The face of lion
The face of beast
the look he gives after scoring
eyes saying
'this is mine'
this moment this cheer this field
All mine.
and the bliss
looks as though
He touched infinity
in that moment
Head held high
Heart skipping rapidly
Eyes still.
All mine

Today it starts,
A game of two halves.
Shame no one told us.

They will play,
We will watch
With one eye half shut

They will talk,
Another good game.
But fail like 1970,
To claim a prize,
We think of our own.

I was two the only time,
We raised a trophy,
That my father saw,
Being held aloft in ’66.

We claim our three lions roar,
Only they whimper out of tournaments,
With nothing, but a story of penalties,
And another cross bar denying.

So I say what will be different,
This four year cycle?
I know that the pain will be the same,
Angry words chanted, and dreams shattered

But then there is always
A spark of hope…

Or the next time.

©Nick Strong

Yesterday I played football
Nine young men and one old fool
I gave it my best, my all
Good job there's no offside rule.

My task just the goal to guard
For the ball I duck and dive
This Astroturf is quite hard
Till full time let me survive

Forget the goal, guard my beer
Sipping between shots on goal
Finally the kids appear
This short game, it took its toll

Dear Emma Watson -
Shall we make love
The object of
Our spiritual quest
Together?

Surely an altogether
Better option
Than pairing you off
In a commentary box
With one John Motson
Discussing twenty two
Pairs of socks
Chasing a piece of leather?

If spiritual questing
Is not for you
I will make do
With tightly tied pairs of shoes
Existential emus,
Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes.

Whilst hoping you find
Your Sherlock Holmes,
Miss Watson
I will content myself with
Cataloguing my collection of
Black and white combs.

I also have plots on
Which I need to work -

Wednesday Addams's love of
Moon dried tomatoes

Or Erica Roe
Somewhere in Portugal
Growing sweet potatoes
For sale.

Don't let anyone tell you
There ain't no perks
To being an Omega Male.

Folded pieces of paper.
Old past due assignments.
Made paper footballs with-
Corners pointed like diamonds.

Spent all that time.
Scooping out room for-
You in my heart.
Like guts of a pumpkin.

Stay close to you I tried.
But the pumpkin got rotten.
Corners got bent.
And my company unwanted.

A couple of cans of root beer.
Sitting along my windowsill.
Sitting still, lukewarm and flat.
Dragging in gnats.

I remade my bed.
Cleared off the pillows-
I pretended were you-
And made room for two.

I took down the pictures.
I took down the lights.
Took down some notes on-
How to resist my-

Need to be loved and-
My want to be fine.
My urge to move forward and-
Hunger to fight.

I get lost in the right-
Ideas and go wrong.
I hope that you don't think-
That I belong here.

Playing for the game’s affection
working hard isn’t an option
but instead a pleasure.
bring the NFL to any strip
of grass long enough to run on.
all we needed was a ball.

It could have stayed like that.
But the older we got the less
That ball mattered.
The block was no longer a part
Of the game it had be come
A part of life.

Traded in the grass
For concrete escape routes.
The ball got sold or smoked away.
After all of that I still tried to play.

I never wanted to give it up.
The rest of them had no choice,
With every year that passed
One more stopped playing.
I made it the longest
All four years of highschool