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Monday, 17 October 2011

Titchtown United

When they demolished the stadium
the fans bought squares of its turf
and took them home
and fitted them into their well-kept lawns.

Then nothing disturbed the tranquil ways
of their well-kept town until the day
when the brand new season dawned. Which was when
they found the squares were out of control
and the grasses therein were thicker
and longer and stronger and far far greener
than those which composed the lawns of old.

And then there was something else:
the grasses could not be cut, they found,
not with mower or shears or any mechanical tool.

And still they were growing
and not only growing but spreading,
and not only spreading but singing.
Yes, that's right, the new grass was singing,
horrendously singing, way out of tune.
It was singing the songs of the fans,
the songs that the terraces knew,
the songs that were green, but also blue.

And not only singing, but swaying
swaying in time to the singing.
And not only grasses, the town:
the whole town was singing - or so it would seem
if you happened to pass that way.

Soon it was taller than sunflowers, taller than trees,
and still it was singing and still it was swaying
and people covered their ears
and they closed all their doors
and not even a window was left ajar.
And only the fans and the players of football
enjoyed the songs that the grasses sang.

Then experts came with knowing ways
and examined the grasses, and let it be known
That: "of course they will sing, for their stems are hollow,
they've reeds in the wind to sing!"

For by now among them was pampas grass and several reeds
and sugar canes and tough bamboos,
and cocksfoot and fog and perenniel rye,
and the roughest of rough-stalked meadow -
though not one of these grasses and been in the squares
that they'd bought when the stadium closed.

And their little town became known as the town
with thousands of towering towers.
There were leaning towers and straggly towers,
thick towers and thin towers, all manner of towers,
and all of them towers of the living grass.

Next thing they found: the grass could be cut
as long as the cutter would sing along
in tune with the grass that was out of tune
and sway in time to the swaying grass. Next thing,
the grasses developed an orange stripe
- orange and green was the strip of their team.

So the fans cut wands of the waving blades
and took them along to cheer the lads,
and they waved and they sang and made such a din -
and never again did they win.


Isabel Doyle said...

Lovely fable Mr King - your grass has run amok! I am only sorry that the magic stalks did not bring victory to the team - or was that the referee?

Isabel x
ps the wv is 'motiest' - apropos of a fine poem, I reckon.

TechnoBabe said...

Grass doth take over. Too much grass for me. And maybe too much singing. Ha. Great fun reading this post.

sunny said...

Hi Mr dave,this is really a amazing poem,i like your poetry very very much,and me really impressed with you,well done Mr dave.

Mary said...

This is a magical poem. I found myself swinging and swaying as I read it!

Eileen T O'Neill ..... said...


What a wonderful read, after a weekend of end to end rugby and football and no doubt many colourful choral chants.
I expect that the hallowed football turf, is held in such high esteem as all other things sacred these days.
Perhaps a sacrilegious act was deemed to have taken place, when the turf was chopped up!!!


Elizabeth Grimes said...

That is quite a story! In my home town, the grass would be red and white...and obnoxiously drunk! Lol!

The Weaver of Grass said...

Dave, without a doubt this is a plot for a good science-fiction novel.

Mama Zen said...

This is so fun!

Anonymous said...

This is so cool. It's sad to think of places like a stadium that house so many memories needing to be demolished. I golfed recently on a course where someone had "rescued" arches from Yankee stadium and had them in their yard. Quite amazing, really.

Tommaso Gervasutti said...

There is music in these lines, astounding. A marvellous "swaying"

Windsmoke. said...

Magical singing grass from the hallowed turf of the stadium bringing joy to the fans, who would have thought :-).

Dave King said...

I think I blame the fans. Must have been their singing. Thanks for the compliment.

Or maybe the wrong sort of grass - but I decided not to go there!

Thank you very much. It is really good to hear that you like it.

This is really great to hear. The best of compliments. Thank you.

Thank you so much for this.Yes, indeed, I think you are on the right track. The turf was too hallowed to be chopped up - no doubt be a chief executive with no background in the beautiful game - and so the spirits turned against the team. It must have been something like that.

Obnoxiously? Cone, come now!

The Weaver of Grass
Mmmm, yes, I think I see the possibilities... thanks for the idea.

Mama Zen
Have to let your hair down occasionally, no? Thanks for saying.

Yes, it does happen. I and my son support Southampton who a few years ago gave up their (rather small) stadium for a bigger, more modern and more convenient one -- they were right to do so, but I was not happy.

Thank you for that. Very pleasing to hear.

These things do happen - don't they?

Anonymous said...

This is funny and adorable!...Put a smile on my face, down to the very last line. Very artfully applied.

Jim Swindle said...

I like this. It sounds sort of like a children's story. (That's not a bad thing.)