Poems tagged ‘World Cup’
The final word
And so the courts of
Law and footballing justice
Have seen fit
That Argentina are
Guilty as charged
Undoubtedly so
The judge and jury
Have come to the
Unanimous decision
That Messi and company
Behaved appallingly
Reprehensibly
And therefore in the eyes
Of M’ Learned ones
Our bewigged gentleman
Or woman
That the sentence meted
Out should be that
Argentina
Should serve a sum total
Of at least four years
Inside a draughty prison cell
In repentance
Of this most heinous crime
For yesterday it was alleged
And has now been proven
That 11 South Americans
Did break that law
Foul misdemeanours
Broke out all over New Jersey
Argentina were awful
Despicable and right at the end
Violent transgressors
In the eyes of the judiciary
You would like to tell everybody
Gathered there in New York, New York
That the accused were seen committing
Inexcusable cardinal sins
Outrageous tactics
Sneering and snarling at their opponents
Tackling inappropriately
Wasting valuable time
And quite frankly crossing the line
For they blocked, spoilt and shut
Out creative Spanish spirits
Geniuses in red shirts
History handed you the fairest hand
But Argentina, oh dear
Once the purveyors of South American
Footballing purity
Both artists and artisans
Now though hiding in shame
Tripping, shoving and pushing
With horrendous frequency
For Spain got their just desserts
Yamal, Cucurella, Laporte,
Cubarsi,Porro, Ruiz,
The glorious Rodri
Master over midfield domains
Dani Olmo, joyously unpredictable
But charmingly influential
It was the Spanish Armada
That endeared
Hard to believe
But true
Armadas are ruthless
And certainly Spain were
For 90 minutes
Argentina were camped permanently
In their ghastly defensive garrison
Watching a Spanish street fiesta
The matadors were in their
Mesmeric pomp
Sweeping away capes of battle
Don Quixote’s chivalrous souls
Ole Ole
Tantalising toreadors
Messi had nobody to turn to
But his own stunning memories
Of when he was a paragon of
Virtue and perfection
Bountiful and beautiful
At Barca
Barcelona’s finest
So the scales of
Justice have rightly
Swung towards Spain
World Champions 2026
Passing of heavenly
Halcyon days
The angels plucked their
Harps musically over
Madrid, Seville, Benidorm
Costa del Sols,
Costa Bravas and Blancas
1970s British havens
Barcelona of course
Ferran Tores blasted home
From header back into
His path
The winner for Spain
Y Viva Espana
Bodegas open up thousands
Of bottles of Rioja
It’s Spain again
At the top of the world
It’s a paella pinnacle
A risotto in Tapas bars
For you and everybody
Who cherish the Beautiful Game
And the bronze medal goes to….
And finally Ladies and Gentlemen
The bronze medal goes
As the audience hold their breath
You’ll never believe it
Here’s what you could have won
England and it’s not the caravan
Designed for your council estate
Nor indeed for that luxurious pile
In Norfolk or your bijou
Million pound apartment in Belgravia
It’s the booby prize
Third or fourth place at the World Cup 2026
The Prince of Wales declared
He was proud of England
The sweat, dedication,
Whole hearted effort
And so we were as well
The 70 million bated breaths
Leaping off our Chesterfields
Seats of honour
Effervescent elation
Pouring from estuaries
Of beer, Somerset cider
Trickling down timeless
Wallpaper from 1966
And old fashioned pale ale
Traditional and loyal
As the uncle, cousin and aunt
Wife, husband
Girlfriend and boyfriend
Who gritted their teeth
Against Ghana, DR Congo, and Norway
Hurling our savoury snacks
Into golden, summery, glowing
Heated blue skies
And intoxicating cans of
Holsten Pils
Against conservatory ceilings
And the local Red Lion
When Gordon flashed home
That precious first goal
But then slumped and sunk
Into the Slough of Despond
When Argentina got one over us
Again, oh it had to be them
But never mind
FIFA have given you another chance
It’s the consolation prize
Not great admittedly
But it’s better than nothing at all
Third place and local
Cross channel bragging rights
France, is that OK?
Can we discuss this
With our families?
Oh come on just to prove
That we can get one over
M’Bappe, he won’t mind
Gallic glad tidings
For dear old Blighty
How we love her
Just Fontaine, Raymond Kopa,
Platini, Six, Giresse
Eiffel Tower
Gard du Nord
President Macron
We’ll give your boys
One hell of a beating
It has a certain
Je ne sais quoi about it
Tomorrow England- France
A footballing romance
In the Jardin of Angleterre
Kentish towns
A riot of red, blue and white
St George flags
All over those green
English pastures
Come on Harry, Jude, Elliot,
Declan, Jordan, Marc, John,
Djed and Thomas Tuchel
A tactical calamity
In the semis
But we can redeem ourselves
In the warm embrace
Of our friends and family
Back home
It’s not the end of the world
It could have been worse
We’ll still have our stories
Of the American dream
A victory over France
To cherish over afternoon tea
In posh London hotels
Bronze medal,
It’ll do very nicely
Now there’s something to
Remember for just a while
From your World Cup exertions
Please let’s not be blue
Another heartbreak
We have been this way before
Along the avenidas and avenues
Of our triumphant lives
But this is the same tired
Old script
Well scripted
The same balance sheets
The same charge sheets
Percentages
Narrow margins
Accusations and
Recriminations
Heartbreak city
It could have
Should have
So close
And yet so far
The pitiful excuses
That draining heat
The wrong type of grass
Defective tactics,
Christmas tree formations
When the Easter parade
Somehow went missing
Last night it all unravelled
Once again
Traumatically,
Humiliatingly,
Just when the omens
Were on our side
England, sitting so deep
That your dear uncle
Would have been forgiven
For dropping off
In his comfortable armchair
And snoring contentedly
Firstly Flash Gordon
Anthony blew us away
With that false hope
Another delusional hour
For the first half
At least
Argentina resorted
To 1966 thuggery
And niggly petulance
One childish foul
After foul
Shades of the dearly departed
Rattin throwing toys out of
His pram
And protesting his innocence
But then the watered down
Violence and ill intent
Simmered down
And England smelt Argentinian blood
Never mind the volatile history
Of the Falklands War
The sinking of the Belgrano
Mrs Thatcher driving tanks
Through her defence
This was mean, nasty
At times
Vindictive with a
Capital V
England, engaging,
Challenging those early
Days of 1980s bullishness
And belligerence
Kane, Bellingham, Gordon,
Anderson forcing the issue
Luring, beckoning the land
Of tangos and pampas
Into their honey trap
Come on if you think
You’re hard enough
Then Morgan Rogers
Became Buck for 90 minutes
Long diagonal overload
Sharply driven cross
For Gordon to flash home
The vital opener
But then with 20 minutes
Ticking away agonisingly
England commit kamikaze
Shooting themselves fatally
In the foot
Hiding back in
Unimaginable cowardice
Lost in a world
Of naivete and incompetence
Immediately after the hydration break
Messi, the magnificent veteran
Bursts into life
Argentina turn on the afterburners
World class is permanent
Not for nothing are Argentina
World Champions
Opening up England
Like a child’s Christmas Day present
Tearing apart the remnants
Of England’s now ramshackle defence
Reece James, still venturing forward
But now holding back a South American
Tide, John Stones, all Barnsley grit
Heart of gold, but now fading copper
Argentina rattle the post
Before Enzo Fernandez finds
Himself in splendid isolation
Outside the English six yard box
And a thunderclap rumbles across
England’s shattered nerves
Fernandez thunderbolt, the
Most unstoppable shot
Low into the net
Then England vanish in the murky
Mists, disappearing without trace
Going under the radar
Utterly invisible
Before Messi weaves his spiders web
Crossing perfectly
Martinez thudding the ball
Vehemently home, the winner
Heads Argentina win again
World Champions have
Far too much
In their armoury
England lose their bottle
Repeatedly over and over again
Repeat of Croatia in World Cup 2018
No more arguments anymore
Semi final tragedy
So it’s not Y Viva Espana
Una Paloma Blanca
In the World Cup Final
Those flamenco dancers
And castanets
Were never the
English style anyway
So it’s just a
Pointless quest for bronze
Against our cross Channel neighbours
No thankyou, who cares?
It’s 64 years of rejection,
Shuddering anti climax
Sir Geoff you can light up
Your satisfied cigar
And pour that soothing brandy
Your hat-trick record is safe
For another four years
At least
16 Years Later
Here come Spain,
from Johannesburg 2010 to another World Cup dream
Their previous World Cup Final
was in Mandela’s South Africa
Now, sixteen years on
they return to the Final once more,
fondly remembering that wonderful 2010 World Cup
Can they now lift their second World Cup
in honour of Nelson Mandela’s name ?
England, Scotland
England, Scotland,
Welcome to this world
Of brazen commercialism
Uncle Sam,
The Stars and Stripes
USA and not forgetting
Mexico and Canada
Gorging on feasts of
Reckless expenditure
Mountains of salt beef
Beigels and doughnuts
By the lorryload
America just overwhelmed
By soccer’s
Abundant fruit bowls
Of soccer sweetness
Sheer nectar, Jeeves!
This is their time
A billion dollar spectacular homage
To the Beautiful Game
Flattered to be feted
By the world’s greatest
Chat shows by the second
Donald Trump’s outlandish empire
Of a million words and sentences
Flooding through a
Reservoir of gifted talent
The constant psychobabble
Information chattering from
Billions of media empires
Fox, CNN, Good Morning America
Last night England in Boston
But not the tea party
We were hoping for
Instead our friends from Ghana
Threw a stifling blanket over
A low block padlocked key of
Watertight defence
No way through, no avenues,
No thoroughfares or chinks of light
England shut out by a yellow fortress
We’ve been here before
Four years ago
Our loyal allies from across the pond
The American dream
Washed over England’s blurred vision
England thwarted, denied by
Some supernatural force
Indeed they stooped to stop
John Bull’s swashbucklers
And so England stumble
Once again in
Second game syndrome
They huffed and puffed
Laboriously, painfully
Ghana just gleeful
It was all short, short,
Quick, quick, sideways
Backwards and forwards
Like men shifting
An enormous rock
Going nowhere, really
Passive and pedestrian
Guehi, Rice, Bellingham,
Madueke, James, Anderson
Prodding and probing,
Spraying a confetti of
Slow, slow passing
Like faded pearls
From your family’s
Ancestral past
It was achingly awkward
Like a bent over tramp
Traipsing down a country lane
Shuffling along an
American freeway
Hip flask in his hand
Thumbing a lift
Last night a goal-less draw
For Thomas Tuchel’s
Worldly and enlightened
England,
Three Lions on the chest
More a subdued leopard
In the undergrowth
Sleeping off
The night time wanderings
And loiterings
Not good enough
But surely Panama
Will not throw their hat
Into the ring on Saturday
Surely into the knock out stages
Scotland, of course
Always content with
Incessant bagpipes of
Peace, happiness and hope
Haiti beaten but then
Morocco mauled them
To the ground
An early shot across the bow
Whiskies drowned in sorrow
Defeated by the new mantra
Reality check
Now there’s a phrase we’ve heard
Repeatedly ad infinitum
It shook England to the core
But now Scotland need
A million miracles of coffee scented
Brazilian generosity
We can still see Ally Macleod
Burying his head in anguished despair
But Steve Clarke had a bowl
Of muesli soaked optimism
For breakfast this morning
He can see much further
Into the World Cup crystal ball
Nostradamus told him
That the promised land
Of knock out football
Could hold hidden treasure
England and Scotland
We’ll follow you all the way
Brazil Morroco Haiti Scotland haiku
like some lightning bolt
angling home to save Brazil
‘Vini’ Junior ~
(Brazil 1-1 Morocco June 13)
——————————–
thirty long years on*
Tartan Army make their mark
in the Boston sun ~
(Haiti 0-1 Scotland Jun 14)
* Scotland’s first time back in the World Cup since 1990.
Donald Trump
We fear the worst
When Donald Trump’s thirst
For world domination
Becomes the ruination
Of this Hollywood driven
World Cup, it’s a given
So the orange haired one in the
The White House
The cartoonish world of Mickey Mouse
America welcomes its soccer
Cheerleaders and ringleaders
But then stealing the thunder
With bombast and blunder
Trump claims all the TV rights
The burning lights
Centre of attention
That’s his intention
Once again among
On Trump’s egotistical flights
The whites of his eyes
Blinking and winking
But Donald will tell us
Climb aboard his gaudy bus
It’s all about him and his ego
Although he may never have
Heard of Figo
And then he’ll give us
Those concertina hands
Across vast seas and golden lands
But you doubt he’s heard of Sir Geoff
Hurst, World Cup hat-trick hero
No of course, Trump would rather be
Drinking in a Nero
Hurst, Peters, Moore,
Kempes and Luque,
Gerd Mueller, Paolo Rossi,
Pele and Garrincha,
The sparkling jewels in the
Crown of World Cup history,
The Gallic French musketeers
Of Emmanuel Petit, Thierry Henry,
Zinedine Zidane
The thrust and parry of
France’s finest fencers
Artists and stylists
1998, what a year
But Donald will be there
You can be sure of that
New York New York
So good they named it twice
Maybe thrice
Monopolising the CBS ratings,
The USA awaiting us
Smiling for the camera
Demanding the lens
Fox and CNN feeding
This vanity project
Just for him
Trump, just overwhelming
Sometimes overbearing
But it’s soccer and the World Cup
And never for a minute
Designed for him
But try telling Trump
About VAR and the offside law
He’ll let out a stentorian roar
And yet this is not the
The Trump World Cup
Quite certainly not
What’s a free kick and penalty?
Donald, explain in finite detail
It’s retail therapy
Just about the money, honey
A million dollar signs
These are the times
Flooding through our soul
America’s concrete bowl
Commerce and Coca Cola,
Over and over
Gambling in Vegas
The brazen bucks and
Burgers galore
It’s the Trump sitcom
Over here are the touchlines
Donald you are following us
Those are the goalposts
And crossbars
Yes it’s a penalty, Donald
But he’s fully acquainted
Never hated or fainted
In the heat of it all
Just noshing
But Donald we’re just joshing
You know we don’t know mean it
Trump, he’s prepared for
The make up and cosmetic treatment
This dressing room is for you
No resentment and boo
It’s the World Cup
But not the World Series
Its USA, Mexico and Canada
World Cup royalty
Unashamed loyalty
Faithful to the cause
No clause in their contract
Its full physical contact
Football, it’s our game
Celebrity and fame
Under a week to go
Before the whistle blows
The World Cup opens
Its treasure chest
Only the best
Disneyland awaits
In the United States
This will be a
Festival not a fiasco
A month of dancing
The fandango
Next week the globe
Gathers for its
Four yearly party
Destined to be hearty
L’Équipe
Rocheteau, Platini,
Bad start against les Anglais, but what the hell,
Nice 4-1 victory against Kuwait, should have been five,
Janvion, Tigana,
Draw against the Czechs and through to round two,
Alain Giresse, Marius Tresor,
Against Austria, 1-0, no problem,
Jean-Luc Ettori, Didier Six,
In with a real chance now,
Amoros, Genghini,
4-1 win against Northern Ireland,
(Goals: two for Alain, and two for Dominique),
And Maxime Bossis,
From Saint-André-Treize-Voies in Vendée province,
Who would be capped 75 times for his country.
Voilà: the starting line-up,
For the greatest football match in sporting history,
France versus West Germany,
The semi-finals of the World Cup,
On the night of 8th July 1982 in Seville,
In the stadium of Sanchez Pizchuan,
9pm, 70,000 souls in attendance,
L’équipe loses,
3-3 after extra time,
On penalties 4-5,
After a game with all the passion of the world in it,
Tragedy, skill, beauty, despair,
Violence, nerves, the comeback, the waiting,
L’équipe, pour la France,
Still the best after all this time.
Are You Here To Be Part Of It All ? World Cup 26
it’s starting to get pretty close now
we’re right on the cusp of the start
but with all of the stuff goin’ on in this world
are we poets still up to take part?
we’ve been here before in Russia – Qatar
and we’ve moaned but we’ve penned stuff the same
do we turn a blind eye or just pass it all by
in spite of our love for the game?
there are so many reasons to boycott
but so much to miss if we do
and it feels like a common dilemna
for me and I’m sure for you too
but we’ve kept it a thing since we started
so this is a last minute call
we’d love you to send us your thoughts on the games
to be here and a part of it all
so I write as I wait in this classroom
where we help kids of nine and of ten
and we help with their reading through football
again and and again and again
and I look at their faces of wonder
that I felt when I was their age
for the game that I love and its still beating strong
in their heads on a pitch or some page
and I don’t hear no hint of a boycott
no mention of Trump or Iran
no mention of Gaza or Israel
and how all this killing began
no focus on Putin or Ukraine
though it’s hard to avoid when you’re young
but all that I hear is just how they can’t wait
til this World Cup has fin’lly begun
so whatever you feel in this moment
and whether we rise or we fall
let’s go on this journey together
and just write and be part of it all
What Have You Done To Our World Cup (FIFA) ?
What have you done to our World Cup
What have you done to our game
Failing In Football Always
FIFA destroy without shame ?
You’re a plundering clown Infantino
As you cuddle the next one to fleece
Mohammed bin Salman to Putin and Trump
The lows of your methods don’t cease
All under the guise of uniting the world
Through the long-ago once People’s Game
As you keep all your henchmen all nicely in tow
With payments to ward off the blame
Is there anything left you won’t stoop to
Is there any place worse we can go
Where stadium builders die for a dime
And human rights don’t get a show ?
Where you act like a mighty World leader
With your ludicrous Peace prize for war
Ignoring the fans who bring colour and joy
Who you price out of sight even more
What happened to your being neutral
The ethos the message the goal ?
But ev’ryone here knows what drives you
As you bleed us all our money and soul
You know what you’ve done to our World Cup
You know what you’ve done to our game
Failing In Football Always
Gianni hang you head in shame
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Welcome to Football Poets -- a club for all football poets, lovers of football and lovers of (alternative) poetry. Discover poets in every league from respected internationals at the top of their game to young hopefuls in the school playground.
Publish your football poems here and then discuss them with your team mates and fans. We're archived by The British Library, so your masterpieces are in the safe hands of a world-class keeper. What a result!
Latest Poems
Phil Brennan
3rd August 2026
joe morris
2nd August 2026
Phil Brennan
30th July 2026
joe morris
30th July 2026
Jason Prasad
28th July 2026
Denys E. W. Jones
26th July 2026
joe morris
26th July 2026
Jason Prasad
22nd July 2026
joe morris
21st July 2026
Phil Brennan
21st July 2026
Crispin’s Corner
In Memoriam
Kick It Out & Christmas Truce
Latest Comments
28th July 2026 at 9:40 pm
Hi Denys. Thanks for your kind words. I could have mentioned Dixie Dean but decided not to.
Best wishes, mate
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26th July 2026 at 3:47 pm
Great knowledge of Everton history, Joe.
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23rd July 2026 at 6:54 pm
Hi Jason,
Sorry I forgot to congratulate you on your excellent poem as well.
Keep well
Joe
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23rd July 2026 at 6:43 pm
Hi Jason,
Thanks so much for your kind words about Kevin Keegan, a footballer of legendary status and deeply missed.
Best wishes
Joe
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23rd July 2026 at 12:01 pm
Thank you, Crispin. I will defo encorage my bunch to contribute and will of course clear it with staff room.
Many thanks
Jase
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22nd July 2026 at 6:48 pm
Great poem Jase.
You are a man of my own heart …
And great to hear that you your students poems from our site.
Keep on and more please
if ever some of your students write anything suitable for here and most importantly they give you permission to publish them, you can always do so under your name referencing their names and the school..and year.
Best Crispin
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22nd July 2026 at 10:29 am
I think this is best thing I have read so far about the legend. Thanks
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22nd July 2026 at 10:22 am
One of the greats, inspired my generation of school kids in the 80s
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23rd May 2026 at 3:35 pm
Hi Crispin,
Thanks for the featured poem for the Arsenal Premier League victory. I love that photo showing the Arsenal ladies and fans in full rattle and rosette mode. I’ve seen it before quite a few times and, I think, a bit iconic. I think it was before the Gunners victory against Liverpool in the 1950 FA Cup Final. Great photograph.
Thanks
Joe
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8th May 2026 at 4:21 pm
Thanks for that Joe. Yes it’s been some season we had a blip but came out of it and finished strong. A mate of mine supports West Ham here in Coventry and my next door neighbour is a Spurs supporter, and both are getting edgy ! I like the Championship though as it’s competitive and has some good teams, players, and fans. Anyway we are back in the top flight and who knows what will happen ?
Cheers. Kev.
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