Football Poets

Two Nations went to Germany

Two nations went to Germany
In search of Silverware.
Now read these lines of poetry
To see how they both fared.

The Scots played with true grit and pride,
But they could not progress.
Their fans drank lots of booze alright,
The rest we’d best forget.

The English set out with high hopes,
Their first three games were dire.
But then against Slovakia.
They really lit our fire.

Next came a match against the Swiss –
One-One, and then to Pens.
This time not one White Shirt did fluff –
They proved that they are Men.

And then we faced the Netherlands,
A match not for faint hearts.
The Dutch sure played with courage,
Got off to a fine start.

But Kane he levelled from the Spot,
And then on ninety mins,
A wonder-strike from Watkins
Sent us heading to Berlin!

As usual, there we fell behind,
But Palmer equalised.
The Spanish went ahead once more,
And claimed the glittering Prize.

Two Nations went to Germany
To win some Silverware.
Both came back empty-handed,
With Nothing to Declare.

The English reached the Final,
The gave it a good try.
But one thing should ne’er be forgot:
The Scots drank Munich dry!

15/7/24
Denys E. W. Jones

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Come on England.

Oh we’ve heard it all before
Ad infinitum
The speculation, excitement
Hype and hyperbole
It’s this year
It has to be
It’s in the stars
And destiny calls
England, European Champions
Everything is in the right place
It’s all poetically aligned
Even the Bard
Thinks we can do it
It’s England’s year
Football is definitely coming home
Let me tell you now, though
The neighbours did tell us,
As far as they’re concerned
We’re still on a Med beach
Topping up well varnished tans
And we won’t be home until
At least the next World Cup
It’s just a sad, old mantra
The record is stuck, mate
Vinyl suspended in animation
If it was coming home
Then we’d have booked the caterers
And thrown a riotous party
But England have been frozen out
Of Iceland
So time for sober reflection
It’s tournament football
That old chestnut.
Dig out those Union Jack flags
That now resemble grubby
Table cloths from 1966
We beg for perspective
We can still see Venners bit lip
From Euro 1996.
If only the Gazza lunge in front of
Goal had connected
Then Terry Venables may well
Have been jumping up and
Down in effervescent
Trafalgar Square fountains
Face painted with joy
But now we have Gareth Southgate
And if rumours persist
He may well be heading
For that salubrious North London
Suburb, for quite a while
This weekend it’s Euro 2024
Crates of lager and alcohol
Ready to explode in
Prolific beer gardens
Surely not another
False dawn
It’s 58 years now
Since Bobby and his
Beloved colleagues
Restored our belief
In football humanity
World Cup dreams do
Come true
But this weekend
We’ll all be gathered
For another crack
At the coconut shy
This time we will get
That goldfish
We can feel it in our water
Germany here we come
Fate had a quiet word
With us all
And the consensus
Said quite categorically
Yes, it’s our turn to win
The big one
Come on England
You did promise

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Real Madrid- Champions League winners again

Now we knew it would happen
Sooner or later
Because it always has
Like a venerable uncle
Who everybody loves
A priceless Ming vase
Or decorative
Constable painting
Real Madrid, yes
Those peerless maestros
Now European Cup holders
Or Champions League victors
In the modern currency
For just a barely believable
15th time
Abacuses totally surplus
To requirements
Forget it
No need for 1970s calculators
Di Stefano, Gento, Puskas
The three Madrid miracle workers
Back on that night of
Of elegant exhibitionism
When football defied explanation
In 1960 when Eintracht Frankfurt
Were demolished 7-3 at Hampden Park
Rose petals of lyrical hives of
Honey
Passing and finishing that blew
The senses and sensibilities into
That rarefied world
Where football is played on
Mars, Venus and Mercury
Last night England’s Jude Bellingham
Gave a dress rehearsal hopefully
For Euro 2024 and England
We can only hope Hey Jude
Becomes top of the charts
In German beerkellers
The lad has it in spades
Impulses in his veins
That send electrifying
Currents through
Gareth Southgate’s
Celebrated 22 and
Eventually 11
Will hope to recall
The last moments
Against France
In World Cup 2022
And that agonised
Moment in World Cup
Yelping and biting
Cushions and gnashing
Yet more teeth
When Croatia drove
Gareth’s boys
Onto another hard shoulder
World Cup semi final
So close and yet
So far
England’s timeless story
It has to be our time

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Sed Non Satiata

We’ve had the Premier League Campaign,
Plus two domestic Cups.
Three European Tournaments,
Now isn’t that enough?

No, we have not yet had our fill,
Our thirst is still not slaked.
There’s more to come in Germany,
And frankly we can’t wait.

Our mouths are moist, we lick our lips,
The prospect’s so appealing.
Though not one ball has yet been kicked,
We’ve got that tingling feeling.

While those who are not football fans
May think we are all nuts,
We lovers of das Schöne Spiel,
Just cannot get enough!

2/6/24
Denys E. W. Jones

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