A Thursday night lonely
Reserve Team football for me
It's Cray Valley (Paper Mills) in the Suburban
I'm scraping the barrel to see.
I should have been here early
Time for McDonalds at the Yorkshire Grey
But with the 'transport gods' interferring
I wasn't going to have my way.
Traffic backing up
Not even bus lanes whizz me through
Not sure if I will make kick-off
Undecided what to do.
Waiting forty minutes at Catford
Tempted to go home and fume
I'll simmer up with anger
Inside my little room.
Eventually I get there
Surprised there's still no score
The 'bonus' being twenty minutes late
There's no-one collecting money on the door.
So why am I here?
To watch Fisher's second string
For 'history in the making'
Who knows what the future will bring.
The Fisher stiffs are struggling
Goal difference of minus twenty four
It would be fair to say
After six games they're somewhat poor.
So what has piqued my interest
In the seats holding hardly a soul
Well I'm quietly supporting a friend
In his first ever managerial role.
He is living his dream
Right on the bottom rung
I am quietly confident
That on terraces his name will be sung.
But that's distant in the future
Fames a long way away
This is the start of his managerial 'apprenticeship'
Years of hard working without any pay.
Doing what he does
Totally for the love of the game
Mastering the art of excuses
When his players are lame.
Imagine being a Gaffer
At the age of only twenty
I've no doubt he's going to make it
Becoming footballing cognoscenti.
Unlucky to lose tonight
The next game was six nil
For sure there will be disappointment
Heavy defeats such a bitter pill.
But age is on his side
Plenty of time to advance
Fair play to the people at Fisher
For giving him his first chance.
Dulwich Poet 29th Spetember 2018
(A friend of mine has just been appointed manager of Fisher FC reserves/Under 23s)
Saturday 29 September 2018
Wednesday 26 September 2018
"Taking Sides"
I'm off out tonight
Going to see one of the Cray's
Yes I know they're brown bread
Not having one of those days.
Not talking about East End villians
Not spelt with a 'K'
I'm referring to Cray Wanderers
Who I'm going to watch play.
I'm talking Bostik League football
Division One South East
Their match against Whyteleafe
Is this evening's chosen feast.
Cray are top of the table
Winning six out of six
Soon to be in 'Seventh Heaven'
For my Wednesday football fix.
Admission a tenner
Programme two quid more
Not to mention a couple of golden goal tickets
As I come through the door.
So far it's been tasty
Decent end to end stuff
Been niggly rather than physical
Not deliberately rough.
The Leafe took the lead early
Before The Wands quickly hit back
Second half just starting
To keep title hopes on track.
Early doors a cheer
Leafe think it's in the bag
Celebrations cut short
By the Lino's offside flag.
Even though I'm neutral
I want a Wanderers win
Never forgotten Leafe digs at Dulwich
Which wore a little thin.
Mutter as much as they like
I pity those up their end
Barely a dozen middle-aged blokes
Probably stood with their only friend.
A home player gets fouled
'Get up you faggot!' you shout
Is it any wonder
You've hardly any fans about?
I'm here as a neutral
The score shouldn't matter at all
But since some of you have always had pops at Dulwich
"Come on Cray Wanderers" is my call.
Dulwich Poet 26th September 2018
(Just me wittering on about going to watch another game tonight: Cray Wanderers versus Whyteleafe)
Going to see one of the Cray's
Yes I know they're brown bread
Not having one of those days.
Not talking about East End villians
Not spelt with a 'K'
I'm referring to Cray Wanderers
Who I'm going to watch play.
I'm talking Bostik League football
Division One South East
Their match against Whyteleafe
Is this evening's chosen feast.
Cray are top of the table
Winning six out of six
Soon to be in 'Seventh Heaven'
For my Wednesday football fix.
Admission a tenner
Programme two quid more
Not to mention a couple of golden goal tickets
As I come through the door.
So far it's been tasty
Decent end to end stuff
Been niggly rather than physical
Not deliberately rough.
The Leafe took the lead early
Before The Wands quickly hit back
Second half just starting
To keep title hopes on track.
Early doors a cheer
Leafe think it's in the bag
Celebrations cut short
By the Lino's offside flag.
Even though I'm neutral
I want a Wanderers win
Never forgotten Leafe digs at Dulwich
Which wore a little thin.
Mutter as much as they like
I pity those up their end
Barely a dozen middle-aged blokes
Probably stood with their only friend.
A home player gets fouled
'Get up you faggot!' you shout
Is it any wonder
You've hardly any fans about?
I'm here as a neutral
The score shouldn't matter at all
But since some of you have always had pops at Dulwich
"Come on Cray Wanderers" is my call.
Dulwich Poet 26th September 2018
(Just me wittering on about going to watch another game tonight: Cray Wanderers versus Whyteleafe)
Sunday 16 September 2018
"Sunday Treat"
Sat here at Preston Park
Chitter chatter in the air
Right by some Edgware pensioners
Sunday without a care.
Still in Greater London
Not a hint of traffic noise
This is non-league football at its best
One of life's great joys.
Another new ground ticked off
A genuine pleasure
Sitting in the back row of the stand
Scribbling poetry at leisure.
The sun is out and shining
Two teams giving their all
Their chances of reaching Wembley
In reality extremely small.
A bit of trying to play the game
Combined with stereotype long-ball hoof
The perfect way to spend a Sunday
If I'm telling the truth.
Here's the half-time whistle
So far there's no score
Despite the lack of goals in the net
It's hardly been a bore.
This is football tranquility
Smatterings of polite applause
Occasionally interspersed with the barking
Of a four-legged fan with paws.
It's autumnal not baking
A slight breeze through the trees
In all honesty I'm in groundhopping heaven
I am that easy to please!
In truth I could stay at home
Bottle up my thoughts and mope
This is how I get my kicks
Clear my head and cope.
These aren't million pound players
A billion miles from 'Match of the Day'
In fact they're probably out of pocket
For turning up to play.
I doubt if either side can afford expenses
Maybe enough for a pint of beer
Their reward is the simple enjoyment
Of playing the game they love so dear.
We're not talking Dulwich Hamlet or Bromley
Where it's a job in all but name
This is down to earth limited footballers
Who play for the love of the game.
So glad I've made the effort
visiting yet another new ground
If there's a greater antidote to down in the dumps
I doubt it's yet been found.
Groudhopping's my little hobby
Something I love to do
Which is why I've got a buzz of contentment
Sat here in the stand taking a pew.
Visting Harefield United
Wooden roof sheltering me from the sun
Going to ground number seven hundred & twenty eight
This is how I get my fun.
Dulwich Poet 16th September 2018
(I wrote this at Broadfields United versus Edgware Town, an FA Vase 2nd qualifying round replay, at Harefield United)
Chitter chatter in the air
Right by some Edgware pensioners
Sunday without a care.
Still in Greater London
Not a hint of traffic noise
This is non-league football at its best
One of life's great joys.
Another new ground ticked off
A genuine pleasure
Sitting in the back row of the stand
Scribbling poetry at leisure.
The sun is out and shining
Two teams giving their all
Their chances of reaching Wembley
In reality extremely small.
A bit of trying to play the game
Combined with stereotype long-ball hoof
The perfect way to spend a Sunday
If I'm telling the truth.
Here's the half-time whistle
So far there's no score
Despite the lack of goals in the net
It's hardly been a bore.
This is football tranquility
Smatterings of polite applause
Occasionally interspersed with the barking
Of a four-legged fan with paws.
It's autumnal not baking
A slight breeze through the trees
In all honesty I'm in groundhopping heaven
I am that easy to please!
In truth I could stay at home
Bottle up my thoughts and mope
This is how I get my kicks
Clear my head and cope.
These aren't million pound players
A billion miles from 'Match of the Day'
In fact they're probably out of pocket
For turning up to play.
I doubt if either side can afford expenses
Maybe enough for a pint of beer
Their reward is the simple enjoyment
Of playing the game they love so dear.
We're not talking Dulwich Hamlet or Bromley
Where it's a job in all but name
This is down to earth limited footballers
Who play for the love of the game.
So glad I've made the effort
visiting yet another new ground
If there's a greater antidote to down in the dumps
I doubt it's yet been found.
Groudhopping's my little hobby
Something I love to do
Which is why I've got a buzz of contentment
Sat here in the stand taking a pew.
Visting Harefield United
Wooden roof sheltering me from the sun
Going to ground number seven hundred & twenty eight
This is how I get my fun.
Dulwich Poet 16th September 2018
(I wrote this at Broadfields United versus Edgware Town, an FA Vase 2nd qualifying round replay, at Harefield United)
Friday 7 September 2018
"Sat at the Crem"
The other day I went to a funeral
A football mate's dear old dad
It made me rather wistful
For something I never had.
Of course I had parents
But stability I missed
My old man was never 'normal'
Heavy gambling or always pissed.
So envious at the crematorium
A glimpse of ordinary family life
So different to the one I grew up in
That seemed so full of strife.
Trying not to compare
Self-pity to the fore
It's taken me almost half a century
To keep my demons at the door.
This shouldn't be about me
Or how I feel inside
I'd rather focus on my mate Shaun
Whose life fills me with pride.
He's respected at The Hamlet
And always knows tact and care
Even if after a few beers
He's not afraid to swear!
A diplomat, unlike me...
Who calls a spade a spade
Not something I'm likely to change soon
It's just how I was made.
Of the 'Old Skool Rabble'
He's the most statesman like
Even though he won't suffer fools gladly
Telling then to take a hike.
I never knew his old man
So excuse me being bold
But from what I heard about him
I'd say his boy was from the same mould.
Caring for his family
Not afraid of hard work
Always willing to lend a hand
Not being one to shirk.
Never being materialistic
Genuinely down to earth
The sort of bloke I wish I was
For whatever that's worth.
Just being a decent person
Sounds so simple but tough
Others suffer the fickle hand of fate
Simply coping but it's rough.
Not my mate Shaun
He really is an inspiration and a rock
I'm sure his old man was proud of him
For being a chip off the old block!
Dulwich Poet 7th September 2018
( I wrote this after going to the funeral of my mate's dad, someone who I never knew, but went to support my mate, and the rest of his family. )
A football mate's dear old dad
It made me rather wistful
For something I never had.
Of course I had parents
But stability I missed
My old man was never 'normal'
Heavy gambling or always pissed.
So envious at the crematorium
A glimpse of ordinary family life
So different to the one I grew up in
That seemed so full of strife.
Trying not to compare
Self-pity to the fore
It's taken me almost half a century
To keep my demons at the door.
This shouldn't be about me
Or how I feel inside
I'd rather focus on my mate Shaun
Whose life fills me with pride.
He's respected at The Hamlet
And always knows tact and care
Even if after a few beers
He's not afraid to swear!
A diplomat, unlike me...
Who calls a spade a spade
Not something I'm likely to change soon
It's just how I was made.
Of the 'Old Skool Rabble'
He's the most statesman like
Even though he won't suffer fools gladly
Telling then to take a hike.
I never knew his old man
So excuse me being bold
But from what I heard about him
I'd say his boy was from the same mould.
Caring for his family
Not afraid of hard work
Always willing to lend a hand
Not being one to shirk.
Never being materialistic
Genuinely down to earth
The sort of bloke I wish I was
For whatever that's worth.
Just being a decent person
Sounds so simple but tough
Others suffer the fickle hand of fate
Simply coping but it's rough.
Not my mate Shaun
He really is an inspiration and a rock
I'm sure his old man was proud of him
For being a chip off the old block!
Dulwich Poet 7th September 2018
( I wrote this after going to the funeral of my mate's dad, someone who I never knew, but went to support my mate, and the rest of his family. )
Tuesday 4 September 2018
"Evening All"
Tuesday nights
Should be for football.
But nothing caught my eye.
In truth I'm at a loss what to do
Sorry, I can't lie.
Could've stayed in my room
Bored watching a DVD
Went out for a bit instead
Pretending I'm not at all lonely.
A bit of social interaction
Make that a session
At the internet cafe in Forest Hill
Two hours flying by
Racking up a two pound bill.
I could have then gone home
But 'home made' therapy's best
I'd practically pre-planned my night
Jumping on a train up west.
In my bag I'd packed old bread
Too mouldy and dry to eat
Aiming for St. James's Park
Where ducks devour my treat.
Now i'm resting on a bench
Sat in Trafalgar Square
All I can heat are the fountains
And foreigners chatting in the air.
Nothing wrong with that
Except I'm a nosy git!
Earwigging's not a bad thing to do
When your life's so shit.
Resort to writing poetry
A few hundred yards from Charing Cross
Pretending I'm relaxing
This is how I doss.
I won't pretend to be depressed
But I don't enjoy being alive
This humdrum attempt of an existence
Is the most I can strive.
Getting to the stage where I'm scared of dying
But also scared to get too old
Growing tired of being Bill-No-Mates
If honest truth be told.
Tonight I could've found a match
For game forty-one of the season
Instead I'm under the shadow of Lord Nelson
Writing poetry...
For which there's no rhyme or reason.
Dulwich Poet 4th September 2018
( I wrote this on a Tuesday evening, with nothing much to do, as no football match really appealed...it made me realise how lonely life can be...)
Should be for football.
But nothing caught my eye.
In truth I'm at a loss what to do
Sorry, I can't lie.
Could've stayed in my room
Bored watching a DVD
Went out for a bit instead
Pretending I'm not at all lonely.
A bit of social interaction
Make that a session
At the internet cafe in Forest Hill
Two hours flying by
Racking up a two pound bill.
I could have then gone home
But 'home made' therapy's best
I'd practically pre-planned my night
Jumping on a train up west.
In my bag I'd packed old bread
Too mouldy and dry to eat
Aiming for St. James's Park
Where ducks devour my treat.
Now i'm resting on a bench
Sat in Trafalgar Square
All I can heat are the fountains
And foreigners chatting in the air.
Nothing wrong with that
Except I'm a nosy git!
Earwigging's not a bad thing to do
When your life's so shit.
Resort to writing poetry
A few hundred yards from Charing Cross
Pretending I'm relaxing
This is how I doss.
I won't pretend to be depressed
But I don't enjoy being alive
This humdrum attempt of an existence
Is the most I can strive.
Getting to the stage where I'm scared of dying
But also scared to get too old
Growing tired of being Bill-No-Mates
If honest truth be told.
Tonight I could've found a match
For game forty-one of the season
Instead I'm under the shadow of Lord Nelson
Writing poetry...
For which there's no rhyme or reason.
Dulwich Poet 4th September 2018
( I wrote this on a Tuesday evening, with nothing much to do, as no football match really appealed...it made me realise how lonely life can be...)
Saturday 1 September 2018
"Train of Thought"
The 'right-on hipster' shirt
Me. Sat here
In my Pink and Blue
Minding my own business.
Outside boarding the train
Worn, weary faced
Millwall fan
His own colours
On his back
Can of Grolsch
In his hand.
How far apart
Are our lives?
What is his back story
And what is mine?
We shall never know as...
He leaves at Lewisham.
As if to highlight
The modern 21st Century
Game of footie
A woman also
Minds the gap
With a West Ham shirt
On her back.
Think about that
For a moment...
A woman
In West Ham attire
Brazenly flaunting
Claret and blue
In the heart of
MY South East London.
But I am now all embracing.
Times change.
All are welcome
In the all-are-welcome
Sanitised world
That we now watch
Our teams in.
Nowhere more so
Than Champion Hill
Even if...
We've been transplanted
To the wilds of Mitcham.
Part of me
Will never change.
Which is why I don't
Bat an eyelid
At West Ham fans
Wearing their colours
Where they've no right to.
Invading and contaminating
Our Pavements!
Which is why
Under my skin
Deep in my heart
And in that grumpy
"It was better in the old days" mode
I am screaming inside
"Fack off back over the water
You east Lunnon schlaaag!"
Wearing my silent poker face
As she toddles off
Toward the D.L.R.
Dulwich Poet 1st September 2018
(Going to a Dulwich Hamlet home game, on the train into London Bridge, I saw someone in a Millwall shirt, and someone else in a West Ham United shirt. Basically...I am an old south London dinosaur...)
Me. Sat here
In my Pink and Blue
Minding my own business.
Outside boarding the train
Worn, weary faced
Millwall fan
His own colours
On his back
Can of Grolsch
In his hand.
How far apart
Are our lives?
What is his back story
And what is mine?
We shall never know as...
He leaves at Lewisham.
As if to highlight
The modern 21st Century
Game of footie
A woman also
Minds the gap
With a West Ham shirt
On her back.
Think about that
For a moment...
A woman
In West Ham attire
Brazenly flaunting
Claret and blue
In the heart of
MY South East London.
But I am now all embracing.
Times change.
All are welcome
In the all-are-welcome
Sanitised world
That we now watch
Our teams in.
Nowhere more so
Than Champion Hill
Even if...
We've been transplanted
To the wilds of Mitcham.
Part of me
Will never change.
Which is why I don't
Bat an eyelid
At West Ham fans
Wearing their colours
Where they've no right to.
Invading and contaminating
Our Pavements!
Which is why
Under my skin
Deep in my heart
And in that grumpy
"It was better in the old days" mode
I am screaming inside
"Fack off back over the water
You east Lunnon schlaaag!"
Wearing my silent poker face
As she toddles off
Toward the D.L.R.
Dulwich Poet 1st September 2018
(Going to a Dulwich Hamlet home game, on the train into London Bridge, I saw someone in a Millwall shirt, and someone else in a West Ham United shirt. Basically...I am an old south London dinosaur...)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)