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Poetry Archives

This archive contains every poem that has been published on Football Poets. They are listed ten-per-page in reverse chronological order so the most recent poems appear first. Click or tap the arrows in the corners of the page to navigate between pages. It's easier to use the search form below to find a specific poem.

TWIST AND SHOUT

A new season is nearly here
it’ll be nice to Get Back,
all our fans will Come Together
to see the team on the attack.
A Day In The Life of a supporter
a new Revolution is underway ?
as Yesterday has now gone
Here Comes The Sun on a new match day.
But a campaign can be Helter Skelter
can the team work it on out ?
times when fans will be screaming
they’ll be edgy and Twist and Shout.
Yet I’m positive and I Feel Fine
I’ll be there cheering on my beloved Coventry,
just hoping the players Don’t Let Me Down
but if they do you just have to Let It Be !

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Waiting For The Start Of The Season

I can’t wait for the start of the season
it’s an ongoing long-run affair
it’s only a game and I can’t quite explain
but something keeps drawing me there
it’s the walk up the hill in all weathers
it’s that fortnightly journey alone
it’s great expectation and sometimes frustration
this terrace that’s my second home

it began as a kid in the city
standing in huge teeming grounds
on concrete and stone with my mates or alone
surrounded by mayhem and sounds
and now I am here in the country
with a stadium high on a hill
it’s a far smaller place in a green open space
but it still has that magical thrill
and despite ev’rything we have been through
in a world that was changed in a day
we will stand here once more or we’ll sit like before
even though it may not go away

there’ll be faces I’ve known through the seasons
though I barely can tell you their names
but we’ll go through it all ev’ry rise ev’ry fall
and the passion will still be the same
and each time it starts there’s a whisper
a feeling of what it could bring
a hope that lies burning a longing a yearning
that beckons within everything

there’s a buzz at the start of the season
it’s a feeling that’s hard to describe
and you never quite know how the new one will go
to advance or to simply survive
but the being there outweighs the downsides
like places in life I have known
it’s the anticipation and special vibration
this terrace that’s my second home

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Seven Days Ago

Just seven days ago
fans streamed down Wembley Way,
Sweet Caroline they sang loudly
it’s surely going to be England’s day ?
Just seven days ago
optimism replaced by doubt,
it’s still all level at the end
now for the dreaded penalty shoot out.
Just seven days ago
dreams came crashing down,
some supporters turned violent
while others wore a frown.
Just seven days ago
sadly it’s not coming home,
Italians celebrated wildly
on the streets of Rome.
Just seven days ago
the trolls are let loose,
they quickly turn on three players
seeing them ripe for nasty abuse.
Just seven days ago
football is put to shame,
but the haters will never win
as it’ll always be the beautiful game.

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Rough Musick

Ye Prologue:
There’s an old radical tradition
Of beating pots and pans in the street,
Making a public din
(Rather than a private dinner),
Ringing bells, banging pans, blowing horns,
With domestic utensils used in public,
Expressing disapprobation
Through community pandemonium,
And a cacophony of disharmony.
It’s ROUGH MUSICK,
A symbolic and cacophonous
Criticism of the ruling class.

A symbolic representation of disapproval,
Marking a transgression of agreed social norms
By the great and good;
A community PANDAEMONIUM
To indicate disapproval of rulers,
With a pantomimic declamation of their crimes,
The wrong-doer often shown in effigy,
Sometimes riding the SKIMMINGTON,
As in The Mayor of Casterbridge,
Or the 1825 Stroud weavers’ riots,
As the world is turned upside down.

But today,
We show our disapproval in a different way,
But in a continuity with the past:
We are turning the world upside down.
But we are silent rather than loud.
We take a knee,
Silent but proud.
We may be kneeling,
But we will stand
In unity
With Marcus Rashford, Jordan Sancho, Bukayo Saka.

The prologue was our history,
This was our story,
History from below,
Liberty and freedom and the right to protest
For the excluded.
But this is a new story,
With Marcus Rashford, Jordan Sancho, Bukayo Saka
Leading the way to a new victory,
For it will be our so-called leaders
And their racist supporters
Who will pay the penalty;
As we rise to our feet
In a new team:
Indefatigable and undefeatable:
On to victory!

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Missing in London Town

Watched a moc-documentary last Friday night
An old one from Nineteen-Sixty-Six
About a young girl seeking fun and kicks
In the swinging Town of London.

Her name was Cathy Ward
She was young, spirited and free
And from the boredom of suburbia
She made her mind to flee
To the swinging Town of London.

But she soon found herself in trouble
Ended up living out and down
On those unforgiving, filthy, streets
Of a grimy London town
“Cathy Come Home” was the plea
And she did just that eventually.

Watched a film last Saturday night
About a Collier dog called Lassie
Blaming allergies for my tears
When Lassie went off to roam
But when the film had ended up
Lassie – had come home.

Watched a match last Sunday night
Between England and the boys from Rome
A frenzied nation screaming
Pointing at the football
And begging the English kicking it
Could they please now
BRING IT HOME.

It ended up in tears that night
Though two out of three aint bad
Cathy and Lassie both came on home
But the football ending’s sad
Overall the players were brilliant
They let no-body down
But the football is still missing
Somewhere in London Town

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A New England: Reasons to be Cheerful

Give me an England of Rashford and Saka
Of Sancho and Sterling and Co
Give me an England of Southgate
Not the racists and bullies on show
I don’t want an England of ticketless louts
Who think that it’s all just for fun
To stick a lighted flare right up their Jacksee
So their cheeks are splurged in the gutter press
Aye, the one we all know as the s**
Give me an England of poets
Shakespeare whose Lear came to know
Like Donne no one is an island
And for each of us the bell doth toll
Free our game from all politicians
Who jump on bandwagons shamelessly
And applaud do not boo our young footballers
Standing for love by taking the knee.

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Thoughts of A Fickle Fan.

John-Joe sparked a smoke
Cracked a snarky topical joke
Bout Billy Bunter o’ The Arsenal, used play for us,
“As for Over-Eden Hazard at Madrid?
Injured? Who’s that Belgian trying a kid?
Quaffing mayoed pomme-frites, bier and molluscs?”,

Chipping his half-smoked cancer stick
J-J unwraps a steaming pack a haddock, roe n chips
Six pennyworth a crackling, wally, salt n vinegar pong
Sticking the snout behind his earring
Cracks an ice-cold can o’ Harpic, sneering,
“See Kev, they leave us, their life-style goes Pete Tong”.

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Keep The Faith

Keep those emotions in check
it’s all part of the game,
you win some,lose some,
we all feel the same.
Keep your chin up
even though you want to scream,
Italy had more of the possession
and were the better team.
Keep a stiff upper lip
somebody’s got to lose,
not worth getting irate
and seeking solace in the booze.
Keep a positive mind
this young side will be back,
it won’t be so defensive minded
and will go more on the attack.
Keep the faith please
as England can go far,
could even go one further
and win the World Cup in Qatar ?

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Euro 2020: RSS heart

Haters gotta hate
But the best rebuttals, come from the people
The community who care
The populace who placate, who wrap us up in a placenta of refuge
Who swaddle with true warmth
And draw us all together

Such is the response
To the three boys who missed a penalty
As Rashford’s mural
Turns from wailing wall, graffiti’d by guttersnipes
To a wall of prayer, compassion and appreciation
More truly reflecting
A be-smitten Nation!

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Euro 2020: Wrong doorbell

It was meant to be coming home –
it really was
but then we lost our way
the Sat Gav broke down
and the AA rescue van, with Pickford at the wheel
never made it past the pesky roundabout of penalties

and so once again
our Nation dutifully ensures
that our shores
are lined with bitter tears
and that the flotsam of “what ifs”
litters our minds

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Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/