I have been nominated for an ET Elliot, prize for poetry. I feel out of this world. I'm over the moon. I am 46 and 5'5. Or 4'6 and 55. (Not sure which) And enjoy writing. Some people call it poetry. I hope you enjoy reading. Tom (Neil) Clark. PS. Warning. Some poetry may be of a serious nature.
Brexit Football 17th October pointed the way, Red Monday it was billed and hyped for days, Whats wrong with our footie. It had it all, it curses. Liverpish and ManUre, there was no verses. Bore Draw, No Score Draw, No Draw at all, For my eyes, to the screen. Attention Deficit Disorder kicked in, Whats wrong with our footie, Ten’s of millions spent on a weeks wages, I was spent, Billions paid by fans for EPL contagion, The Premiere League! More like Dixieme League Where the business of money is king. Ra-king it in. Robbie said, let me entertain you, wish both Reds had listened. Mourino, Fiminio, Courtinio, No understand dis lingo, Brasillians, Portuguesas please goto La Ligas. Negative thoughts in games……leave us. I know the way, lets have our league back. Tall Centre Forwards, and Tall Centre Backs, Two men up front, Positive intent, Blood and Thunder, Snotters and all, Little jinky wingers, crossing early balls, Get forward quickly. 4-4-2, the simple game, not complex mathematics. For Tactics. No more Tip Taps. What’s wrong with our footie, It’s in the name, Rid those with a vowel at the end of their surnames, Fellani, Pogba, Hererra, De Gea, let go of these players. Except for Lallana. Learn from Iceland the home of the Son, Henderson, you can stay, You’re an England captain? Just LEARN from Iceland. Lets have a Brexit Premier League, Not a Mondale Premiere Liga, Where the players are British, Even the Welsh can play. Come back Bale, all is forgiven, Oh no you can’t, you’ve just signed for a lot of Wonga. Whats wrong with our footie? The fans are thought of, no longer. What’s wrong with our footie? We don’t own it, interests of the top table, Our clubs are invested, by those, not of this stable, With no interests of the English dining table, Our roast beef, meat and two veg, Is surrounded with tapas, bagels & frogs legs, Our national game, is it? More like the international game, isn’t it. Do we want it? It hasn’t helped the Three Lions, has it. Back to the football league I say, Change the name, of our game, Back to Division One, The Brexit Division One, The BDO. Oh no, Money again, division in sport. Scrap that thought. Our “premier” teams are franchises, owned by non Brits, Managed by four Brits, played by few Brits. Attended by mostly Brits, Outpriced the working Brits, I’m in Bits to see our game diluted, Like our water utilities, non Brit convoluted. We should be lucky its held in this country, Where’s all the money today? Not invested in the UK. So, What IS wrong with our football? No Impact of BREXIT, that’s all. Tom Clark 18-10-16
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Saint Em (01/11/2016)
The Simplest Hug (27/10/2016)
Bake Off - Bog Off (26/10/2016)
With You, Our First (25/10/2016)
Can't Wait to see you Tomorrow. (21/10/2016)
Absence makes the heart go influenza ! (20/10/2016)
Blue Heart (19/10/2016)
Brexit Football (18/10/2016)
L is for ? (18/10/2016)
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