I wonder where you were
When I was just a child
If you had been in existence
Would I have been so wild?
I was never good at football
But you would not have taken the mick
It's all about respect and self-worth
That's your mentoring trick.
I look at the work you do
Turning kids around
Without your helping hand
How many would have drowned?
It's taken me nigh on half a century
To feel I have some worth
Always felt angry & isolated
Almost right from birth.
Lucky never to have gone to prison
Fortunate to avoid inside
I hurt so many people
And within I've almost died.
Through my Club I can help F.B.B.
And play a tiny part
Atoning for my wasted life
For me that's a start.
Seeing all these youngsters growing
From young herberts into men
I'm not proud of all my past
I know what I was like back then.
Been nasty, beaten others
Some I've even strangled
As I grew a little older
Through alcohol I got mangled.
In these kids I see myself
As in what I might have been
If there had been an F.B.B.
Back when I was a teen.
That's why I support them
At 'Cafe Football' all posh
Ordinary for the 'Corporates'
But for me it was fancy nosh.
That's down to my middle aged insecurity
Left over scars from my youth
Which is why I feel so uneasy
When I'm praised with the truth.
I envy these Football Beyond Borders teens
Changing their ways before it's too late
If a little of that can rub off on me
Maybe I'll believe and wipe my slate.
Dulwich Poet 26th November 2015
(I've just attended a fundraising dinner, in aid of the charity 'Football Beyond Borders', which does a lot of work with schoolchildren across South London, and I wrote this on the way home.)
Thursday 26 November 2015
Saturday 21 November 2015
"Bugger Bognor"
Some grounds are unlucky
We call it all a jinx
Just bad luck or not good enough
Despite what everyone thinks.
We tend to struggle at Bognor
That seems the rule of thumb
Which is why when you mention them
We come over all glum.
We did them in the play-offs
Having been 31 points behind
That was our best result
Apart from today when we shined.
Turning up in numbers
Two hundred fans or more
Business as usual one down
Facing the same old losing scoreline.
But today was different
A top-of-the-table title race
Time for a mighty Dulwich fightback
And putting Bognor firmly in their place.
Finishing three-two to The Hamlet
I had to wipe away a tear
Frightened that I might tempt fate
But feeling this could be our year.
I'm used to disappointment
Too many years of hurt
To claim we'll win the title
Not going to bet my shirt.
This year could be our destiny
Not been top of the League since forty nine
A number that also happens to be my age
A clutching-at-straws lucky sign....
No idea if this is our destiny
Or just my hope and dream
But if it really does happen
I'm not just going to beam.
For I will be be delirious
More emotional than you've ever seen
For if we're Isthmian League champions
I'll be leading the huge conga round Goose Green!
Dulwich Poet 21st November 2015
(I wrote this on the Supporters' coach home from Bognor Regis Town, where we won today. An amazing turnout from our fans, brilliant support, at a ground we rarely win at. [Goose Green is a local traffic roundabout in East Dulwich] )
We call it all a jinx
Just bad luck or not good enough
Despite what everyone thinks.
We tend to struggle at Bognor
That seems the rule of thumb
Which is why when you mention them
We come over all glum.
We did them in the play-offs
Having been 31 points behind
That was our best result
Apart from today when we shined.
Turning up in numbers
Two hundred fans or more
Business as usual one down
Facing the same old losing scoreline.
But today was different
A top-of-the-table title race
Time for a mighty Dulwich fightback
And putting Bognor firmly in their place.
Finishing three-two to The Hamlet
I had to wipe away a tear
Frightened that I might tempt fate
But feeling this could be our year.
I'm used to disappointment
Too many years of hurt
To claim we'll win the title
Not going to bet my shirt.
This year could be our destiny
Not been top of the League since forty nine
A number that also happens to be my age
A clutching-at-straws lucky sign....
No idea if this is our destiny
Or just my hope and dream
But if it really does happen
I'm not just going to beam.
For I will be be delirious
More emotional than you've ever seen
For if we're Isthmian League champions
I'll be leading the huge conga round Goose Green!
Dulwich Poet 21st November 2015
(I wrote this on the Supporters' coach home from Bognor Regis Town, where we won today. An amazing turnout from our fans, brilliant support, at a ground we rarely win at. [Goose Green is a local traffic roundabout in East Dulwich] )
Tuesday 17 November 2015
"Silence goes Silent"
I'm so glad there's no Dulwich Hamlet tonight
For I didn't want to be at a game
I'd rather be at 'Silence Found A Tongue'
If it's all the same.
Much as I like my poetry
Football would have been my choice
Even if it's nights like this
That give me confidence and a voice.
Despite the T-shirt that tells us
It's fucking poetry you hate
This is one of the Open Mic nights
For which I genuinely can't wait.
I really am gutted
When I miss it for a match
Not least 'cos it's South of the River
And this is my poetry patch.
I'm made welcome by Lizzie
Whose voice is more upstairs than down
But despite her posh accent
She's no toffee nosed lah-di-dah clown.
I'm old fashioned old school who judges people
On how they say their aitches and t's
If you speak posh and use fancy words
I tend to intellectually freeze.
That's why I love this night
Her and David are chalk and cheese
She got the superior posh voice
But it kind of puts me at ease.
He is the rude one
to which I can relate
The rude of fuck, bollocks and cunt
I learnt on my childhood Council estate.
He's a man after my own heart
Football, double pie & mash
No doubt if I were still drinking
We'd go out on the lash.
I thank you for making me welcome
I call you both a poetry friend
I really am gutted
'Silence Found A Tongue' is about to end.
I've always loved coming here
And not just because it's free
You're not ripped off rotten at the bar
Even for a cup of tea.
Poetry can be expensive
When you ain't got a pot in which to piss
I'm sure there's a lot of us out there
Who aren't flush so give it a miss.
Another think I love about here
Is that you can read whatever you write
None of that Slam-type formula
And no clicking fingers all night.
There's no one way of doing things
At 'Silence Found A Tongue'
Read or perform whatever you like
Exercising your mind and lung.
I can't believe it's all over
So thanks to Lizzie and David for letting me read
I just hope you find your 'Tongue' again
Do some more nights is all I plead.
Dulwich Poet 17th November 2015
(Tonight is the last evening of a monthly poetry event called 'Silence Found A Tongue'. It's a night I went to fairly often and one I really enjoyed. I've written this to read in my small Open Mic slot to thank them tonight.)
For I didn't want to be at a game
I'd rather be at 'Silence Found A Tongue'
If it's all the same.
Much as I like my poetry
Football would have been my choice
Even if it's nights like this
That give me confidence and a voice.
Despite the T-shirt that tells us
It's fucking poetry you hate
This is one of the Open Mic nights
For which I genuinely can't wait.
I really am gutted
When I miss it for a match
Not least 'cos it's South of the River
And this is my poetry patch.
I'm made welcome by Lizzie
Whose voice is more upstairs than down
But despite her posh accent
She's no toffee nosed lah-di-dah clown.
I'm old fashioned old school who judges people
On how they say their aitches and t's
If you speak posh and use fancy words
I tend to intellectually freeze.
That's why I love this night
Her and David are chalk and cheese
She got the superior posh voice
But it kind of puts me at ease.
He is the rude one
to which I can relate
The rude of fuck, bollocks and cunt
I learnt on my childhood Council estate.
He's a man after my own heart
Football, double pie & mash
No doubt if I were still drinking
We'd go out on the lash.
I thank you for making me welcome
I call you both a poetry friend
I really am gutted
'Silence Found A Tongue' is about to end.
I've always loved coming here
And not just because it's free
You're not ripped off rotten at the bar
Even for a cup of tea.
Poetry can be expensive
When you ain't got a pot in which to piss
I'm sure there's a lot of us out there
Who aren't flush so give it a miss.
Another think I love about here
Is that you can read whatever you write
None of that Slam-type formula
And no clicking fingers all night.
There's no one way of doing things
At 'Silence Found A Tongue'
Read or perform whatever you like
Exercising your mind and lung.
I can't believe it's all over
So thanks to Lizzie and David for letting me read
I just hope you find your 'Tongue' again
Do some more nights is all I plead.
Dulwich Poet 17th November 2015
(Tonight is the last evening of a monthly poetry event called 'Silence Found A Tongue'. It's a night I went to fairly often and one I really enjoyed. I've written this to read in my small Open Mic slot to thank them tonight.)
Monday 16 November 2015
"Initial Reaction"
The world has gone crazy
It really is 'What the fuck?'
How long before it's back to London
And down to 'Lady Luck?'
I've not got any answers
So many questions in my head
I'm not going to be an apologist
With all those maimed and dead.
There have been too many 'wrong' wars
But that's not to reason why
There really are no excuses
As to why so many die.
You might compare to thousands of civilians
Killed in Syria and elsewhere
You can try the 'blame game'
I really don't care.
You condemn these atrocities
Then chuck in a 'but' at the end
As if you're giving them a reason
Which I cannot comprehend.
I might call myself a 'Leftie'
But I'd wipe 'ISIS' off the map
And if that doesn't fit your 'ideology'
I don't give a crap.
Take as an example
The one called 'Jihadi John'
It brought a right smile to my face
When I heard he'd been 'vapourised' and gone!
As for that British soldier
The one that's sent to jail
Don't get me wrong he's no hero
But the sentence is beyond the pale.
Shooting dead the enemy
It's what happens if you crack in war
Don't pretend we didn't bump off Germans
I think you know the score.
Not supporting cold blooded murder
But combat fucks your head
The bottom line was only terrorist scum
Ended up on the floor dead.
If he'd bumped off innocent civilians
I could understand a prison cell
But who are we to condemn the solider
When we've not gone through his hell?
My thoughts this morning with Paris
On what happened too scared to dwell
I fear for all the reactions
Only time will tell.
Demonising muslims and immigrants
Is all part of their aim
Don't fall for this 'ISIS' con
You will be playing their game.
For me, as a non-religious person
I won't defend muslim belief
But I still won't tar them all the same
Which you might think is a relief.
I'm against most religions
No matter 'nice' things they may say
When many treat women as second class
And hate me because I'm gay.
So don't accuse me of being islamophobic
I treat all religion the same
If you discriminate against me
Then to me you're all fair game.
Dulwich Poet 14th November 2015
(I wrote this a few hours after the Paris atrocities... it's a bit of garbled message, but basically says those who are committing these killings are scum, and there is no excuse for their actions, no matter how much 'wrong' the 'West' may have done around the globe.)
It really is 'What the fuck?'
How long before it's back to London
And down to 'Lady Luck?'
I've not got any answers
So many questions in my head
I'm not going to be an apologist
With all those maimed and dead.
There have been too many 'wrong' wars
But that's not to reason why
There really are no excuses
As to why so many die.
You might compare to thousands of civilians
Killed in Syria and elsewhere
You can try the 'blame game'
I really don't care.
You condemn these atrocities
Then chuck in a 'but' at the end
As if you're giving them a reason
Which I cannot comprehend.
I might call myself a 'Leftie'
But I'd wipe 'ISIS' off the map
And if that doesn't fit your 'ideology'
I don't give a crap.
Take as an example
The one called 'Jihadi John'
It brought a right smile to my face
When I heard he'd been 'vapourised' and gone!
As for that British soldier
The one that's sent to jail
Don't get me wrong he's no hero
But the sentence is beyond the pale.
Shooting dead the enemy
It's what happens if you crack in war
Don't pretend we didn't bump off Germans
I think you know the score.
Not supporting cold blooded murder
But combat fucks your head
The bottom line was only terrorist scum
Ended up on the floor dead.
If he'd bumped off innocent civilians
I could understand a prison cell
But who are we to condemn the solider
When we've not gone through his hell?
My thoughts this morning with Paris
On what happened too scared to dwell
I fear for all the reactions
Only time will tell.
Demonising muslims and immigrants
Is all part of their aim
Don't fall for this 'ISIS' con
You will be playing their game.
For me, as a non-religious person
I won't defend muslim belief
But I still won't tar them all the same
Which you might think is a relief.
I'm against most religions
No matter 'nice' things they may say
When many treat women as second class
And hate me because I'm gay.
So don't accuse me of being islamophobic
I treat all religion the same
If you discriminate against me
Then to me you're all fair game.
Dulwich Poet 14th November 2015
(I wrote this a few hours after the Paris atrocities... it's a bit of garbled message, but basically says those who are committing these killings are scum, and there is no excuse for their actions, no matter how much 'wrong' the 'West' may have done around the globe.)
Tuesday 10 November 2015
"Each To Their Own"
We've all got strange quirky hobbies
Pray tell what is it you do?
Do you have a love of animals
And can't resist a zoo.
Perhaps you're nerdy old fashioned
Call yourself a trainspotter
Or keep on writing poetry
Scribbled down in a jotter.
Maybe you're a stamp collector
The Stanley Gibbons is your bible
Then there's the old skool football hooligan
Who likes his hobby tribal.
Are you one to collect pottery
A big fan of Royal Doulton
Or whisper it quietly like me
A groundhopper at Alton?
For tonight I was down in Hampshire
Watching a game at step six
Alton Town at home to Fleet Spurs
That's how I get my kicks.
Train pulling into the station
Floodlights shine on my right
My heart is really pumping
Pylons do that at first sight.
I've got a rare free Tuesday
No Dulwich Hamlet this week
And Alton are soon moving
So their 'old' ground I can seek.
Non-League wise it's nothing special
But oh that wooden stand
It's what they call groundhopping porn
Atcost monstrosities should be banned.
New-builds are oh so samey
All tip-up seats and steel
You can feel the past in these wooden benches
Forgotten history becoming real.
I am so glad I got here
The football's almost incidental
Ok, I admit I love visiting football grounds
Which doesn't mean I'm totally mental.
I'm not a serious groundhopper
Abiding by every 'rule and regulation'
I'm not going to travel two hundred miles
To stand in fields up and down the nation.
I do prefer a programme
But not essential at the end of the day
I'm not bothered if it's just a friendly
As long as there's two sides to play.
And nor will I get upset
If nil nil's the score
Certainly not so desperate for the line-ups
By battering on the referee's door!
I don't do drugs or alcohol
This is my fix and buzz
The bottom line is does it matter
What anyone says or does?
So I'll admit...I'm a bit of a groundhopper
And tonight was really fun
Wessex League Division One football
Ticking ground number six hundred and sixty one.
Dulwich Poet 10th November 2015
( I wrote this on the train home, after going to Alton Town 0, Fleet Spurs 2...the only reason I went to the game was because Alton are moving ground imminently , & I hadn't been there before.)
Pray tell what is it you do?
Do you have a love of animals
And can't resist a zoo.
Perhaps you're nerdy old fashioned
Call yourself a trainspotter
Or keep on writing poetry
Scribbled down in a jotter.
Maybe you're a stamp collector
The Stanley Gibbons is your bible
Then there's the old skool football hooligan
Who likes his hobby tribal.
Are you one to collect pottery
A big fan of Royal Doulton
Or whisper it quietly like me
A groundhopper at Alton?
For tonight I was down in Hampshire
Watching a game at step six
Alton Town at home to Fleet Spurs
That's how I get my kicks.
Train pulling into the station
Floodlights shine on my right
My heart is really pumping
Pylons do that at first sight.
I've got a rare free Tuesday
No Dulwich Hamlet this week
And Alton are soon moving
So their 'old' ground I can seek.
Non-League wise it's nothing special
But oh that wooden stand
It's what they call groundhopping porn
Atcost monstrosities should be banned.
New-builds are oh so samey
All tip-up seats and steel
You can feel the past in these wooden benches
Forgotten history becoming real.
I am so glad I got here
The football's almost incidental
Ok, I admit I love visiting football grounds
Which doesn't mean I'm totally mental.
I'm not a serious groundhopper
Abiding by every 'rule and regulation'
I'm not going to travel two hundred miles
To stand in fields up and down the nation.
I do prefer a programme
But not essential at the end of the day
I'm not bothered if it's just a friendly
As long as there's two sides to play.
And nor will I get upset
If nil nil's the score
Certainly not so desperate for the line-ups
By battering on the referee's door!
I don't do drugs or alcohol
This is my fix and buzz
The bottom line is does it matter
What anyone says or does?
So I'll admit...I'm a bit of a groundhopper
And tonight was really fun
Wessex League Division One football
Ticking ground number six hundred and sixty one.
Dulwich Poet 10th November 2015
( I wrote this on the train home, after going to Alton Town 0, Fleet Spurs 2...the only reason I went to the game was because Alton are moving ground imminently , & I hadn't been there before.)
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