Football Poets

Another football weekend

So here we are
Another football synopsis
A fascinating analysis
Of the Premier League’s
Third chapter
A weekend of yet more
Contrasts and shades
Highs and lows
Warts and all
Firstly the
Seagulls wings
Are brutally clipped
By the bracing seaside
Therapeutic breezes
Brighton beat City
Pep’s now wounded eleven
A mocking caricature
Of their former selves
Manchester City
No longer the side
Who once terrorised
The high and mighty
Reduced now to a whimpering
Child who cries bitterly
Because mum and dad
Were sending out searching parties
For them
They must have been
By the buckets and spades
Of Brighton and Hove,
Surely but they’ll wait
And all will be well
Then there were your Hammers
Who finally find a clearing
In the Forest
Away from the chaotic
Brambles and bushes
Of the relegation zone
A word for Lucas Paqueta
Who took the blows
Then a sensual samba
And of course Paqueta
Pirouetting perfectly
Before staggering for
His penalty paid
For shocking allegations
Match fixing never proven
3-0 to the claret and blue
Vintage of East End maturity
This was a fine bouquet
The sweetest piquancy
Roll it around your mouth
West Ham off the mark
Up and running
Lucas like a
Brazilian grounded coffee
From the plantations of Rio
Meanwhile Chelsea get the better
Of their West London neighbours
Fulham
The Blues still a thriving
Industry, but the Cottagers
Of Fulham, no longer
The same force of Marco Silva’s
Last season’s show boaters
Meanwhile at Old Trafford
Manchester United
Are still shellshocked
By little Grimsby
Harry the Haddock’s army
Driven shamefully out of
The Carabao Cup
But none of the big boys
Are immune from the
Grim Reaper
Yesterday Burnley’s
Charcoal mills
And Lowry’s finest
Of creations
Were narrowly beaten
At the Theatre of Dreams
Old Trafford shaken but
Never stirred or ruffled
Manchester United
Back on the victory path
But those cobblestones are
Still bumpy and full
Recovery for United
May be in some
Far off location
Another site in
Salubrious Salford
And then there were
The howling Wolves
Fans now baying for blood
Searching desperately for
Comforting reminders
Of their 1950s and 70s past
Where everything seemed possible
Against Everton at the Molineux
Where the Toffees were chewing
With relish at the Old Gold
David Moyes now rediscovering
And reinventing his former charges
At the Hill Dickinson stadium
Now that sounds like a reputable
Estate agents, a now
Very desirable property
Among the fading old cement,
Glass and steel of the once
Glorious Goodison
Where only memories and images
Reside of once 1966 World Cup
Stages and settings of
Everton, hitting the mark
With positive ambitions
In their plans of action
And then there was
Aston Villa, so vital and
Charged with electricity
Last season but after
Three matches only
Into the new season
Struggling for
Any semblance of form
Villa Park, still reserves
Judgment and
Worrying signs of
Unrest and friction
Vilified and perhaps
Victimised
At the Stadium of Light
The Mackems of Sunderland
No need for batteries
To illuminate their souls
Fearsome and ferocious
Tasting the honey from the Bees
Of Brentford
To be totally Frank
Thomas was always
Going to be a hard act
To follow, of course
Unnerving times at
The G Tech stadium
Frank now in a spot of bother
At Spurs
Tripped up
By the boulevardiers
Of Bournemouth
The Cherries
Discover the icing on the cake
While North London bandages
Its blushes and Spurs
Can only wonder why
Leeds back in the big time again
And grinding out a point
Although goal-less draws
Can never be recognised
In football’s
Historical hinterlands
Eddie Howe’s Newcastle
Feeling their way
Carefully into the season
Ready to unload their
Ammunition, it could be
A slow ballroom dance
And finally
The Premier League champions
Liverpool, all three points
Against their fiercest rivals
It could all come down
To the final day of the season
Arsenal are breathing heavily
Down the Merseyside necks
Who knows the outcome
Under lock and key
None of us can even dare
To predict the wondrous winners
In the Maypole ritual
Of Springtime revelations
Let the Premier League
Begin, on time
In the autumnal calls
Again

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