{"id":11274,"date":"2016-07-10T08:00:57","date_gmt":"2016-07-10T08:00:57","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/ink.verticalplus.co.uk\/archive\/?p=11274"},"modified":"2016-06-25T15:45:11","modified_gmt":"2016-06-25T15:45:11","slug":"peter-raynard","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/peter-raynard\/","title":{"rendered":"Peter Raynard"},"content":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Football Classics<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>In the world of half-time entertainment, food is all.<br \/>\nHeaven\u2019s pies, cow\u2019s tea, dogs bloodied on a sponge sub.<\/p>\n<p>As we catch up with scores elsewhere,<br \/>\npixels of sound pepper God\u2019s stale-priced air.<\/p>\n<p><em>What is that? Is that a harp?<\/em><\/p>\n<p>We lose ourselves across a map of sticky footprints,<br \/>\nmeditate our way back to a stand of plastic thrones<br \/>\nto see the teams, readied, players steaming in the cold,<br \/>\nstringing their puppet legs up and down waiting on the ref.<\/p>\n<p>The sound still rules over us, ripples through the crowd<br \/>\nlike fingers that tickle the big screen awake, to show<br \/>\nthe ref, in his room, plucking the fuck out of the king\u2019s strings,<br \/>\nthat golden ear we\u2019ve only ever seen against the darkness<br \/>\nof a weeping cold pint of Guinness.<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p>&nbsp;<\/p>\n<p><strong>Peter Raynard<\/strong> is the editor of Proletarian Poetry (<a href=\"https:\/\/proletarianpoetry.com\/\" target=\"_blank\">www.proletarianpoetry.com)<\/a> and a member of Malika Booker\u2019s Poetry Kitchen. His poems have featured in a number of magazines, and his collection, <em>The Common Five-Eighters <\/em>is forthcoming from Smokestack Books.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Football Classics In the world of half-time entertainment, food is all. Heaven\u2019s pies, cow\u2019s tea, dogs bloodied on a sponge sub. As we catch up with scores elsewhere, pixels of sound pepper God\u2019s stale-priced air. What is that? Is that a harp? We lose ourselves across a map of sticky footprints, meditate [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-11274","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11274","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=11274"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11274\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":11276,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/11274\/revisions\/11276"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=11274"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=11274"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=11274"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}