the rest of the
Plankton fighting for recognition
And just falling short,
Hungary, Austria and Switzerland
All worthy and well intentioned
Protagonists of this German play
But sadly overshadowed
By too many glowing shades
Of superiority
Both Hungary, Austria and Switzerland
Once World Cup notabilities
In years and decades gone by
And yet lacking upper body strength
Switzerland once hosts of the Jules
Rimet Cup
Now which skiing slope
Provided the backdrop for
That scenic contest back then?
England for their part
In the most soft focus group
Serbia, Slovenia and Denmark
It could hardly be easier
Book your advanced tickets
Before the Barmy Army
Converge in their multitudinous
Droves, descending on the finest
Of foaming steins of German beer
On paper this could be pieces of cake
But football was never about marzipan,
Battenberg or Black Forest Gateau
Now that’s appropriate
Serbia and Slovenia
Surely overcome without a hint
Of struggle but you never know
With England,
Time for perspective
Never underestimate
At your peril
But victory should
Be for Gareth Southgate’s
Battled hardened soldiers
Only Danish pastries
Could be too sticky and sweet
For discerning English palates
Denmark, never to be
Lightly dismissed
And fully paid up members
Of the football awkward squad
Entertainers for as long as
Any of us can remember
How shocked we were
When Christian Eriksen
Fell horrifically
To the ground
And Danish hearts
Skipped a beat as well
But now the Danes
Offer much more than
Blood, sweat and tears
Pass masters when the
Stars are aligned
And the moon is smiling
Radiantly over the
Bavarian mountain ranges
But now is the time
To take stock before
Fulsome festive fun
And then look ahead
To sparkling German
Football exhibitions
Next summer
Where Scotland return
To European markets
On the well upholstered
Platforms of German
Excellence
Yes Scotland you’re
Up first next summer
Against the hosts Germany
It seems brutally unfair
Since we know how unforgiving
The Germans can be
When they’re riled
And wounded by slanderous
Accusations of not being ready
Or up to the task
Let the tartan brigades
Dry clean their kilts
And tune up their melodious
Bagpipes
Forget the distant mists
Of historic Culloden
And Bannockburn
Mere blots on
The past but
Now the purest sheets
Await Scotland
In yet another Euros
Open the pages slowly
Scotland
But no pomposity from
Decades gone by
When Ally was convinced
His Tartan army
Would be world champions
In no time at all
More of the restrained
Tones and bass lines of
Willie Ormond
Modesty personified
Although just as hungry
For legendary fame
Low key but ambitious
All the same
So let’s lick our lips
Once again
At European football’s
Top table
Foie Gras followed by
The meatiest steak
Cutlery and crockery
Spick and span
The best is yet to come

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Terry Venable – The Rock The Fuse RIP

on heady days stood in the Shed
for six sweet years you were
imperious and smiling
as we tore out our hair
when I was young on Saturdays
I’d be there win our lose
and you stood firm composed and sure
in our old Sixties Blues

you played five hundred times for us
and wore the shirt with pride
with your mate Greavesie there up front
in that old Chelsea side
with Jim on fire we’d bang them in
but always seemed to be
completely un-predictable
and often all at sea

but outside that old office
all covered in ivy
inside my book of autographs
you signed your name for me
and long before the El Tel days
you were the rock the fuse
and you stood firm composed and sure
in our old Sixties Blues

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England against Malta

We watched the paint dry
Dripping with coats
Of emulsion creamy
As insipid white
England paling
Into insignificance
Awful as the
Dullest wallpaper
And to think
That over 80,000 paid
For the privilege
More of an outright imposition
If truth be told
Having teeth pulled
Agony disguised as
Unbearable purgatory
The penultimate Euro
Qualifier
England and Malta
Please never again
Horrible as sour milk
Or hard bread
The worst of all offerings
In future
We’d much prefer
An antiquated BBC
Test card from
Yesteryear
Regardless of
The dentist waiting room
Music
And the girl smiling
At the most hilarious
Game of noughts and crosses
With the green puppet
Who much preferred a game
Of chess, far simpler
Or maybe not
Football needed a cut off
Point last night
A marked line in the sand
England through to the Euros
In Germany next summer
Enough said
The Maltese Falcon
Surplus to requirements
Last night
No more recollections
Of Dom Mintoff
From many generations ago
It felt like a leisurely
Five a side kickabout
Against a backdrop
Of imposing council estate
Flats or next to the recycling
Plants next door to
Uncle Dom
Coincidentally
Wearing the white of
England but seeing red
Last night
Only 2-0 to England
How totally unsatisfactory
In Germany certainly
Inadequate, never
What the doctor might
Have ordered
Just not good enough
As Dion Dublin among
The cloisters and colleges
Of Cambridge
And mighty Manchester United
Told us last night
It almost felt as if
England were playing
In permanent first gear
Without ever releasing
The handbrake
Or just under the influence
Of far too many sleeping pills
Completely knocked out
Indulging in private, confidential
Huddles of neat, safe short passes
Why this veil of secrecy
Gareth Southgate?
This clandestine operation
Backwards, sideways and forwards
Only to regress, progress
And then a change of heart
Back to the original plan
Meaningless Wembley wanderings
In a torpid trance
Since when does football have to
Be this tentative exercise?
In 90 minutes of caution
And settling for small pickings
This was painfully slow
Slower than slow motion
Those joyous Match of the Day
Replays when John and Barry
Would analyse the game
In its finest detail
But they were purists of
The game
Impartial observers
And yet what on earth
Would they have made
Of last night’s
Dress rehearsal
For Germany
Surely not
Otherwise punishments
Will be rightly
Administered by Germany,
France, Spain,
Italy almost certainly now
There were crabs rather than
Paper planes on the pitch
Against Malta
We may have seen
Faster tortoises
England almost drained
Lifeless, withdrawn
Haggard and weather beaten
Totally indifferent
And wishing they were in the
Land of foaming lagers
And amber nectar beers
Where Teutonic efficiency
Rules the roost
No stones left unturned
For what it matters
Pepe an own goal
1-0 to England
And one magical blur
Of one two passes
Before Citizen Kane
Passes the ball home
For the second goal
Harry boy of Bayern
Munich will hope for
Yet more German ironies
In the summer of the
Euros cavalcade of
Football fun
Now here’s a warning
England
A repetition of last
Night may end
With dire consequences
A quick plane journey
Back to Blighty
No trophy, no show
And only memories
Of muddled tactics
Naivete and oh
No!
England still a work
In progress
Under construction
So much work to do

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England beat the Aussies

Oh those wombats and koalas
Kangaroos too
The great Don
Bradman, stunning
Knight of the realm
Waltzing Matilda
From way back when
And now Australia Advance Fair
We gave your boys one a hell of a beating
Oh well, maybe just a gentle reprimand
One goal always enough
But not nearly satisfactory
Against a nation
Who used to be football’s
Whipping boys
Battering rams
But still adequate
On the night
Since the Aussies
Had come prepared
Homework complete
No school detentions
Required, just lines
Completed
A friendly last night
But Australia meant it
Ready and waiting
Defensively correct
Breaking at speed
Threatening sporadically
But never the final
Thrust of the rapier
Just knocking on
England’s door
Well built attacks
Reminding you
Of jars of mustard
Suitably keen
Green and gold shirts
Hot properties
From time to time
And yet not
English mustard
Lacking fire
In their bellies
This though
Is far from being
The case
Never that accusation
Surely
Since the Aussies
Always play with hearts
Ollie Watkins
Sliding home
From close range
One goal
It’ll suffice

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Spain Triumph ~ WWC23

so near yet so far
what a tournament it’s been
Spain a class above

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WWC23~The Gold

The Gold is near
Someone will be the winner
“The Ladies don’t fear” I sing

Congratulations to the Lionesses

The Gold is near
Someone wil be the winner
The Ladies don’t fear

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Time To Bring it Home ~ WWC 23

there again at last
Lionesses on the brink
time to bring it home ~

(Australia 1-3 England)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
cagey from the start
settled in the late last show
La Roja are through

(Spain 2-1 Sweden)

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Source: https://footballpoets.org/news/poem-tags/england/