May 27, 2025

 

 

When as a child

I was taken to my very first football game,

it awoke in me a feeling

that to life there now was some aim.

 

I entered a stadium so wondrous,

filling with people as eager as me,

to forget all their daily troubles

and join together in sweet harmony.

 

And on the day I received for my birthday

a season ticket with my name inside,

was one of the happiest days of my life,

I was hooked and so full of pride.

 

We became a close-knit triangle …

my grandad, dad and me,

and on freezing days when we were losing,

we still had hot pies and a flask of tea.

 

We shared great cup runs together

so excited waiting for the next draw,

and the chance of playing away to a top club

made defeat just a little less raw.

 

And when I moved off to uni

another club became my team of choice,

‘Whatever is the boy thinking?’

exclaimed my family, in one voice.

 

Then, when I married and had children

and grandad passed to the other side,

my son took over his seat in the stand,

and that day we won, and were misty-eyed.

 

Football always there to turn to

and through the decades still remains,

at the very heart of family foundations,

each club singing its own refrains.

 

This poem is not just about one player

displayed on our bedroom wall in a frame,

it’s a story of love and unity

brought together by this fabulous game.

 

by Harriet Blackbury

 

and can be read in Issue 93 (page 40)

of Backpass – The Retro Football Magazine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

January 3, 2025

 

 

and on that note

one must not dwell.

A giant quaver.

A decibel.

 

and on that word

one must not linger.

A time of loss.

A real hurt bringer.

 

and on that thought

one must not sleep.

The mighty fortress.

The castle’s keep.

 

and on that question

one must not reply.

Let the past be done.

Let the time go by.

 

and on that subject

one must not forget.

The good times plenty.

The heavenly duet.

 

and on that milestone

one must not stand still.

Many roads to conquer.

Many walks uphill.

 

and on that sorrow

one must not recall.

A time put to bed.

A new day to install.

 

and on that future

one must not deny.

A brighter time.

A freedom cry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Words not dated or orated

become words signed off with anon.

Words not claimed or yet debated

can belong to anyone.

 

Words not owned or contemplated,

without structure, hang about.

Words not meant or clearly stated,

lose credulity, without doubt. 

 

Words unsaid or even thought,

like lightening’s flash, just pass on by,

before the mind, they ever enter,

now all words belong to AI.

 

Words not even worth their salt,

become the enemy of our rhymes.

Words now stolen from life’s vault!

Copyright an ass, in these strange times.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Is it really out of the question?

Is it really so extreme?

Is it a figment of the imagination?

Is it really just a pipe dream?

 

Is it too far fetched to believe in?

Is it hiding in plain sight?

Is it just the fascination

of thinking you are up for the fight?

 

Is it possible you have the strength?

Is it true you are in contention?

Is it just a passing rumour?

Is it even worth a mention?

 

Is it likely you’d want the job,

if it was offered to you on the spot?

Is it worth telling all the world,

that your name is back in the pot?

 

 

 

December 2, 2024

 

 

We can smile at strangers,

It really is ok

to acknowledge the existence

of someone who walks our way.

 

We can share our humour

with someone we’ve never met.

Face to face is so much better,

and something we won’t regret.

 

We can share a moment,

even if it’s only with our eyes.

Smiling eyes are worth a chapter,

in the book of sweet surprise.

 

We can bond with people,

from the very first glance.

So go on, I double dare you,

give your beaming smile a chance.

 

 

September 19, 2024

 

 

I awoke and wrote in darkness,

the view much clearer than the day.

I’d tossed and turned with mind on fire,

so much not said, I had to say.

 

I wrote and awoke the madness

as moonbeams spurred me on.

I’d loved and yearned with hearts desire,

so much not done, where had time gone?

 

I slept and dreamed how different

today could well have been.

I ran and skipped in highest spirit,

so much imagined, in extreme.

 

I dreamed and slept in raptures.

Tomorrow a new dawn to explore.

I gently rode each wave that came.

Oh passion stay, forever more. 

 

 

 

August 13, 2024

 

 

Purple haze and yellow fever

Blue ridge mountains, golden retriever.

 

Lilac, lavender, white snowdrops

Orange cordial, Coco pops.

 

Red sails in sunsets and thunderclaps.

Lightning striking, men without caps.

 

Black ink by Quink and shocking pink.

Potato peelings blocking the sink.

 

Mauve and scarlet, yellow and green,

outshone by peach and tangerine.

 

Slushy snow and unfilled dreams.

Dad liked all flavours of ice cream.

 

Mushroom, beige and racing green.

Pale blue e-types now seldom seen.

 

Black and grey and Teal – the duck.

Bright red leather, not good luck.

 

Nutty brown and almond paste,

many a pastry eaten in haste.

 

Lemon jelly, cherry cake.

Waist expanding, big mistake.

 

Lime and soda and evergreen.

Hot pepper sauce, setting the scene.

 

Fawn at dawn and midnight blue.

In a hurry, join the queue.

 

 

 

 

 

I rarely cry, but today

a lone tear rolled down my cheek.

I was too choked to speak.

 

I rarely sigh, but today

a sense of weariness came passing by.

Oh me, oh my!

 

I rarely retreat, but today

some privacy I had to seek.

I momentarily felt weak.

 

I rarely transgress, but today

with my head on the block,

I had to take stock.

 

I rarely give in, but today

my excuses were running thin,

so I let him win.

 

I rarely shout, but today

my patience just simply ran out.

What’s that all about?

 

I rarely need help, but today

my world turned upside down,

so I hit the town.

 

I rarely regret, but today 

stupidity raised it’s head,

and from the scene I fled.

 

I rarely back track, but today

my actions were lacking attack.

I thought I would crack.

 

I rarely pray, but today

I did, as I’d lost my way.

No more to say.

 

 

 

May 22, 2024

 

 

In 60, this brit born Australian entered the charts.

when Lucky Devil peaked at No.22.

This being the first of 15 hits on Columbia,

ensuring Frank Ifield’s fan base grew.

 

Ending 60, Gotta Get A Date

reached to No.49.

And in 62, staying for 28 weeks in the charts,

I Remember You, spent 7 weeks on the No.1 line.

 

Also in 62, Lovesick Blues was a 5 week No.1

In 63, The Wayward Wind made a 3 week No.1 too.

Then, Nobody’s Darlin’ But Mine, rose to No.4.

And for 2 weeks at No.1 was Confessin’ (That I Love You).

 

Ending 63, came Mule Train, reaching No.22.

And In 64, peaking at No.8 was Don’t Blame Me.

Next in 64, rising to No.25, was

Angry As The Big Oak Tree.

 

Still in 64, I Should Care, rose to No.33.

And Summer Is Over, settled at No.25.

In 65, Paradise, found No.26, 

And in 66, No One Will Ever Know, also a No.25.

 

Finally in 66, Call Her Your Sweetheart, made No.24,

And in 91, The Yodelling Song, on EMI, 

featuring The Back Room Boys, was a Top 40.

You were part of our DNA, Goodbye Frank Ifield, Goodbye.

 

Thank you for the music

R I P   Frank Ifield   1937 – 2024

written by

Harriet Blackbury

 

usual copyright rules apply.

 

 

May 16, 2024

 

 

When the butterflies came

I remembered your name.

When the butterflies came

We ran up the lane.

When the butterflies came

Life was so insane.

When the butterflies came.

When the butterflies came.

 

When the butterflies went

I remembered your scent.

When the butterflies went

I knew what life meant.

When the butterflies went

Love was all but spent.

When the butterflies went.

When the butterflies went.

 

by Harriet Blackbury.

 

 

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