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Best Poems Written by David Horne

Below are the all-time best David Horne poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | David Horne Poem

Goodbye

I’ll always remember the things that we did,
When you were my dad and I was your kid.
You were everything then that I wanted to be,
And you’re fully the reason why I became me.

We drew Indian villages on big cardboard sheets,
And on Sunday evenings we’d have midnight feasts.
You would toast us a crumpet on the fire with your fork,
You would play the Atari whilst I would just talk.

I would sit on the side while you made us both toast,
Whilst I told you wild stories of some made up coast,
You encouraged my dreaming and imagination,
You helped me to learn and embrace education.

You worked all hours going to put food on the table.
But you always made time to play games when you’re able.
All the kids in the area joined our huge snowball fights,
And most still remember you taught them to ride bikes.

We had all that we wanted and then some more on top,
With a legendary dad who was cream of the crop,
And as we grew up, and as we became men,
You were best friend and confident and then dad again.

If ever I needed advice or a moan,
You would always be there on the end of the phone,
You would listen for hours and though nothing was solved,
You would focus my mind, my belief and resolve.

You’re my teacher, my mentor and my happy place,
And though you leave us too soon there’s a smile on my face,
For your legacy shows how you’ve relished this life, 
Leaving four loving sons and your Gail, your wife.
  
It’s so hard as I write this and say my goodbyes,
I will miss you for always and have many more cries.
But I want you to know whilst you’re leaving is sad,
How grateful I am to have had you as my dad.

In all I’ll achieve and the places I’ll see,
You’ll always be there seeing it right with me,
And if I’ve one regret, one thing I didn’t do,
It’s becoming a Dad who is loved just like you.

I owe you more than words; till we meet again old man.

Details | David Horne Poem

Don'T Know You'Re Born

When I was young I heard my dad,
Repeat a phrase that I thought mad,
We’d asked for sweets and with much scorn, 
He said ‘You kids don’t know you’re born’; 
Before I explore what that means, 
It filled my mind with abstract scenes, 
I questioned in my childish head, 
The consciousness of not being dead?
These images caused mild delusion,
Grammatically it caused confusion,
(Back then I was more sensitive,
And the phrase was meant to be relative); 
Of course his string of double Dutch,
Was meant to say we had too much,
And as we’d never been without,
We didn’t know what ‘want’s about.
Admittedly, defending Dad,
If we just asked then we soon had,
And while I didn’t see it then,
We got our wish time and again.
When mum and dad themselves were small, 
They didn’t have that much at all, 
We’ve often since all heard the speech, 
How Christmas brought just one gift each, 
With just some nuts and fruit as well, 
Which seemed to us like Christmas hell!
But though they didn’t get a lot,
They appreciated all they got.
They made the best of what they had,
To them it didn't seem that bad.
And now that I am getting old,
I’m learning now what we’d been told.
When we were kids we had a lot,
But nothing like what kids have now got!
I see parents taking out bank loans,
To get their kids the latest phones,
And see them wearing clothes designed,
For twenty five’s not under nines.
Whilst we would play out on the park,
And stay out late till it got dark,
The kids today are all inside
On console games on their backsides,
They’re stealing cars on GTA
Or buying rubbish off ebay,
Or killing zombies with a sword,
The grizzliest death getting great reward; 
On candy crush or on Minecraft, 
The range of games is unsurpassed, 
From playstation, they're moving on, 
To searching streets for Pokemon...
And whilst that gets them some fresh air, 
They're chasing things that are not there!
I'm not so old that I don't see,
The wonder of virtual reality,
But surely there's a time and place,
And things that it just can't replace.
It seems to me now that I’m grown,
That games today are played alone.
Though played in groups, they've never met, 
Except whilst on the Internet.
The friends I had when I would play,
We're down the road, not far away.
We laughed and cried in every weather,
Explored our world and learned together.
And maybe it is me that's daft,
A relic from a recent past? 
But I wonder what this life will do,
To those who follow me and you.

Details | David Horne Poem

Tea Time In Leicester

“Ay up me duck” sed me dad to me mam,
“Ah'v gorr’us some cobs and some nice Walkers ham”;
“The market was manic” he continued to speak’,
“I popped up to Linekers' to get fruit for the week”;
He came into the room and sat down next to me,
while mam poured him a nice mug of fresh brewed tetley.
“I popped int'a the aye-cross on me way back”;
“Just to av a swift arf, you know, just for the craic”,
“'I was playin' the frootie and just mindin' me own”,
“While some nutter beyind me 'ad a raj down the phone”;
“Ee was gettin all mardy to 'is bird or 'is mate”,
“cause they'd sed Jamie Vardy weren’t all that great”'
“well if you could've herd it, it got pretty scary”,
“he was gettin quite heated and seriously larey!”
Then me dad sat there chuckling away to himself
While me mam got the butter down off of the shelf.
He looked over at me still adorned with a grin,
“How are you anyway lad, and where av you bin?”
“Ah'v bin up the town' I said 'riding round Vicky Park”,
“giving our lad a croggy on me bike till the dark”.
And that's how it went just me mam, dad and me
As we ate up our cobs and had a few cups of tea;
It might not be Rio or L.A. or Rome, 
But teatime in Leicester will always be home.

Details | David Horne Poem

British Summertime

Showers, storms, drizzle, rain,
The English ‘summer’s’ here again,
It’s way too hot or way too cold,
There’s no mid-range, it’s uncontrolled.
We get three days of muggy heat,...
No air, a storm and then repeat,
But though rains fallen since early Jan,
By May there’ll be a hosepipe ban!
Whilst other countries cope with strains,
Of tropical storms and hurricanes,
The whole of England slows to a crawl,
With the slightest wind and mild rainfall.
When the sun is shining we say its muggy,
When the rain is falling its way too soggy,
With the lightest wind "we’re gonna freeze",
Basically we just can’t be pleased!
Whether heat or wind or driving rain,
It’s very British to complain.
So whether we’re too cold or we’re too hot,
Seems we’re only happy when in fact we’re not!

Details | David Horne Poem

'six Little Fingers' Or the Norwich Song

When I was a boy of two or three,
My dad and cousin said to me;
'You'll be the gee-tar player in a big folk band',
‘'With those six little fingers on your right webbed hand',
-----------------
So he went straight out to make me a star,
And he sold his horse and bought a new gee-tar; 
But a band needs maybe two or three, 
So my daddy brought in some family.
----------------
There was cousin Jeb with his massive chin, 
He could play pee-anna and the violin, 
There was cousin Pete on the double bass, 
His teeth were huge and covered half his face.
---------------
My cousin Jane was an easy choice,
With her long gold hair and an angels voice;
And daddy noticed too that as she grew, 
She had udders like our old cow daisy too.
---------------
We practised hard till we were good,
But every now and then we would;
Be forced to play without our singer,
Cause she'd be in the hay with a local minger.
---------------
So when we'd growed and we could play,
We loaded up the cart one day,
We headed out, past our own land
With my six little fingers on my webbed right hand.
--------------
We got on stage on the opening night,
My hand felt stiff and my stomach tight; 
But we couldn't begin without our Jane, 
And she'd disappeared round the back again.
-------------
The curtain opened but the stage was bare, 
We couldn't find jane anywhere; 
Then I found them bangin in the nearest loo,
 Now cousin jane is my auntie too!
------------
We came back to Norwich and broke up the band,
I'm not the big star that Daddy had planned,
But I'm the fastest milker in the whole damned land, 
With my six little fingers on my webbed right hand.

Details | David Horne Poem

Bit of Fun For Gav From Ipswich

In Suffolk where the barley grows,
Its said that folks have seven toes, 
And 'round some parts of Sutton Hoo,
They've grown an extra finger too!
They're banjo players one and all, 
And tractor drivers but that's not all, 
They don't go far when they get wed, 
They choose a cousin to bed instead;
So watch yourself and have a care,
If you should wander way down there,
I wouldn't say they're thick or slow,
But your average Snape or Ipswich joe,
Is often found with a throbbing brain,
And his jaw dropped at the sight of planes,
Or wondering where the voice is from,
Bewildered by a mobile phone,
With flowery accent and hint of snarl,
They're more or less Neanderthal,
'Orlroit Boi' they're heard to shout,
When seeing friends round and about,
Then his brain goes into overdrive:
'Oi'll see yer ammara in the pub at foive'
But it's not my personal politics,
To claim they're cider swilling hicks,
This is of course a fallacy,
(though grounded in reality ;p)

Details | David Horne Poem

The Dream - Lcfc

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…

Details | David Horne Poem

T'Was a Fox Before Christmas Lcfc

T'was the week before Christmas, as I watched the live stream
I could hardly believe what I could see on my screen.
With Manchester losing to Norwich two one,
We could keep our top spot if we held out and won.

On a day that a legend of football (Jimmy Hill) had passed,
We were top of the league whilst last year we'd been last.
In a restless first half we took the lead at a canter,
Until Lukaku scored to cue Everton banter.

When out from the break we again took the lead,
As Vardy was fouled as he showed off his speed.
Up stepped our Mahrez to take the spot kick,
Which he knocked beyond Howard with a feint and a flick.

With City now flying and fans singing the score,
It took only four minutes before we had one more.
With Vardy again making runs through their flanks
Okazaki nipped in and took his team mates thanks.

With Everton down but by no means yet beat,
A long ball from the toffees fell at Miralles feet.
With only two minutes left of full time on our clocks,
It was once again squeeky bum time for each fox.

As we defended in numbers and all fans stayed wary,
The whistle unleashed a scream from Ranieri.
Eight wins and one draw in our last nine league games,
You can hear history calling our star players names!

Vardy and Mahrez have been grabbing the goals,
Whilst Shlupp and Drinkwater have played pivotal roles.
Albrighton and Kante have been simply on fire,
And he's ably supported by King and by Dyer.

Now Schmeicel, now Morgan, now Ulloa and Fuchs.
Your names will live long in our history books!
To the top of the league against all of the odds.
You have answered our prayers to the footballing gods.

And as the year turns though we know its been tough,
We are sure there'll be more of this fairy tale stuff.
We may pick up injuries and suffer fatigue,
But despite all the talk, we are top of the league.

With a proud Gary Lineker on Match of the day, 
It's been years since our City have been seen in this way.
Not since 2000 under Martin O'Neil,
Have the fans seen a squad with such a quality feel.

Ranieri who's marshalled our amazing revival,
Is still keeping his sights firmly set on survival.
Though there's bound to be plenty of twists and intrigue,
Happy Christmas all foxes, yes we're top of the league!

Details | David Horne Poem

Holiday

When I was young and lived with mum,
We’d wait all year till July come,
We’d pack the car and drive away,
To Mablethorpe on holiday.

It wasn’t flash and hardly slick, 
But those things aren’t the things that stick,
When you think back now what mattered most,
Were the simplest things of little cost.

Even now I miss such things,
As candy floss and doughnut rings,
Busy arcades in neon flush,
Space Harrier and the 2pence push,

When on the beach we loved the sea,
And sparkle lollies (just 12p!)
A donkey ride and the kites we flew,
And paper flags for a castle or two.

The Fulbeck pub – a major plus,
A beer for dad, pop and crisps for us,
Michael Jackson still going strong,
And PYT was my favourite song.

It may not have been Saint Tropez,
But I’d like to go back there some day,
With mum and dad and my brothers too,
Laughing in the sun like we used to do.

Details | David Horne Poem

Lcfc - Our Team

Son of a legend, and the greatest of Danes,
A towering keeper with success in his veins,
From a boy at United he’s developed and grown,
And now Kaspar Schmeichel as a Champion is known.
 
A tireless worker on the right of defence,
With both pace and great timing mixed with tactical sense,
Though with less of the fuss that surrounds his team mates,
Danny Simpson belongs on the roll of fox greats.
 
The captain of Austria and a bit of a lad,
Though defensive at first, an attacking launch pad,
He is sure to be present in the history books,
He’s our Austrian left back, Christian Fuchs.
 
A man or a mountain, or a Teutonic knight,
Standing strong in the tackle, always up for the fight,
He’s a twice honoured champion, not too long in the tooth
He is known by just one word, and that word is Huth.
 
He’s the captain of captains, he’s our fearless fox leader,
Made a bang in the premier like a blue Al Queda,
He is Wesley (Wes) Morgan or Big Wes to his mates,
And he’s up there with Walsh and the rest of the greats.