Rosettes and Rattles
Towering floodlights shining brightly
a man selling badges and programmes
crowds packed in tightly like sardines
the smell of cigarettes in the air.
One end of the ground is open to the elements
us small kids passed down to the front
as we make a noise with our rattles
this is our football ground in the sixties.
Everyone is wearing a Sky Blue scarf or rosette
cups of hot soup and tea are consumed
the Beatles are being played over the tannoy
Dave Clark Five are feeling Glad All Over.
Bedroom walls are covered in pictures
autograph books are packed full with signatures
programmes are put in empty shoe boxes
kids dreaming of playing for England.
Everyone has a favourite era
and this was definetly mine
as a young lad just being there was magical
a decade gone but never forgotten.
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Three Boys On their Bicycles
Along the quiet back streets pedalling up and down
Three boys on their bicycles in the old country town
The prime years of their lives a decade ahead
The future belong to the youth as has often been said
The magpie on a street tree is fluting his song
As three boys on their bicycles pedal along
Chatting of football stars and the fortunes of their favourite football team
To be great football players they do often daydream
With their football boots slung across the handlebars to the football oval bound
'Tis every young players dream for to be best on ground
At the famed M C G on Grand Final Day
Though that for them over a decade away
Full of young ambition and dreams of renown
They pedal along the back streets of the town.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Boy Growing Up In The Sixties
Played football
played marbles
played cricket
played truant.
First girl
first kiss
first fumble
first slap.
Drank orange
drank Cola
drank lemonade
drank beer.
Acted tough
acted silly
acted up
acted the fool.
Just young
just a boy
just a lad
just me.
The sixties
The Beatles
The Stones
The Who.
Great days
great times
great decade
Great Britain.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Boxing or Football?
What's your favourite sport Kevin?
as you like Boxing and Football
well they're both exciting to me
so that's a hard one to call.
Boxing is a very tough sport
a mixture of brawn and skill
two boxers standing toe to toe
both with the power to kill.
Football is full of passion
the worlds greatest team game
no other comes anywhere near
Cricket is slow boring and tame.
Boxing is not for the faint hearted
you have to be tough and very fit
take punches to the head and body
and bob and weave and avoid getting hit.
Football is played the world over
on the streets and over the park
children kick a ball for hours
in the rain and in the dark.
So if I have to make a choice
Football has to be the sport for me
you get great goals and action
and a packed ground is the place to be.
But Boxing comes a close second
Ali, Tyson, Rocky Marciano, were the best,
beating opponents with skill and guts
but so much better than all the rest.
This question was recently put to me and was hard to answer.
poem by Kevin Halls
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A poem for Football lovers
Football can make you cry
it can also bring you joy
I've played and watched it
as a man and a small boy.
Football has great players
like the one and only Messi
the Argentinian is a genius
I wished he played for Coventry.
Football is the favourite sport
no other game comes anywhere near
in the U.K.it's the number one pastime
just beating fishing and drinking beer.
Football though can be an addiction
it can be on your mind all of the day
your thinking about goals, shots, and saves,
and even talking about it to God when you pray.
So long may Football be played on our planet
even though it has trouble along the way
but just think if there was no Football at all
us fans would have nothing to do on a Saturday!
poem by Kevin Halls
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To Play At Home
To Play At Home
In 1969 at 20 Arthur Street
near the football ground
a four year old boy
stands in front of the terraced house.
While the sun is shinning
bitter winds blow in gusts
through his clothes;
shadows of clouds
shoot across the road,
across paving slabs,
up red brick walls.
Cars of the sixties
park tightly on a match day
to backdropp roars
and distant cries from their owners
at significant moments,
while the Imps play at home,
just as he did.
In the old days... it was a basic, cardinal fact that producers didn't have opinions. When I was producing natural history programmes, I didn't use them as vehicles for my own opinion. They were factual programmes.
quote by David Attenborough
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Play At Home
To Play At Home
In 1969 at 20 arthur street
near the football ground
a four year old boy
stands in front of the terraced house.
While the sun is shinning
bitter winds blow in gusts
through his clothes;
shadows of clouds
shoot across the road,
across paving slabs,
up red brick walls.
Cars of the sixties
park tightly on a match day
to backdropp roars
and distant cries from their owners
at significant moments,
while the Imps play at home,
just as he did.
poem by Adrian Cox
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A statement: children who watch violent TV programmes tend to be more violent when they grow up. But did the TV cause the violence, or do violent children preferentially enjoy watching violent programmes? Very likely both are true. Commercial defenders of TV violence argue that anyone can distinguish between television and reality. But Saturday morning children’s programmes now average 25 acts of violence per hour. At the very least this desensitizes young children to aggression and random cruelty. And if impressionable adults can have false memories implanted in their brains, what are we implanting in our children when we expose them to some 100,000 acts of violence before they graduate from elementary school?
Carl Sagan in The Demon-Haunted World: Science as a Candle in the Dark
Submitted by Catalin Popescu
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Why Do You Love Football?
Why do you love football Kevin
what do you see in it?
why not watch another sport
like Rugby, Golf, or Cricket?
Well let me answer that my friend
and put your mind at rest
I love the beautiful game
because it's simply the best.
No other sport is as exciting
no other comes anywhere near
football has lots of passion
and can create a great atmosphere.
It is loved all around the world
most children kick a football
rich kids, and poor kids,
small kids, and some very tall.
Ask a lad what he wants to be?
a footballer I bet he will say
not a cyclist or a pole vaulter
a top swimmer no way!
A good football match is a real joy
that's why thousands go to every game
when you get goals and lots of action
the fans are so glad that they came.
So yes my friend I do love my football
it's the number one sport for me
so while your watching snooker and darts
I'll be cheering on my beloved Coventry.
poem by Kevin Halls
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No Name #4
For a change she got out before he hurt her bad
Took her records and clothes
And pictures of her boy
It really made her sad
Packed it up and didn't look back
I'm okay lets just forget about him
The car was cold and it smelled like old cigarettes and pine
In her bag i saw things she drew when she was mine
Like this one here
Her alone nobody near
What a shame lets just not talk about it
No it doesn't look like you
But you did wear cowboy boots
That's your fame
There's no question about it
Once we got back inside
With one ear to the ground
I was ready to hide
'cos i don't know who's around
And you look scared
It's our secret do not tell okay?
Let's just not talk about it
Don't tell okay?
Let's just forget all about it
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gone Shootin
Feel the pressure rise
Hear the whistle blow
Found a ticket of her own accord [on her roller car]
[to | yeah | that] I dont know
Packed her heart in a travelling bag [fought so hard in a travelin band]
And never said bye bye
Somethings missing in the neighbourhood
All the cryin eyes
I stirred my coffee with the same spoon [a stupor caught me with the sin spoon]
Do a favourite tune [to her favourite jewel]
Gone shootin
My babys gone shootin
Wrap yourself around
Like a second skin
Packed her favourite bag [packed|picked her favourite nag]
But she could never win
I took [your | a | her] number in another town
She took another pill
She was runnin in overdrive
Up until my overkill [a victim of overkill]
She never made it past the bedroom door
What was she aiming for? [why Id thought shed even pour]
Gone shootin
Shes gone, gone gone gone
Gone shootin
My babys gone shootin
Lil child
Gone shootin
I thought that she wouldnt even know
Gone shootin
Hey look out, look out, look out, look out!
Gone shootin
Shes shootin heroin!
Gone shootin
Shes shootin loaded
Shes gone, shes gone, shes gone, shes gone
Gone shootin
Im gonna have to get a gun
Look out, look out
She could have anyone
She sure is loaded
I used to love her so [like a rubber soul]
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Kids Are Being Mollycoddled
I was a young lad in the sixties
and we were always out and about
it was a time of little health and safety
and your parents could give you a clout.
The kids today are the PlayStation generation
and some haven't even climbed a tree
but we spent most of our time outdoors
and best of all it was all free.
We never had mobiles or laptops
and the television only came on at night
you made do with just three channels
and that was all in black and white.
We'd all go on long nature rambles
not returning until it got dark
and when we weren't on adventures
we'd be playing Football over the park.
So kids switch off those computers
before both of your eyes turn square
stop being wrapped up in cotton wool
and get outside into the fresh air!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lonesome Farewell...
lonesome farewell...
wind blown dust,
cardboard boxes in the rain.
the doorknob broken,
the window nailed shut.
empty fields, briars and thorns.
a dead rabbit rotting
on the side of the road.
signs falling down,
tree limbs on the ground.
silence screams, waves of grief!
the smell of want, forgotten lips.
words cling like cobwebs
to the empty walls...
where are you now?
where are you now?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Barbarella Fortuneteller
If you want to know whats written in the stars
And youre in rio, go-to barbarellas bar
With a magic circle as that company
Today she writes tomorrows diary
Barbarella, magical barbarella
Mystical fortuneteller
Painting a sky of blue
Do you know barbarella, magical barbarella
Mystical fortuneteller
Selling your dreams to you
Oh oh oh, oh...
Oh oh oh, oh...
You take a look into her gypsy eyes
Youll get the feeling
That she never ever lies
She will seduce you with that misty look
Shes gonna read you like an open book
Barbarella, magical barbarella
Mystical fortuneteller
Painting a sky of blue
Do you know barbarella, magical barbarella
Mystical fortuneteller
Selling your dreams to you
Oh oh oh, oh...
Oh oh oh, oh...
Heya, heya, make the furure very clear
Dont you be too shy!
Heya, heya, while you whisper in my ear
Tell another lie
Barbarella, magical barbarella
Mystical fortuneteller
Selling your dreams to you
Oh oh oh, oh...
Oh oh oh, oh...
Oh oh oh, oh...
Barbarella, magical barbarella
Mystical fortuneteller
song performed by by Boney M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Super Sports
Soccer is the worlds favourite sport (Well I personelly think so! ! !) . The people who adore it the most, definetly should eat toast! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
But with AFL you always scream (sometimes that makes you eat alot of cream!) :) On with the poem we go hey i feel like making some dough! Oh NO don't get me started about making dough!
Soccer is definetly different to Football You can't use you're hands thats why they don't use pans.
Football you have to be a tool. I'm not bagging it out but if you go for the saints then you're fully awesome!
That's all I have to say! Oops I forgot to say g'day!
poem by Jemima PennyWiggle
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Poem: 'Self-Abandonment
- 9. May.2006 -
The kids at school were mean to her
They called her nasty names
The kids at school abandoned her
Left her out of all their games
The kids at school hurt her badly
With each word that cruelly spoke
The kids at school were so unloving
As they slowly stole her hope
The kids at school were never kind
They put her through unspeakable hell
The kids at school gave up on her
So she gave up on herself…
poem by Rachel Ann Clark
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Breakfast (Love Poem)
Orange squeezed, tea brewed, bacon fried
Self showered, beard shaved, robe wrapped
Wife kissed, tea brought, eyes rubbed
Juice sipped, toast munched, day discussed
Sugar stirred, tea drunk, watch checked
Kids rattled, cornflakes spooned, plates emptied
Mum fussed, kids grumped, teeth cleaned
Noses wiped, shoes on-ed, lunch packed
Stragglers awayed, byes waved, friends greeted
Office called, PC packed, car started
Wife snuggled, door closed, journey begun.
poem by Ian Beckett
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Football Stole my Man: A Song
Woke to the alarm clock a screaming
Pulling my away from all of my dreaming
the morning sun is hazy and grey, telling me it’s
Time to start my day: everyday seems just the same
And his mind is on that damn ole game
Sunday comes and he is hanging with the boys
They are out in the back jumping around and making all that noise
I just sit back and try to understand
How football came and stole away my man
His mind is drifting away again
I feel like I lost my best friend
I could back up and go away
A tired lady with three kids in tow
~laugh~ but no I know I will stay
Sunday comes and he is hanging with the boys
They are out in the back jumping around and making all that noise
I just sit back and try to understand
How football came and stole away my man
Saturday night and I put my make-up on and do my hair up pretty
Get all dressed up and take him to the city
And try to rekindle that old flame
Try to get back to where we began
When there was no football, just me and my man
but
Sunday comes and he is hanging with the boys
They are out in the back jumping around and making all that noise
I just sit back and try to understand
How football came and stole away my man
One more Sunday and we are hanging with the boys
Jumping around and making all that damn noise
Now that I am a fan
It is just football me and my man
© JPM 1/25/09
The Football Fan
They love their football team
their loyalty is never in doubt
they rarely ever miss a match
from the stands they scream and shout.
Even when the teams playing poor
and their favourite player is off key
that will never stop them from going
as the ground is where they want to be.
Football is always on their minds
they think about it night and day
non football fans think they must be crazy
watching men kicking a ball home and away.
Relationships can become strained and tense
as football takes the leading role
partners can become irritable and even jealous
when the fan talks for hours about a wonder goal.
The fan even dreams of football in their sleep
shouting out and butting the pillow with their head
they jump up and down as if they've scored a goal
and kick their partner out of the bed.
Yes the football fan is a breed apart
slightly eccentric and a thick skinned soul
when all that matters to them in life
is seeing their favourite player score a winning goal!
poem by Kevin Halls
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If This World Was Mine
If this world were mine, I would stop people from killing each other.
I would give money to the poor.
If this world were mine, I would stop people from selling drugs to little kids.
If this world were mine, I would make sure that kids would go to school.
I would make sure there was enough food to eat.
If this world were mine, I would stop the war.
If this world were mine, I would make sure fathers paid child support.
If this world were mine, I would try to make this world a better place to live in.
If this world were mine, I would stop people from drinking and driving.
If this world were mine, we would all love each other as one.
poem by Bryson Garrett
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