A Midsummer Night’s Dream

1 Leave a comment on verse 1 0 I was sandwiched in mid-field,
Between a mackerel tailed sunset sea
And a roseate inland dawn;
On, as it were, a diurnal roll.
Matutinal fingers reached to the ground
And clawed at the ocean,
Like some ancient pig-tailed Mariner or Seaman,
While a chorus of Mark Mightingales
And an early morning Ford Zephyr
Shook the sycamore leaves and rustled the nettles.
Sunlight played upon the mist like sunlight on a river,
And I fell into a swoon,
To be awoken by monstrous visions of some common play –
Tony Adams, strutting on the greensward,
Clad in donkey’s head,
Declaiming “We will be Bottom next season.
Moonshine and Wenger will have to bury the dead
While Bergkamp will dance between 2 of our company.”
All day, the Adams man did thus cavort,
Until the iron tongue of midnight did speak 12;
“Gunners to bed”, he cried, ” ‘t is almost training time,
I fear we shall out-sleep the close season,
As much as we the transfer talk have over-talked;
Our palpable gross over-pay however well beguile
The heavy gait of night and Dixon. Players to bed,
A fortnight hold we this solemnity
Til training starts and Wenger’s jollity.”


Mid-summer! A strange time for visions – I swore I saw a game of keepy-uppy on the moon last night.

Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/a-midsummer-nights-dream/