Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

Think About England – Head The Ball ENGLAND 2010 World Cup Song

February 12th, 2010 No comments

Ian Dyer’s (aka the Boothen End Bard) latest project is a world cup song for South Africa 2010. It is called “Think About England” and has been recorded by the band “Head The Ball” which he is the lead singer of.

Have a look at the video here and let me know what you think

Latest Boothen End Bard Poems – Ian Dyer

October 28th, 2009 No comments

Having championed the Boothen End Bard Ian Dyer from the start of his Stoke City poetry “career” I thought it fitting that I shared his new poems with you here.

These were all publicly premiered at the “Night with The Stoke City Legends” (see earlier blog and witnessed by the subjects of the poems. As each was read by Ian, the subject listened intently and to a man, they all shook him by the hand as they loved his poetic performance tributes to themselves.

I often think that seeing the Bard’s work in a written form detracts from experiencing his intense and passionate performance. If you do get a chance to witness him live and in full flow then don’t miss out.

The first up is Denis

Six foot two, eyes of blue, Denis Smith is after you

Six foot two, eyes of blue, Denis Smith is after you

He broke every bone in his body, so the legend goes
Came from Meir, never saw fear, put the wind up all Stoke’s foes
Six foot two, eyes of blue, Denis Smith is after you
Was the famous chant from the Boothen End crew
Heart of a lion, made from solid iron
If he was playing today, you couldn’t buy him
His bravery, fight and spirit, inspired one and all
As a kid, I’d swear to God that he was nine foot tall
One child from God, one of seven
I’m pretty sure Tony Waddingtons already booked his place in heaven
A lead by example City captain and centre half second to none
Denis Smith, Stoke’s number five and Meirs favourite son

© Ian Dyer

Next is Jackie Marsh
Fenton's Finest - Jackie Marsh

Fenton's Finest - Jackie Marsh

I remember Jackie Marsh, looking for his contact lense on Wembleys luscious grass
And putting Chelsea players on their cockney ass
I remember Jackie, straight in from the kick off like Kendo Nagasaki
Or racing down the right side, like a greyhound and he’d backed it
I remember you Marshy, always the life and soul of the party
And living the same lifestyle as your namesake Rodney
Yes I remember you John, another local hero that Waddo called a son

© Ian Dyer

Walks on water
Alan Hudson Walks on Water

Alan Hudson Walks on Water

He swaggered from The Old Kings Road, to the smoking chimneys of Stoke
He turned football into an art form, which endeared him to the potteries folk
One of the greatest talents to be squandered, he never knew how good he could have been
As I for one remember, one of the best I’ve ever seen
I watched on the television in nineteen seventy five
When on his debut for England, he dented German pride
Gunter Netzer called him world class, after he covered every blade of Wembley grass
He made the famous twin towers his own that night but what a crying shame
That because of Revies biass, he only started one more game
A true disciple of the working mans ballet, this man he could amaze, inspire, intrigue
Alf Ramsey had once said of him, there was no limit to what he could achieve
The fact that Waddo brought him to Stoke City, was a master stroke from that great man
A player not seen by the Boothen End, since the legendary Sir Stan
Oh how things could have been so different, if in the seventies football hadn’t liked a drink
Like Best, Huddy lost his way in the game and in the end it brought him to the drink
But for a time, like I sang it from the terraces and although the alcohol he’d slaughter
I promise you now, I’ve witnessed it, Alan Hudson walked on water

© Ian Dyer

Last but not least (the youngest of the four but the only one in black & white!)
Micky T
One Mickey Thomas, There's Only One Mickey Thomas

One Mickey Thomas, There's Only One Mickey Thomas

If ever young minds run free
Like five foot six of Welsh wizardry
What he coundn’t do with the ball at his feet
Whilst thousands in the stands, rose for him to greet
A will of the wisp, a tricky so and so
Only in stature did he ever grow
A fiery, true red dragon
Yet rarely on the wagon
There weren’t many doubting Thomas
And he never broke that promise
In the time it takes to count to ten
Micky could print you loads of them
Even when he went to jail, he had to break back in
He could astound you with his tricks
But ready to tackle like a tonne of bricks
And he scored his fair share of magic goals
Ask Seaman and the other keepers
That he made to look aresholes
So if ever young minds run free
Look no further than Micky T
© Ian Dyer
Please ask permission before reproducing Ian’s work, his full consent has been given to write this.
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