Tag Archives: poetry

From Leeds United: In Memoriam of When Rooney Was Half-Decent – by Rob Atkinson

Image

When it comes to goals he knows his stuff
A gift like his is aye enough
Yet scruples not to spend his sweat
Never a poor example set
Equal to times both smooth and rough

Rarely though even for such as he
On such occasions would hope to see
O‘er field of combat, strife and toil
Ne’er respect for enemy soil
Exquisite contact, poised mid-air
Yes!  A goal, and struck so fair!

In momentary hush then caught
Suspended time, a frozen thought

And then – a clamour fills our ears!!

Frenzy, joy, a blast of noise
And all rejoice his name
Thousands; women, men and boys

Blessing the day their hero came
And praising his talent rare
Lifting their souls, such artistry
Drama for all to share

Goal! The throng with mighty roar
Rejoice with heart and soul and more
And fill the air with songs of glee
Now it is real, now all can see
Never to fade from our memory’s eye
Years though they pass, time though it fly

Some feats are not forgotten, for
Hearts and minds will keep their store
Away from the daily grind of life
Golden moments, a cure for strife
Guiltily, yet with secret joy
In all men’s hearts there lives a boy
Now and again he’ll know anew
Great are the memories – great but few

Time lends a lustre to our past
When sometimes life goes by too fast
And yet some vivid moments shine
This goal will keep – as finest wine

Ode to the Leeds United of 2015 – by Rob Atkinson

Leeds United 2015

Leeds United 2015

Having received a review copy of Jon Howe’s new book “The Only Place For Us: An A-Z History of Elland Road” today, the first thing that struck me was a poem by Jason Stevens entitled Leeds United 1987. I won’t reproduce it here, in case that’d be unwisely illegal – but I’m sure you can Google it. In fact, I know you can. It’s well worth a read, not least for the way it captures the Leeds fan experience of almost thirty years ago. I was inspired to produce an updated, doggerel version, which I’ve published below. It’s sort of “the continuing story – up to date”.

Any other budding poets (or limericists) do feel free to comment with your own literary efforts.

A review of Jon Howe’s excellent-looking book will appear here, and possibly elsewhere, as soon as I’ve had the chance to read it.

Leeds United 2015 – by Rob Atkinson

(with apologies to Messrs Stevens & Howe)

Tallest floodlights now long gone
Plastic seats to sit upon
No more standing, no more crush
Three course meals and corporate plush

 

Robot turnstiles, insert card
Behave yourselves or else you’re barred
Pricey programmes, balti pies
Players’ wages on the rise

 

Segregation, us and them
GFH and Bates FM
Massimo, Italian gent
Football League insist he’s bent

 

Massive East Stand sparsely filled
Was it worth the cost to build
West stand, Elland Road and Kop
The dreary trudge back to the top

 

Fanzine culture, made its mark
Fanned an anti-fascist spark
Noel Blake and Vince Hilaire
Strength and power, skill and flair

 

Social media, Twitter Whites
Blogs and Facebook bragging rights
Damned United, streaming live
Merchandise subscription drive

 

Still the passion, still the pain
Sunshine, thunder, wind or rain
Come what may we’re always there
Dirty Leeds – our cross to bear

Derby Aiming for Eleventh Straight Leeds Win…and Still Their Fans Whinge – by Rob Atkinson

Franny windmills as Norman lands the perfect right cross – fat lip

If the form book has its way this lunchtime, Leeds United’s season will peter out with a whimper, not a bang – as Derby County, on a seemingly unstoppable roll against us, head to Elland Road in search of their eleventh consecutive victory over the Whites of LS11.  Chuck in an almost-forgotten League Cup dismissal at the hands of the Rams in 2009, and defeat for Leeds today would make it a dirty dozen straight wins for Derby, our one-time rabbits – a team we just couldn’t help beating in the eighties and nineties.  It’s a reversal of fortune that would dismay anyone with Leeds sympathies and – particularly given the one-way street that is the rivalry between the two clubs – you’d expect Derby fans to be over the proverbial moon.

One-way street?  Well, let’s face it – it’s a fact that they regard us with a deep and abiding loathing, whilst we treat them with a casual and disrespectful lack of attention most of the time, unless we’re actually about to play them.  This state of affairs isn’t that unusual – Leeds have a similar situation with a few clubs, the likes of Bradford, Barnsley and Hull for instance – they passionately hate us, we ignore them.  It’s humiliating for the seething fans who have this unrequited hate – as you can easily divine from reading some of the frustrated scribblings of Rams supporters out there in the internet world.  One has even gone so far as to take up his quill and describe his feelings of hatred and bitterness in a piece of embarrassingly bad doggerel which he is pleased to call verse.  It’s true. Can there be anything more cringe-worthy and humiliating than that?

The poet concerned goes by the nom de plume of “I. Saw” (poets often have pen names, in order to protect their artistic integrity – but I can reveal that this latter-day Bard’s real name is “R. Sole”) and he’s described as a RamZone reporter – presumably this is his day job when he’s not illuminating the literary world with his lyrical verse.  His Leeds United Meisterwerk, artistically entitled Ode to the Dirty, was actually written a few years back – but the guy’s fellow Rams are so pleased with it that they like to take it out, dust it off and republish it, suitably updated, whenever their latest United Cup Final is imminent.  Indeed, it’s refreshing to see that the Derby fraternity have formed such an attachment to this piece of work, undeterred by considerations of originality, repetitiveness – or by the fact that it’s crap.

I won’t bore you with too many details as to the content of this epic whinge – it’s accessible via the link above if you really feel you need to read the whole thing – suffice to say it describes how the author first developed a hatred of Leeds because of the Whites’ habit of trouncing his favourites every time we played them.  He goes on to bleat piteously about injustices and bad luck, before acknowledging that things have looked up for County lately and stating in petulant tones that this, however, will never be enough to make up for what went before.  Technically as well as emotionally, it’s the work of a sulky 9 year old – the extraordinary thing is that the Derby fans seem so inexplicably proud of what is a hymn to excruciating humiliation.

The moral appears to be that, however long Derby’s current stranglehold over Leeds United may last, it won’t be enough to erase traumatic memories for their fragile and hyper-sensitive support.  Perhaps the best thing that could possibly happen is a rare win for the Whites, to jolt the Rams fans out of obsessive mode and focus them on their forthcoming play-off campaign. Because it would be a shame if they didn’t go up, wouldn’t it?

It’s unlikely, but not impossible that Leeds United will beat Derby today. But if they do, look out for a tortured follow-up from the less-than-talented pen of the Derby Bard – perhaps something of an elegy, mourning the end of their run of success.  Because you get the feeling that the grief of such a defeat would not be assuaged, even by promotion.  That’s a little easier to understand when you look at what happened to Derby the last time they played at top level.  They had a car-crash of a season, were relegated before the last of the Christmas trimmings came down and set all sorts of new records for being disastrously, calamitously bad.  So there may not be much for them to look forward to if they DO go up, and the “Bard” can be expected to wax dolorous again when they come tumbling back down. Poetic justice, you might call it.

On the whole, though, I wish them success.  After all, I Saw’s poetry is the kind of artistic effort that can make your eyes bleed and your soul cry out for something with more cultural merit, like Crossroads or Blankety Blank – so we really don’t want any more of that.  I’m not sure if this little critique will find its way back to the enthusiastic amateur, but if it should, then I have a message for him.  Please – talk to someone, before it’s too late. Don’t ever attempt poetry again, as it may be seen by people less kind and understanding than I am.  And for heaven’s sake, get some treatment for this Leeds United problem you have, before it reduces you to even lowlier feats of self-humiliation.  That’s no way to go through life, surely – being a Rams fan and living with that ever-present inferiority complex is punishment enough.

Oh, and – good luck in the play-offs.

An Acrostic Call to Arms

Virtue, it’s said, is its own best reward
Often we’re put to that test
To fight for our rights with a pen, not a sword
Elections must bring out our best

Let us stand firm and keep fighting our end
And never be beaten or cowed
Brave to the last, though our spirits might bend
Out of hardship, we’ll still shout out loud
Under vicious oppression though we live now
Remember to stay strong and proud

Never shall we be cast down by our foes
Even though tyranny reign
Vainly they seek to cut down the red rose
Efforts that we shall disdain
Ready to fight for the causes we chose

Tyrants have never been masters for long
Out of this darkness we’ll rise up reborn
Ready and able, our rallying song
Young or old, we will find our new dawn

The Waste Land (A Land Laid Waste by Gideon’s “Reforms”)

The Waste Land

A paraphrased adaptation – with apologies to T S Eliot.

This variation was written to coincide with the first day of the UK Coalition Government’s so-called “Welfare Reforms” which will savagely cut into the income of the very poorest, at a time when millionaires will benefit from massive tax cuts. April 1st, the starting date of Gideon Osborne’s main assault on the most vulnerable members of society, quite aptly also marks All Fools’ Day.

The Waste Land

April is the cruellest month, raising
Bedroom tax out of the disabled, mixing
Malice and discrimination, stirring
Tory hearts with millionaires’ tax cuts.

Winter kept us cold, covering
Doormats with higher fuel bills, feeding
A few of the poor from distant food banks.
And we were frightened.

What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this Tory rubbish? Son of man,
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken promises, while the Sun bleats,
And the Coalition gives no shelter, the government no relief,
And Parliament no sound of explanation. Only
There is despair under this evil regime,
(Come and feel the despair under this evil regime),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of “reforms”.

Shantih, shantih, shantih.

Seize the Day

Chance puts hazards in our way
And yet this life is ours to make
Reject the part luck has to play
Pause and think; make no mistake
Each of us must seize the day

Dare defy the whims of fate
Innate ambition is your friend
Exert your will, it’s not too late
Make YOUR life what YOU intend.