Mood For A Day

When I read this poem by Kevin Raymond, I realized that I had felt many of the same feelings before. The explication of the poem is below.

Meandering out when the whistle had blown
Shaking our heads we're amazed
We couldn't believe we'd played so bad at home
We were awful, and a bleeding disgrace.

Throats sore and tight from the shouting
Of vocally trying to spur the team on
Our very souls full of serious self doubting
Reflected in those last shallow songs. 

We're aiming our angst at the waster up front
He couldn't score if their keeper lay static
Fans nearby me were a trifle more blunt
Referring to a birth cert not being valid.

Glistening streets reflecting our ire
We trudge toward a pub near the ground
With our luck of today the pub has caught fire
So our sorrows have no place to drown.

The chances we missed, and freak goal they scored 
Going joyously back to The North points in hand
Replayed so many times on pub's telly it's gauling
We're thinking of giving this boozer a blank.

Fans pore over programmes from cover to back
Searching for a glimmer of hope
To stop too much drinking, thus bringing on an attack
Of depression, where the whole weekend winds up morose.

Idols with trophys smile at us from pictures
On a wall adorned with heroes of the past
From the days when our club and it's mystery 
Inspired an interest in us kids sure to last. 

Staring in to the froth of a watered down beer
We dwell on the points total grossed
A funereal mood encumbers all gathered here
Where winning's a pleasurable ghost.

Just then James Alexander Gordon reads out the scores 
We hear our fierce local rivals are beat
The mood changes to singing and the crashing of doors 
As jubiliant fans race off home, down the street.

Eternal optism informs me and me mucker
Dire matchdays like this will soon pass
Right now, we're all lying down in the gutter
But there's some of us.... looking up at the stars!


This poem is a wonderful description of how fans feel after matches. Sometimes when my team loses, it can ruin my weekend, and it's understood in this poem the sheer amount of feeling which fans invest in their teams. The rhyme scheme is a pretty simple throughout, ababcdcdefef... and so on, but every once in a while it doesn't sound perfectly. That's mainly because of forced word choice which the author needs to comply with, or else the poem wouldn't be as good.


And the last two lines are taken from Oscar Wilde, although they've been changed around a little, it is evident that the framework was taken from the Irish poet. I really enjoyed this poem, and while I'm not a fan of very long poems, I feel like the length is needed, or else the message wouldn't be conveyed properly.