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Poetry Archives

The England Squad Rock !

Football and music belong together
they can go hand in hand,
just take a look at England’s squad
some could be in a rock band.
You’ve got Gareth The Beautiful Southgate
in defence Eric Dier Straits,
playing alongside Ben White Stripes
Conor Noel and Liam Gallagher could be mates?
There’s John The Rolling Stones
and bombing forward Luke Sandie Shaw,
and how about Keiran Day Trippier
Hey Jude Bellingham songs by the Fab Four.
There’s experience with Kyle Walker Brothers
and also they’ve got a touch of soul,
as up front Callum Wilson Pickett
can score a great World Cup goal ?
So let’s all twist and shout
unless you’re an Italian from Rome,
as England fans could be Dancing In The Street
if it really is Coming Home ?

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The Ghosts of Qatar

Can you hear a sob and wail.
In this sorry World Cup tale.
Above the roar of every goal.
Listen out for every lost soul.

Beneath the sunny Qatari skies.
Listen to their desperate cries.
How many died, it’s hard to tell?
Slave labour, in conditions of hell.

In the desert heat, toiling away.
Brutal conditions, pittance of pay.
Families left to mourn and weep.
Ghosts of Qatar in restless sleep.

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England demolition job

What a relief
England fly off
The starting blocks
In Saudi heat and
Humidity,
6-2 against Iran
A stunning statement
Of intent,
Documentary proof
Of superior breeding
The noblesse oblige
Tip toeing daintily
Through crimson red
Fields of non existent
Powder puff Iran
Saka firing off Gunners
Double barrels of fire and purpose
The boldest pronouncement of youth
Politics breathing darkly beneath
The surface of conflicted thoughts
Bitterness raging around private
Talk of gay rights, humanity
Questioned for its rampant
Inhumanity, alcohol taboo
Unwelcome, take your custom
Elsewhere
But today England redressing
The balance of probabilities
Professional demolition job
Saka of Arsenal, double whammy,
Sterling worth a fortune
Appreciating with every minute
Of the 90. Unstoppable, that
Ubiquitous pain in the neck
Stroking the ball into the net
For flabby, wobbly, weak Iran
Soft underbelly, compliant, accepting their
Place in the football hierarchy
Invisible, weak and lack lustre
Lacking everything,
Simply lying down submissively
And waiting for their comeuppance
Thrashed and pulverised
Within the longest first half
Of any match
Three down before Marcus Rashford
Dances again around and around
Before slotting nonchalant goal
What could be so simple?
Then Saka again before
Jack in the box Grealish
Taps in an almost guilty pleasure
For this had been the recurring theme
Of the whole match
We watched through ambivalent eyes
Never entirely sure whether we should
But we did. Torn between fanatical
Patriotic English support
And then watching with domestic
Lenses, swallowing our pride
Forget the wild tempests of
Global narratives in football’s
Lounges of triumphalism
England hit six
It feels good
For Monday now
Read Friday
And another dream
Of American apple pie
Surely Gareth
Victory again
But let’s take
One game at a time
We’ve been this way before
So familiar but true

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The Ugly Game

The beautiful game’s turned ugly,
not a pretty sight.
A thousand jagged stitches, scars
all left and right.
A hideous looking monster, ‘football’
only in name.
A tournament born from corruption,
greed and shame.

‘Welcome to Qatar, but don’t make
yourself at home.
We don’t believe in gay love, no mercy
will be shown’
What kind of place is that, a place it’s
safer to live a lie.
Where your basic human rights, they
aim to deny.

Every new Stadium built, cost many a
migrant soul.
State cover ups and lies, disguise the
real death toll.
Boycott this competition, the right and
proper thing to do.
Have nothing to do with Qatar and the
World Cup of 2022.

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Hosts humbled by Ecuador

Qatar 0-2 Ecuador

Sizzling opening scenes in Qatar
A launch with the good and great
The hosts struggle to get far
After a poor game at Al Bayt

It was all too a comfortable win
Enner Valencia’s double
Had VAR not got in
It would have been a treble

It’s the first time a host
Loses the opening match
Next up on the signpost
Are Senegal and the Dutch

20.11.22

the wandering londoner
© emdad rahman

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Bizarre VAR. During Opener. Qatar.

Through a door left ajar
In a nigh empty sports-bar
I witnessed a scene of incredulous awe.

As a quite bizarre call by V.A.R
Benefits host nation Qatar
In the opening game versus Ecuador.

An Ecuador boy’s face, involved in the game,
Didn’t catch his name, (I’d have missed my train)
Wore a resigned, ”Hmm…well at least now we know the score”.

Peace.

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60 shortly

It’ll be 60 for yours truly next
Wednesday when some of us became aware of
Football’s pulsating melodies and threnodies
Those anguished breast-beating moments
Against opponents of four yearly cycles
When the world searched for tantalising titles
When World Cups were fair and sensible
And you tried to be responsible
Then at the tender age of seven
Oh what footballing heaven
Your footballing sensibilities were awoken
But never broken
The 1970 World Cup, Mexican mariachis
Plucking at your tender heartstrings
When childhood always sings
The Brazil of Tostao, Gerson, Rivelino
And the angelically incomparable Pele
Oh how we must have longed for this moment
Even while blissfully unaware
We could never square
The epic magnitude and attitude
Consequences, results and fractions
Of their actions, reactions
And now once again on the verge
Of your 60th birthday, November day
The anniversary of your arrival
Without rival
They grace your senses
In all manner of tenses
Bliss, nirvana
It was fated to be this way
This time Neymar and the Hammer
They clamour for
Paqueta in the desert storm
The accepted norm
Caught up on the charred and burnt
Embers of the sullied stands
Where lurk Saudi men with bands
Banning, outlawing, snarling
Occasionally disarming
We must hope for the right way
Oh OK
Then sneering, not cheering at World Cup
Festivals, heartless and fearless
Disapproving but careless
In their affections and vocal inflections
No alcoholic celebration
Just avoid the lager of temptation
Should ever pass their lips
Bring on the swaying of Brazilian hips
Then we look the other way, we would never say
At those we despise
Who were we to express surprise?
The ones who just want to party
And have a good time, once again
Time to shine
And yet the Saudis were the ones
Who remained inhumane
So one 60 year old
Will steady his nerves
All the curves and swerves
Of football’s finest
And address his conscience
Without any foresight or prescience
Because we know who we are
Although those in the Middle
East clearly don’t.
Time to pause and recognise
The pros and cons
Rights and wrongs
A World Cup in Qatar
It just sits uncomfortably
In our rational minds
Twisting and turning
And never finds
Plausible solutions
Just incandescent with fury
Why oh why
Qatar the country none of us
Could shape our perceptions
Of how football used to be
Many moons ago
For the first time in a long time
Football fans the world over
Are restless and hurt
Over this World Cup
Diseased and tormented
With feverish doubt
The one that got away
And then regretted because
We could never understand
Its origin, the provenance
Of where exactly it came from
The tortured brain of Sepp Blatter
For we thought it was his fault
Amid brazen admissions of guilt
Where empires were once built
Will haunt him at breakfast, lunch
And supper, Blatter let’s scupper
Your dreams
Upon the march of World Cup teams
Too late now Sepp thank goodness
You’re gone and out, a foolish roustabout
History at the dawn of the wheel
While huge towers of gold and steel
Stare unapologetically over sand and sea
Those gleaming hotels of obscene wealth
In the rudest health
Tomorrow we’ll await opening ceremonies
And extraordinary melodies from temples
Where once doom will sweep the gloom away
For World Cup playgrounds of joy, oh boy
Where once we paid homage to Brazilians
Who abound in the round, never found to be
Wanting of exquisite skill
Touched by the indescribable will
To improvise still,
To the present day
Their way
Where the bold and beautiful
Are somehow dutiful
Will ply their craft
Never ever daft, but
Immensely sensitive
Not evenly remotely tentative
Go for it Brazil, England, Argentina,
Spain, Germany
Paint brushes by the ready
Now let’s be steady
A World Cup in November
It still feels surreal
A stage where Dahli may
Well have felt at home
But never alone
Onwards and upwards
England, Gareth Southgate
Monday, Iran
We’ll be there
Or maybe we won’t

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Chema Abad RIP

If something is
better than music
that is football match radio commentary
One of those men who
spoke to the world
to keep us listening
the dramas and enjoy them without watching
was Chema Abad
If something is better than Theatre play that is football radio commentary
If someone is like singer or
the actor that is
the man who is commentating
the match on radio
Spain had lost such radio
Knight
He commented around
3000 football matches
The Knight of our Time
I can’t help feeling that
football belongs to those
People
It is announced that
Chema Abad Spanish
football commentator
The voice of RNE who had
commented 3000 matches sadly
passed away
RIP CHEMA ABAD

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Let Football Take The Stage…*

Nutmeg the dead, and those unpaid,
The haram LGBTQ community
Our Sweet F.A. will applaud or look away
Assuring that twit Gary (Wonder what he’ll have to say?)
Our game promotes gender equality.

Qatar, are actually hiring football fans
To fill their blood-stained stadia stands
All ex’s paid, sixty sov’s a day to spend on what?
As relatives left boracic and bereft
For souls died a dollar an hour death
Fight for the means to justify an ending in a box.

Still…Doha Dave, has had his dubious dough
Gobby Robbies’…sell out show is good to go
Thieves at FIFA sing the same old lame old song
Dignitaries’ wash their greasy blood-stained hands
On damaged in the mind fans, up in the stands…
Sat wondering…What-The-World-Cup…is going on?

The European season interrupted half-way through
For a Qatari jolly, conjured up a double dubious crew
Whom clearly greased the palms o’ shysters running FIFA
How does Infantino sleep, the lying so n so?
Coming the old innocent on a recent T.V show
When he dropped more clangers than an under-fire keeper.

We should be ashamed of our ourselves (we’re not)
No, we’ll simply shut it, be dictated to and watch…
A once entertaining exciting sport come apart on live T.V
Of course, we’ll shed a tear, for the abused, down-trodden, queer
While politicians here enjoy shed-loads o’ Qatari gratis cheer
As the word’s competition, a sense o’ fair-play, embrace mediocrity.

Still…Doha Dave, has had his dubious dough
Gobby Robbie’s…sell out show is good to go
Thieves at FIFA sing the same old lame old song
Dignitaries’ wash their greasy blood-stained hands
On damaged in the mind fans, up in the stands…
Sat wondering…What-The-World-Cup…is going on?

This ain’t no recognisable World-wide football fest
Accompanied by Frank n Dave on a sweat-shop vest
When die-hard fans collected World Cup stickers by Panini
Nah, this is another nail in the coffin of a so-called sport
Launders Mafia moolah, heading towards an American court
Sold its soul, greedily assisted, by both Blatter and Platini.

Still, after all, it’s just…sport, a beautiful game
Even though this one has a highly tarnished name
As a recent documentary expose shed a light upon
Yet we’ll stand in front o’ the hi-res plasma welling up
As our team trots-out in Qatar representing us
Despite twelve years a…What-The-World-Cup…is going on?

Peace.

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1-2-3…Mahsa Amini. Mahsa Amini. Mahsa Amini.

The World Cup in Qatar, due to begin
Will showcase teary-eyed partisan human beings
Singing national anthems loud n proud in unity.

Only this time, dubious sport, can/will take second place
The World having witnessed a televised live outrage…
Following a state sponsored murder in Iran…Mahsa Amini.

Come on football fans, say her name again…Mahsa Amini
Before England take the to field to play Iran..Mahsa Amini
Prior to an Iran World Cup match…in Qatar…Mahsa Amini
Listening to the match’s live, driving in a car…Mahsa Amini.

So, when you switch on your high-res plasma screen T.V…
Diet-Coke, Bud, crisps, democracy, perched upon your knee
Thank your God…whomever they may be, for being free…
To disagree, unlike twenty-three-year-old Kurd…Mahsa Amini.

Peace.

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Source: https://footballpoets.org/poems/page/2/