The Four Seasons of Arsenal

In spring she is ending,
The leaves of the past piled at her feet.
In summer she is dormant,
Slumbering while the world boils around her.
In fall she is animated,
Fresh hope springs from her soils.
And in winter she is graying,
Pulled between fall’s anticipation and spring’s unwinding.

Qq

19 thoughts on “The Four Seasons of Arsenal

  1. +4 Vote -1 Vote +1jaymin

    They have the basest non league strayers, they make of them true world class players, they enjoy their shows and thrust, as their Nugget owner looks on with lust, and when their boys have become men, trained and blooded in the AFC Crest, they’re sold to teams who want to be the best. and not just make money to pay off fat old English aristocrats. minus 1 me!

    1. Vote -1 Vote +1Gunman

      Love It. Love your poems! Keep em coming… you have become one of my favourite posters on here ( after Bunburyist and Madame London calling ofcourse) . I vote for you as our resident poet to fill in if Tim ever needs one..

      And Great work Tim as usual !

      Cant wait for us to Shaft city over the weekend now!

  2. Vote -1 Vote +1Bunburyist

    It’s William Carlos Williams at Latin school. Fall’s “anticipation”? Life and its seasons call for the Germanic. But I love that you write these things, and don’t care whether anyone likes them.

    You know, Marianne Moore was an avid baseball fan, and she was a damn fine poet.

      1. Vote -1 Vote +1Bunburyist

        I think for the ending I’d let the reader make the connection that has already been developing since the first line. So why not leave out “anticipation” and “unwinding” altogether?

        “Pulled between fall and spring” is richer in possibility, and draws the reader back into the poem. Don’t you think?

        I’d also get rid of “animate” and add a bit of Icelandic verve: “in fall she quickens” or something similar.

        But I like how your poem both revives and renounces the tropes of season poems.

      2. +3 Vote -1 Vote +1Bunburyist

        Come on, Tim, you know you want to tell me to fuck right off. Everyone’s a fucking critic, etc. Go ahead. I’ll still read your blog. I’m needy.

      3. Vote -1 Vote +1Bunburyist

        You mean not everyone likes a smart-ass know-it-all who opens his cake-hole despite never being asked to do so?

        I can’t believe it.

      4. Vote -1 Vote +1Tim Post author

        Nope. I rather enjoy intelligent critiques. How else will I get better at writing poetry if I refuse help from people like you who are more knowledgeable about it than I?

  3. +3 Vote -1 Vote +11NilToTheArsenal

    Simple and charming and I quite liked it:

    “Arsenal Everything” by Debra Humphries, here -
    http://www.footballpoets.org/p.asp?Id=21316

    They wake up in their arsenal beds,
    and walk accross the arsenal floor.
    They open the arsenal curtains,
    and exit by the arsenal door.

    The two Arsenal kids at the table,
    eating breakfast off their arsenal plates.
    Run off to put their arsenal kits on.
    Before playing with their arsenal mates.

    Back home to watch arsenal on the telly,
    they have a great arsenal time.
    while I am in the garden,
    hanging arsenal on the line.

    They sit at the table now.
    I ask “kids, what are you doing”
    They look up at me and smile
    “we’re writng an arsenal poem”

    © debra humphries

  4. +2 Vote -1 Vote +1BayGooner

    O Arsenal! with profitless endeavour
    Have I perused thee, many a wearly hour I sat;
    But thou didst not swell the victor’s strain, nor e’er
    Didst wreath thy goal in swarms of human power.
    Unlike from all, howe’er they praise thee,
    (Nor prayer, nor proud sidepass delays thee)
    Dislike from Fergchester’s harpy minions,
    And factious Pulis’ obscene slaves,
    Thou bombast forth on feathered pinions,
    Oft snapped in wretched challenge, still to fly and pass,
    The guide of high berry winds, the emir of the waves !
    And there I felt thee!–on mid-field’s verge,
    Whose pines, scarce travelled by the breeze above,
    Had made one murmur ‘gainst the distant surge !
    Yes, while I stood and gazed, my temples bare,
    And shot my being through earth, sea, and air,
    Possessing all things with intensest love,
    O Arsenal ! my spirit felt thee there.

  5. +1 Vote -1 Vote +1BradyWasGod

    We all love that team called The Arsenal,
    Even though they won’t spend any brass at all.
    But in Wenger we trust
    ‘Til Man Citi goes bust,
    and Fergie crawls up his own arse an’ all…

    Well SOMEBODY had to lower the tone…

  6. +1 Vote -1 Vote +1Teampossible

    Adebayor, Adebayor, his dad…..amirite?

    Just kidding, guys.
    Tim, you are managing to turn this place into a real Arsenal Cultural center and it’s really something else.
    Now, I kinda suck at poetry, but I’ll make sure to chip in when the post containing Arsenal based photoshop arrives. Then you guys will suck it bigtime.
    And yes, I’m talking about you as well, Bunburyist.

Comments are closed.