My Valentine has a ticket to ride;
So London town beware!
New wings will carry her up north;
A pass to Leicester Square.
Let Big Ben toll and chime aloud;
St James's Park prepare;
The hustle of the Covent calls;
For her to stop and glare.
Our Festival halls a singing show;
But not a stage needs she;
For Shakespeare wets her rosy lips;
Or a lovely cup of tea.
A winking Thames will guide her way,
Along a South Bank charming;
For knowing swans will nod and sway;
To see again their darling.
And she indeed is friend in kind;
To changing guards and steads;
A wine bar to intrigue her sense;
But a wooden hut to feast!
She rides the tube - this surfing queen;
No palace holds her bound;
No chains to shackle regal wrists;
In no tower is she found.
Free as the wind, sweet honey bee;
She feeds my love in rations;
My desire for her will never fade;
But London is her passion!
There was a girl called Polly Esther,
the fastest girl from downtown Leicester.
Pre-packaged food was her sole fare,
For healthy meals she had no care.
In the tum for food there's room.
There plastic wrappings end in doom
But it's Thursday,
the alarm clock rang and a
nightingale squawked
down in Hoxton Square.
A jump start to the day to which
I will pay a price.
Eyes still feeling sleep gritty and
moving tepidly through the
brown streets of the city
I stop for a tea in the Mozart cafe.
Moving on with the song that plays on inside me
I make my way to the Temple
though hardly to pray
Charing Cross that way,
Trafalgar
no battles
just the rattle of a tin can
the beggar man always sits there.
Leicester Square,
tackier that Hoxton
but riches that hide behind casino doors.
Chinatown
more brown streets
authentic cooking
where
East meets the West
I do my best
and that's as good
as it gets
or as good at it is
on Thursday.
We should only eat six sprouts at Christmas
Deem the council who are in Leicestershire
Its no joke, it’s a serious message at Xmas
To reduce waste and not make it higher
We must cut back on crisp pigs in blankets
And should only have three stuffing balls
Also cut back on spuds and fluffy Yorkshire puds
Gee I’m going to be climbing the walls!
I love to eat sprouts at my Christmas dinner
There will be NO sprout restriction for me
I’m rebelling; you may call me a sinner
There'll be piles of sprouts when I eat tea
Yes I’m going to load up my plate
Those officials can just go to hell
I’ll eat sprout after sprout after spout
And then let out a disgusting smell
The council’s intentions are honourable
Of that there are no doubts
But Leicester County Council
Keep your mitts off my Brussel sprouts!
12/21/17
Arsenal first Friday, always start well
New signings too, will give Leicester hell
Arsenal easy, next,
Liverpool in the early game, a win at a canter
Watford offer up more presents than Santa
Arsenal easy, Liverpool canter, next,
Chelsea at the Bridge a cert to crush Burnley
Untouchable last season, this is money for free
Arsenal easy, Liverpool canter, Chelsea a cert, next,
Man City away win, there’s simply no reason
Why Brighton won’t be relegation fodder this season
Arsenal easy, Liverpool canter, Chelsea a cert, Man City away, next,
Spurs to cane Newcastle, big gap in class
Don’t think the magpies are gonna last
Arsenal easy, Liverpool canter, Chelsea a cert, Man City away, Spurs pure class, last,
Man United on fire, all glitz and glamour
Scoring for fun, gonna stuff the hammers
Arsenal easy, Liverpool canter, Chelsea a cert, Man City away, Spurs pure class, United on fire,
Fifty quid on a six-fold, what could possibly go wrong
.
.
Arsenal Nil Leicester 1
.
.
Damn
Blue Cheese
There is Cheshire, Red Leicester, Emmental and Brie,
Double Gloucester and Edam, a delight for all to see,
Stilton, Caerphilly, or Cheddar mature and mild,
Lots of subtle flavours to drive my taste bud’s wild.
There is Lancashire, Wensleydale or Derby to please,
So why, oh’ why, would you serve me Blue Cheese?
That smelly Blue cheese you know I cannot stand,
Give me Shropshire Mild, or something rather bland.
I don’t want that stinking dairy, in my salad box,
Opening the lid to an odour of sweaty socks.
So, hear my request I am begging of you please,
No more, no more, of that smelly blue cheese.
There was a old farmers son from Hull
Who went to market to buy a bull
to bid he didn't know how
Ends up buying a sow,
Should have took the old farmer from Hull.
There was a lovely lady from Leeds
Whom liked putting stickers high in trees
But while planting stickers
She did not ware knickers
Which all the young men watching did please
There was a nice young lady called Ruth
Who parked her small car upon the roof
While some people did stare
yellow lines everywhere
Just made this up that's to tell the truth
There was a poor young man from Leicester
had a sore that started to fester,
To pick it would be wrong
It was behind his thong,
Oh that sore poor young man from Leicester.
An illiterate old bloke called Holv
Writing poetry he couldn't resolve,
All day long he would sit
Writing loads of s..t,
riddles for his poor readers to solve.
( Hull, Leeds, and Leicester are towns in England,
Holv is actually me )
Leicester City.
L eading the Premiership
E xpecting to win this Season
I nserting goals into the net
C apable and able football team
E uropean challenge next year
S uccess not expected by many
T op financially rich teams
E veryone loves an underdog
R really Wonderful season
C apable and willing
I ncredible exceptionally wonderful
T eam work play for each other
Y es yes yes they've done it.
contest message in an acrostic.
sponsored by Kim Rodrigues.
19/01/2017.
Champions of England, who'd have guessed,
That of all the big teams we'd've played the best?
Not Chelsea or Arsenal or Manchester Teams,
Just little old Leicester with faith, hope and dreams.
Though barely known and under-rated,
This team was was blessed and as heroes fated.
So with the title won, what have we learned?
Leagues can't be bought they must be earned!
And who'd be brave enough to bet,
That the amazing tale's not finished quite yet.
A champions league? A Cup? A League?
Who knows what's next such great intrigue.
Us fans will chant and cheer and dance,
Whilst Garry does MOTD in his pants.
My team may never again be this high,
But come what may I'm Leicester till I die.
As I lay me down to sleep,
I pray our goal should Schmeichel keep,
That Vards and Mahrez hit the net
More premier records they're sure to set.
Albrighton and Schlupp will work the wings; Whilst Drink's and Kante pull the strings;
Okazaki, Simpson, Fuchs, their names we'll write in history books;
Huth and Morgan stand tall and strong;
The bells ring out, dilly-ding-dilly-dong;
As fans sing songs in every stand,
We're soon to reach the promised land;
And if the dream should end before that day,
I'm Leicester City anyway.
If Vardy, Mahrez or Kante leave,
I'll be upset but will not grieve,
I'd wish them well and wish them luck,
And send them thanks for risks they took,
That led to that momentous day,
When Leicester blew the league away.
I hope they'll always find success,
Though I hope they stay I must confess.
For whilst they're here, they're part of us,
With parades to come on the champions' bus,
At other clubs they'll seldom find,
The spirit that they leave behind.
Whether great escape or championship run,
We played with style and scored for fun,
They've made us cry and made us cheer,
But success hasn't finished here,
Cometh the Season and Cometh the hour,
From our Walkers Crisps past to our new Thai King Power,
Our fearless blue foxes have lived through the dream,
Rising up to the top like the richest of cream.
It could never happen, it defied all the odds,
After all this is Leicester, not footballing gods?
But week after week our boys held to their nerve,
And they ground out the wins to get what they deserved.
Lucky whilst workmanlike labelled by most,
Powered by Buddhism or King Richard’s ghost,
Though the points all stacked up as the run carried on,
The experts were baffled at the phenomenon.
It confounded the pundits and astounded the fans,
Won with hard-work, commitment and no ‘fancy Dans’.
Ranieri kept joking with the press and nay-sayers,
But called no one an Ostrich, and didn’t choke any players.
And as the season concluded and Bocelli sang,
As the fireworks exploded closing things with a bang,
As the foxes blue army vented pleasure and pain,
In our minds nagged a question, could they do it again…
If you go to Villa Park
You'll be in for a lark.
From kickoff the opposition will look on fire
But that is because Villa are so dire.
The goals go in one two three four
By halftime it could end as a cricket score.
The Villa fans slide down in their seat
Knowing they are heading for another defeat.
Thinking there is no inspiration
And heading closer to relegation
Twenty minutes to go the fans head for home
They have to face work with no safety zone.
But don't expect me to take pity
Because I support Leicester City.
Haiku version
Sad Villa fans. Cry
Relegation looms. Bottom.
Leicester fans smile. Top.
There is a pub in the Midlands
Which goes by a fishy name.
Be careful what you say in there.
Or you won't be let in again.
It won't be swearing that'll get you barred
Or the starting of a fight
But suggestions to improve the beer.
Or compliments when it's right.
So when next in Leicester
Try a friendly pub instead
The place many recommend
Is the good old Kings Head.
A Yankee lover for Leicester
unsure pronounced it Likester
sorry the agent did smirk
none for likester you jerk
but plenty if she's in Lester.
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