Football Poets

The Mirror of Victory

On the pitch where glory’s freshly won,
Argentina basked beneath the sun.
Yet voices rose in wounded pride:
“Spain showed disrespect!” they loudly cried.
As ribbons fell and songs took flight,
their triumph bathed in golden light,
they seemed to lose what victors know,
that memory has a longer glow.

For ninety minutes, plain to see,
one side sought football’s artistry;
To pass, create, and earn the prize,
while tempers flared and tackles flew awry.
One red card shown, but truth would say,
more could have rightly come that day,
as reckless challenges crossed the line,
mistaking force for grand design.

The final whistle brought no peace;
The bitterness refused to cease.
Two more red cards stained the night,
for striking champions in plain sight.
The medal ceremony should have been,
a moment shared with grace serene;
Instead, resentment stole the stage,
replacing honour with blind rage.

Then came the winners’ proud display,
the trophy held in bright array.
Yet backs were turned in open scorn,
as though respect need not be borne.
The world looked on and saw, instead,
a silent message, coldly spread:
That losing hurt beyond repair,
and sportsmanship was absent there.

For not so long their own parade,
had mocked old foes with songs they made;
The jeers, the jabs, the victory’s sting,
“The champion’s privilege,” they’d sing.
But when the laughter turned their way,
the rules were different from yesterday;
What once was banter, bold and free,
became a grave indignity.

A champion’s crown is more than gold;
Its truest worth is how it’s held.
Not every battle’s won by might,
but by the grace displayed in spite.
For history marks, beyond the score,
the deeds remembered evermore:
Not just who lifted high the prize,
but who kept honour in their eyes.

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Sweet Home Inghilterra

Well I’ve lived here forty years plus,
People ask me now and then,
If at times I feel homesick,
Here is what I say to them:

“Sweet home Inghilterra,
Where the skies are not blue.
Sweet home Inghilterra,
I ain’t coming back to you.”

England Team’s a different matter,
Now they’re getting on a plane.
World Cup dream is once more shattered,
So they’re heading home again.

Sweet home Inghilterra,
Which is not in the EU.
Sweet home Inghilterra,
Lord, they’re flying back to you.

In Birmingham they love that lad Jude,
Though he now plays in Madrid.
He speaks with a Brummie accent,
There he’s still a much-loved kid.

And Harry Kane’s sure a hero,
Scored a fair amount of goals.
But don’t have much luck with trophies,
Ain’t won too many of those.

Then Declan Rice was in great pain,
Yet played on through gritted teeth.
Kept plugging at set pieces,
Never once gave up belief.

While Golden Gordon is a fine player,
And he scored a lovely goal.
But Thomas Tuchel went and subbed him,
Why on earth we’ll never know.

So I hope Neil Young will remember
Not to slag this England Team,
As he did with Alabama,
We won’t take no stick from him!

Sweet home Alabama,
Where they say the skies are blue.
Sweet home Inghilterra,
How much more do we love you!

Sweet home Inghilterra,
Wish you better luck next time.
We’ll all be there rootin’ for you,
Cos we’re Inghland till we die!

16/7/2026
Denys E. W. Jones

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Were You Up for Portillo?

Were you up for Portillo?
No, I was sleeping soundly,
Head resting on my pillow.

Did you stay up for Mexico?
My answer once again is no,
For early next day had to work to go.

Then what about the Norway match?
Did you miss that one too?
I did not have to work next day,

So I tuned in to ITV,
I saw the Vikings take the lead,
Then Bellingham fire home his fifth.

Soon after came the half-time break,
And there was I still wide awake,
Yet strong, hot cup of tea did brew for safety’s sake.

Another forty-five got under way,
From end to end the action ebbed and flowed.
Chances came and went, but no more goals.

‘Twas now the very witching time of night,
When normally I am tucked up in bed,
But no way was I missing Extra Time.

Already penalties were in my thoughts,
But not in Saviour Jude’s –
A short time after play resumed, his sixth he scored.

The final score I’m sure’s known to you all –
The Lads held on to win the match two-one,
Then joined the fans to belt out Wonderwall.

12/7/2026
Denys E. W. Jones

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WC Last 16 haiku

Everyone a Lion
Jude at altitude
A team to a man

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Kane is Able

Kane’s the one who’s able
When you need to turn the tables,
To pull a bunny out the hat,
Get you to the next round.

When you’re trailing one-to-nil,
And the scoreboard clock is ticking,
He’s the man who will step up,
And that stubborn ball will stick in.

Send a nice cross over,
He will nod it goalwards,
Just when everybody thinks
We are heading homewards.

Now the score is level,
Anything can happen.
Harry Kane is wide awake,
No way is he napping.

Eighty-five mins on the clock,
Extra Time’s what beckons…
Harry’s having none of it,
Shoots, fires in a second!

When his country needed him,
Kane answered the call.
Final whistle, fans and players
Singing Wonderwall.

2/7/2026
Denys E. W. Jones

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Last 32 haiku, WC2026

result as wanted
but we did it the hard way
whatever it takes!

“The goal never moves”
Harry Kane joyously proves
that goalden adage!

Captain Kane proud boast
“We can have hero moments”
Harry’s game today!

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