Biography
Chris, student, originally from Manchester but now living in north Wales. Only recently into poetry so still finding my style and interests. Never performed or showcased any of my material in public, but had a piece I wrote about the Manchester bombing in 2017 published (after my sister shared it online) as part of a small collection of 21 other poems to raise funds for the affected families of the deceased. Very interested in attending poetry events, open mic nights and similar, and interacting with fellow poets on this site.
Samples
A poem I wrote last month about the England football team's recent run in the FIFA World Cup 2018: Another English chapter beckons For national spirit and footballing pride We seek the goals to lift our souls We dream of hope and glory tonight The countdown clock is ticking Each second kicking louder than the last Can these young lions join the football gods? Can this team rekindle its great past? Southgate’s sons Eleven men A 23-man team A touch, a foul, a roll, a howl A reminder of what it means They’ll fight with might, unite and strive To be the very best Fists clasped and clenched Their bodies drenched The badge beats upon their chests We’ll sit around the TV screens Holding hands and holding hearts Drinking, thinking, linking, singing Cannot wait for it to start! But it started long before today In our mind’s eye we have seen The extra time, muted like mimes We’ve all imagined what could be Dramatic and erratic, perhaps emphatic, it’ll be The thrills and shrills and chills will Write our future history And these lion cubs are growing and going on the prowl They’ll roar and tour and score some more They’ll never throw in the towel And on the field the pack is one All donning manly manes At the front our leader, talisman Our Captain: Harry Kane The golden boy with golden hair Eyeing football’s biggest prize Six goals so far, more than Neymar To the occasion he will rise A gaze from Ramsey and Robson – 2 Sirs their statues standing proud They point the way, and how to play Their smiles pierce the darkest clouds And a nation, in elation, waits with bated breath it seems The hands of time stand still but count our hopes, our fears, our dreams An England eclipse, like in ‘66, descends and blackens Russian skies In its corona shines the fairytale that illuminates our eyes France or Belgium in the Final Perhaps the hosts in the next round But first the Swedes will make us bleed Like Butcher’s crimson crown Such memories: Italia ’90, always close and never far The saves we craved could not be made It broke St. George’s heart On hallowed turf, we showed our worth In Turin we had to win! A pass, a strike An ‘almost’ night We ached for what nearly could have been At 3pm, in the Lion’s Den As red and white adorn the stands The cheers and fears and tears and years grace the face of every fan And at the final whistle, well this is England so who can tell? Beauty unearthed in 3 immortal words: ‘Football… bloody ‘ell!’
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Big Sal
Thu 30th Aug 2018 14:43
Great reason to write poetry - raising funds for those affected by violence. Since poetry is a great mediator and reason to write, that in itself should be commended.?