"Mersey Magic"

I really can't believe it
Did we play Marine?
I need to pinch myself
Was it just a dream?
A day full of nostalgia
The FA Amateur Cup on show
How much this meant to me personally
You will never know.
It was their 125th anniversary
Just like ours the year before
This was as magical for them
As Altona and maybe more.
The score was immaterial
Even though we won
The only winner was friendship
Under the beating down sun.
I'll never be a northerner
Never mind a Scouse
But if ever I moved up that way
Crosby's where I'd like my house.
Such an open welcome
Greeted from the heart
It was with genuine sadness
When it was time to depart.
The new season starting
Not just Dulwich Hamlet games to go
If anywhere's as great as Marine
They'll have to put on a show.
From the moment we got in the car park
Their Chairman shook our hand
The only thing missing
Was the reception of a local brass band!
A quirky little stadium
Door numbers on the fence
Gave us all free badges
When they could have made a few pence.
I've no idea where my travels will take me
Which strange places I'll explore
But anywhere will be hard to beat
The welcome by the Mersey shore.
No matter where I go
Hamburg will always be the best
But the biggest compliment I can pay Marine
Is that you're the Altona of the North-West.

Dulwich Poet 22nd July 2019

(On 13th July Dulwich Hamlet played a pre-season game at Marine AFC, as part of their 125th anniversary celebrations. This was a year after Dulwich Hamlet had travelled to Hamburg to play our good friends Altona 93 as part of both of our 125th birthday celebrations. In 1932 we had beaten Marine in the FA Amateur Cup final & the FA Amateur Cup itself was there at this special game, brought under security from the National Football Museum in Manchester.)

"Second Chance Saloon"

Seven per cent survival
Luck was really on my side
The day I was put in an ambulance
And taken for a ride.
One moment I'm at football
Watching the Royal Engineers FC
Next thing I'm lying on the floor
And it's the end of me.
Completely by a fluke
Collapse at an Army football ground
Fortunately there's trained soldiers
Who give my chest a pound.
No doubt if this was America
I'd be left for dead
Checking if I've got insurance
Before putting me in a bed.
I've been extremely lucky
No damage to my brain
Though I can't quite work out
How they think I'm still sane.
I can't remember the moment
When I was lying on the floor
Never mind the opposition 
Or even what was the score.
On the plus side there's no recollection
Of a tunnel full of light
Looking down at the scene from above
As I bade my time on earth goodnight.
That means there's no heaven
As far as I can tell
No dreams of flames around me
Which means no sign of hell.
So many good luck messages
When they didn't know I'd survive
Even people I'd never met
Willing me to be alive.
I still can't get used to it
The fact I should be brown bread
All sorts of weird thoughts
Bouncing round in my head.
Told I'm supposed to be nicer
Glad my heart got to start
But in truth I'm still as nasty
As that little Simpson whose name is Bart.
I'll always hate my enemies
Hoping they die before me
I can't change the way I am
What will be will be.
Having said that there's so many friends
Didn't realise how much they care
I can't grasp how popular I am
In the footballing world out there.
I've no idea why I pulled through
That fickle hand of fate
But it's made me love even more
The close few friends I call a mate.
I am a little bit more grateful
For dodging my funeral just yet
To those men from the Royal Engineers
I'll always be in your debt.

Dulwich Poet 8th June 2019

(On Friday 1st February 2019 I was visiting a friend in Chatham & we went to the Royal Engineers football ground to see them in an Army Football cup tie, with the proverbial one man & a dog in attendance. I collapsed with a heart attack & it was only through my friend getting help from solders present that saved my life. I was in intensive care & am very lucky to be alive)

"Poetry"

I haven't written a poem for ages
What a fucking delight
Can't beat a bit of rhyming
To go & make my night.
It's something that I enjoy
A little thing I do
My own private bit of therapy
Where I share my point of view.
I've got no proper qualifications
Nothing fancy like English Lit
Just poetry as a hobby
And writing down a bit. 
It took me quite a while
To realise a poet's what I am
If what I read out's not for you
I really don't give a damn.
Just because I'm not educated
Or sound all middle class
Doesn't make me any less of a poet
You're talking out of your arse.
Poetry's for us all
Even those Council Estate bred
The thought that we don't belong
We've got to get out of our head.
Don't dare turn up your nose
Because I swear out loud
I can still say that you're a cunt
And be fucking proud!
I couldn't tell you what I write
No idea of poetry form
It's all just loads of words to me
Whatever rules are the norm.
You might even say that I cheat
When I use a dictionary of rhyme
When you've got a limited vocabulary 
Is that such a crime?
I can't do my poetry fluffy
All daffodils and walking in a field
We can still do our own poetry
Even if we're not well heeled.
Time to get used to us
We're working class and we swear
If you tut and disapprove
Do you think I fucking care?
We're the voices of the terrace
The boys from the Council Estate
We're your worst fucking nightmare
The poets you cunts all hate!

Dulwich Poet 8th June 2019

( I'm a working class poet, & I sometimes get the feeling that poets like me are looked down on...) 

"To Hell & Baku"

What on earth were they thinking
Can you even find Baku on a map?
As a destination for a final
It couldn't have been more crap.
Not caring about supporters
We all know that's nothing new
None of that really matters
As long as corporates' can take a pew.
A meagre ticket allocation
At first glance it doesn't seem fair
But only the rich can afford to go
So do I really care?
It was once the 'Game of the People'
That's been lost in the mists of time
What's happened to professional football
Really is a crime.
Long gone are the days
When football was for the man in the street
Now it's only affordable
If you dress City pin stripe neat.
Toffee nosed posh cunts
Who won't let you shout and swear
Grassing if you stand up
Whining "I can't see it's not fair!"
Two grand minimum for the final
Probably flying in by corporate jet
Loose change they'll lose in a casino
On the spin of a single bet.
People mock Dulwich Hamlet hipsters
But these rich fans are who I despise
They're the ones killing our game
Not Champion Hill's fancy pies.
I'm fortunate I don't have to be bitter
Ni pointing fingers of blame
I missed this mass destruction
Because Non League's been my game.
At least I'm not going to end up disillusioned
Forced to walk away
Needing a fucking mortgage
On my team's Cup Final day.

Dulwich Poet 11th May 2019

( The 2019 Europa League Final between two London sides Chelsea & Arsenal was held in Baku, in Azerbaijan, thousands of miles away from England, with no direct flights, and very expensive to get to. I wrote these just before the game took place.)

"Liquid Fools Gold"

Have you overdone it
A little too much Christmas cheer
Time to go and show them
Have a month off the beer.
Cos this will really show them
It's so easy to cope
And I'll really be quids in
Money for old rope.
Look how I don't need that drink
Haven't even got the shakes
See I'm just a sociable drinker
I've got what it takes.
Who are you trying to kid
You're only fooling yourself
In truth you're an Alkie
Pretending to be in good health.
In January you're the pub bore
Spouting out you don't need booze
Squeezing another notch on your belt
Saying how many pounds you're going to lose.
Come the First of February
You'll just have one or two
Then normal service resumed
It becomes quite a few.
Deep down you know the truth
Everyone else knows the score
You're an alcoholic
Even if you're not lying on the floor.
So no more of this pretend nonsense
Stopping in January lark
You're really not much different
Than those dossers in the park.
This peretence of being in control
When alcohol's got you round the neck
It really is a death grip
And you're going to hit the deck.
It's not being a social drinker
Getting pissed until you can't walk
You must know you have a problem
Despite all your normality talk.
Seeing as you're Old Skool old fashioned
Time to use the proverbial phone book
Go search for Alcoholics Anonymous
You need to take a look.

 Dulwich Poet 12th January 2019

(It's 'Dry January' apparently. When people give up drink, de-tox for a month, make the sacrifice for charity, or whatever. It also masks people with drink problems pretending they are 'normal' drinkers...)

"Was That Christmas?"

Don't get me wrong I enjoyed it
My sister inviting me to her friend
But it was something I was so unused to
Couldn't wait for the day to end.
What a lovely hostess
As soon as we got through the door
Radiating happiness and goodwill
Despite cooking for a dozen or more.
I felt like an outsider
Is this how ordinary people live
Sat round the dinner table
Not sure what I had to give.
Making sure I controlled my tongue
Careful what I said
Not wanting to make a fool of myself
With the first thought in my head.
They all gave out little presents
I was just my sister's 'plus one'
Not that I was expecting anything
When all was said and done.
Watching their little pleasure
'Pretending' to like what they got
Knowing I've always got it right
By not caring a jot.
Consumerism nightmares
Buying fancy tat
What's the point of more socks or smellies
Not for me where I'm sat.
Hand on heart I'll be honest
It wasn't the ordeal I thought
And my hostess appreciated the diplomacy
Of the bottle of wine I brought.
I liked it more than I should
And the food was top notch
But deep down I felt I don't belong here
Constantly looking at my watch.
I get you all enjoy it
As far as I could see
If only people would understand
Christmas is not for me.

Dulwich Poet 12th January 2019

(My original plans were to visit a friend for Christmas, but it fell through. My sister was going to visit one of her friends, and invited me along. I'm not a Christmas person, it was strange, but also nicer than I thought...)

"Scribble"

Today's National Poetry Day
Feel obliged to do the deed
Pen and notebook in my bag
That's all I really need.
The only stumbling block is
I've got fuck all to say
So this is all you'll get out of me
On National Poetry Day.

Dulwich Poet 4th October 2018

(Today was, you guessed it, National Poetry Day!)

"In The Beginning"

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)

"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)

"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)

"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. )

"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...)

"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...)

"In The Wrong Game"

You love Eminem
Not to be confused
With the sweets.
Which in my day
Were called 'Treats'...
Nothing like the American poet
With his rapping and beats
Which I don't call music
I think he cheats.
I can rhyme
It ain't no crime
Passes the time
Doing fine
Words all mine.
But a rapper I ain't
Just a poet.
Which is why Eminem
Is a millionaire
With me not having the
Proverbial pot to piss in
Doing five minute
Open Mic slots
In front of forty people
On a good night
At the Poetry Cafe
Rather than Eighty thousand
In Twickenham rapping
Most with their camera phones
Hero worship papping.
Maybe there's something in that
White Man Nigga Eminem shit after all.

Dulwich Poet 30th August 2018

(Wrote this after the constant playing of Eminem tracks by a young mate of mine, when I get a lift in his car.)

"Once An Enemy..."

Non-League football it's all a changing
New divisions brought in
Traditional footprints
Dumped in the bin.
But no matter where you play
No matter where you travel
Football would be all the poorer
If rivalry began to unravel.
Right now we're the squatters
Evicted from our Champion Hill home
Supposed to be grateful to the Thugs & Muggers
Where we have to roam.
Don't get me wrong I'm grateful
And some of their fans are ok
But they're our traditional bitter rivals
Who I hate at the end of the day.
We belong in East Dulwich
Home is SE22
Stuck in the Mitcham Surrey borders
Is not where we should take a pew.
Hand on heart their ground is half decent
Venereal Fields is good for a fan
But softening towards Tooting & mitcham
Is like the Irish mellowing to a Black & Tan.
Last night they sang 'We hate Dulwich'
I wouldn't expect anything less
And even though they won the game
I took delight in them being a mess.
Two divisions below us
Honest guv I'm not going to gloat
Sing about us as much as you like
Whatever floats your boat.
Crystal Palace and Brighton 
Millwal and west Ham
Where would football be if it was friendly
And no-one gave a damn?
We'd all be following the Rugger
With the 'After you Claude' brigade
It's the bitter hate of your rivals
On which the magic of football is made.
It's a depressing afternoon
When you're beaten out of sight
Only your local rivals not winning
Is what gets you through the night.
I've no idea why I hate them
Just the way I was brought up as a child
The bottom line is singing 'We hate Tooting'
In truth is rather mild.
Local rivalry not going anywhere
When push comes to a shove
So fuck off any new-veau fan
Who suggests we should hug and love.
Don't mention it again
Go take a running jump
Misjudge it at your peril
And you'll get a bleedin' clump!
 
Dulwich Poet 25th August 2018

(The football team I support are currently exiled at our arch rivals Tooting & Mitcham United home of Imperial Fields. Some of our fans suggest we should be nicer to them as they've let us play at their ground. I saw Tooting play Horley Town in an FA Cup game last night, on a Friday, and wrote this the next day)

"A Faithful Snapshot"

How ancient
And old fashioned 
You look.
The way things were
In the Sixties.
Even before my time
Soon though...
I am to be old-fashioned too.
Already at football
I am the dinosaur
Barely half a century old.
As for religion...
Mine is football
My 'God' is Edgar Kail
Though shalt not
Worship false gods.
But he was real.
Four hundred and twenty seven goals
Spanning fourteen seasons
Tells you all you need to know.
It's the words of your gods
That I don't really like.
I am man of my god enough
To hold my hands up
And admit
Some of the work you have done
In the name of your top bloke
Ain't all bad.
Bringing communities together
Looking after the poor
Be it day trips to the seaside
Or Quiz nights in the Church Hall
Isn't to be sniffed at.
But then neither is
That smelly incense
Which really does pen & ink.
Going to mass
It ruins everything.
I think I'll stick to the football.

Dulwich Poet 20th August 2018

(There was an outdoor exhibition of photos from the Sixties, on some boards in the grounds of Southwark Cathedral. After looking at them this is what I scribbled down.)

"No Rhyme or Reason"

Who knows when our number's up
If there's anything on the other side
Or if there's a total finality
Once you've gone and died.
Will anyone really mourn me
When I end up brown bread
Whether that be through natural causes
Or acting on thoughts in my head.
Of course there's other options
Accidental or deeds foul
But whichever way I do depart
They'll mourn through duty rather than wail & howl.
Isn't that human nature
We think less of ourselves than others do
Too late when we're dead & buried
Loved more than we ever knew.
In truth I'm such a lonely man
More than you can possibly think
I really can relate to
When others are on the brink.
I've very few true friends
Plenty of people who I know
Those who will pretend to mourn me
Then forget me when I go.
In some ways I am lucky
I've got poetry in my life
My trusty pen and notebooks
Getting me through times of strife.
Never underestimate the power of poetry
For self-worth and easing pain
In slightly darker times
It's my words that keep me sane.
The delight in reading and sharing
Standing up at Open Mic
Such a buzz and confidence boost
That's what I really like.
Sat back down in my seat
Taking in other poets on the floor
That's why I keep on coming back
Always wanting more.
I know nothing about other performers
But for two hours they're all my friend
That's why it genuinely touches me so
When their lives come to an end.
We are all totally different
But for a few moments we're as one
So thanks to Ernie, Niall & Co.,
For all the events you have done.
To those who have departed 
I loved you all at the front of the room
Allowing me to escape my life of drudgery
All banality and gloom.
You're the poets who've shone before me
There'll be others when I'm gone too
I'm proud to be part of your poetry crowd
And being able to say I'm one of you.

Dulwich Poet 11th August 2018

(I wrote this before the 'Platform 1 Poetry' monthly night last Saturday.. There was no feature, it was just Open Mic. A few from the 'poetry circuit' have died recently, including one who supposed to feature, but passed away the week before and the host mentioned on Facebook that it might be nice to write some sort of tribute. This isn't a tribute as such, it's just what came out, it's about, Poetry, poets and myself...)

"The Day Is Here"

You know that song we sing
About being Conference South
In truth did you ever believe it
Words that just slipped out of your mouth.
Back in now distant days
Struggling in the depths of step four
Playing Three Bridges, Banstead, Whyteleafe
Yes we really were that poor.
A decade ago came Gavin
Two promotions on we're here
Dulwich Hamlet in National League South
Welling United hold no fear.
No longer the biggest fish
Having leapt from the Isthmian pond
Curious as to how much longer
Gavin can wave his magic wand.
I'm a lifelong Hamlet fan
An Isthmian Leaguer at heart
On the eve of this historic season
Pinching myself at this new start.
Could nick it by the odd goal
Or get stuffed by a few more
This afternoon is much more important 
Than just a football score.
It's about overcoming adversity
Promoted instead of death
Enemies who are out there
Wanted eviction to be our last breath.
Now comes the hardest task of all
The fight for Champion Hill
Who knows if it will happen
Where there's a way there's a will.
Most other clubs are richer
Sponsors and revenue streams
The financial playing field might not be level
But it won't stop us chasing our dreams.
Even if we lose today
Our season won't make or break
For there's still forty one games to go
With one hundred and twenty three points still at stake.

Dulwich Poet 4th August 2018

(Today Dulwich Hamlet make their debut in the National League South, with an away fixture at Welling United. I wrote this on the way to the match, which we ended up losing two nil)

"Done and Dusted!"

Wow! It really happened
The best weekend of my life
We finally got to Altona
After so much worry & strife.
It wasn't about the football
No matter what the score
Taking on the sheer magnitude
Of a 125th anniversary tour.
Two games in one weekend
Both of them won
In truth the scores were secondary
When all is said and done.
I hope the players enjoyed it
And helped our pre-season plan
But it will be cherished a million times more
By every single Hamlet fan.
Such a unique bond
Hard to say our goodbyes
Untold people from both clubs
Wiping tears from their eyes.
Proud to have played my part
But too much credit humbled me
It was all the others who helped
That really was the key.
Will it happen again?
I'm sure it will some date
But I've done my duty
Someone will step up to the plate.
When I can just rock up
Simply travelling as a fan
Without having to fret about all the details
In a way that only I can.
Been hampered by my dodgy foot
Sunburnt as well to boot
There can't be any denying
It was still a hoot!
Even those who don't like me
Have patted me on the back
Despite not seeing eye to eye 
For keeping everything on track.
The weather's been scorching
And I've set my foot back for ages
Not even had time to jot down poetry
On my empty notebook pages.
Would I change this for anything?
Not in a million years
Haven even been wistful of others
Knocking back their German beers.
Having stepped down from the Committee
My duties are complete
Reverting back to a fan like any other
Relax and take a back seat.
I don't care what they remember me for
I'm not one to shout or boast
But a little bit deep inside of me
Wants it to be for the Altona friendship most.

Dulwich Poet 24th July 2018

(Dulwich Hamlet have just played two matches in Hamburg, including a special 125th anniversary match against our close friends from Altona 93. I was one of the fans involved in over three years of fundraising to over the costs of the trip for the First Team squad)

"Altona Haiku"

Football's Coming home
But not as you all know it
Eighteen Ninety Three

Universal game
Altona Dulwich Hamlet
Special bond of love

Chance meeting in snow
Hearts melt all over Europe
Magical weekend

Zines and groundhopping
Uniting our football fans
Jager und Kail-JA!

Can't draw for toffee
Poetry is from the heart
Altona engraved

Wearing a false crown
Mask modestly hides hard work
Football's chalk and cheese.

Dulwich Poet 18th July 2018

(Dulwich Hamlet Football Club have had a special pre-season tour to Hamburg, culminating in a special game against our good friends from Altona 93. One of their supporters produced a fanzine, with half a blank cover, for the occasion. The idea being that you copy it and send him your entry for an artistic competition. I can't draw, my 'art' is through my poems, so I thought I'd write some 'haiku' to scribble on the cover of mine to send him...)