C Boomer's Cricket Poetry.
- Thread starter C Boomer
- Start date
D
Dutch
Guest
I have now merged the threads. Post your poems here or have them deleted. Thanks.
SpitfiresKent
ICC Board Member
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2008
- Location
- England
- Profile Flag
- England
- Online Cricket Games Owned
- Don Bradman Cricket 14 - PS3
- Don Bradman Cricket 14 - Steam PC
- Don Bradman Cricket 14 - PS4
I think he's on another 'planet'. I like the way Dutch told him to stop opening new threads and then he just randomly starts going on about his late grandfather
#Wewantmorepoems !
C Boomer
Club Captain
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2013
Apologies for any inconvenience, yes I will stick to the one thread as I see how it works now.
Cheers C.B.
----------
I think he's on another 'planet'. I like the way Dutch told him to stop opening new threads and then he just randomly starts going on about his late grandfather
#Wewantmorepoems !
being new to the site I wasn't sure of the format and thus did not see the editor's post but now that has been amended so no need for any more of your disparaging remarks !
I suggest if poetry is not your thing don't read it then !!
----------
Only one thread now so no need for you to get upset !
Last edited:
Insomniac
Title Recipient
I don't know whether these are the greatest or worst thing ever
thedon5
Panel of Selectors
Great work mate. Welcome to the forum btw
.
I'm not sure about you guys, but I'd take a guy like this any day over another Asian pre-teen.
.I'm not sure about you guys, but I'd take a guy like this any day over another Asian pre-teen.
SpitfiresKent
ICC Board Member
- Joined
- Sep 5, 2008
- Location
- England
- Profile Flag
- England
- Online Cricket Games Owned
- Don Bradman Cricket 14 - PS3
- Don Bradman Cricket 14 - Steam PC
- Don Bradman Cricket 14 - PS4
I've never disparaged anyone.
C Boomer
Club Captain
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2013
Cricket poetry continued.....
Thank you Sir !
----------
Formula 1 Cricket
A winning cricket team
is a much admired, glorious machine
that can be likened to a potent racing car.
Each component must gel and glean,
on field be ruthless, mean,
a well tuned engine will propel it, fast and far.
The captain sits behind the wheel
knows which buttons to press, pedals to feel,
reads the road and stays in constant control.
He seeks out weakness in the opposition
to gain advantage and pole position,
then decides if to bat or if to bowl!
It's the batsman who selects the gears
as the captain guides and steers,
with perfect timing on the clutch.
First, second, third then really club her,
fourth and sixth to burn rubber
fifths hard to find, stuck in neutral, Out! Return to the hutch!
The bowler fuels a powerful carburetor
by means of the accelerator,
he can rev it up and make those pistons sing.
A tricky obstinate hairpin,
can be overcome with a little spin
then pedal on the metal, mindful of late tail end swing.
The keeper is the pick of the lads
with protective gloves and heavy pads,
he looks after handling and applies the brake.
It's his swift hand eye coordination and reaction
to why the car retains perfect traction,
as the chasing pack are left behind in her wake.
Waiting by the pit, the groundsman with assorted kit
if the track gets wet he will cover it,
prevents nasty accidents, pooling water and soggy mires.
While the car nips in for shelter
ensuring the track remains a belter
as it refuels, ablutes and changes tyres.
On the course two men in white or blue
to assist and help all through,
they uphold the law and give each relevant sign.
Undue care and attention will incur wrath,
as will running down the middle path,
if unheeded they will impose a caution,
next, its off the road with a heavy fine.
In order to pass the chequered flag
its clear each cog is required,
to assist and prevent turbo lag.
So jump onboard, though heed the words of Aristotle
'the whole is greater than the sum of its parts',
then turn the key and as she starts,
can you taste the bubbly from that big green bottle?
----------
My finest hour !
It's with fondest regards,
I return to heady days and a game,
played between 22 yards
on a green and pleasant field
First in my refer, a cup final
an innings of flare,
like King Arthur with Excalibur,
my bat, I did courageously wield.
On a crusade of pillage and plunder,
each bowler, I took savagely asunder
as against me their resolve,
did totally yield.
Then later in scenes of tumult and rapture
I rose up my arduous capture,
of that much coveted,
silver shield!
Or from a recess in mind,
thoughts aplenty, return in kind
of a victory, from the jaw of defeat
I managed to snatch
Not one to bury my head in the sand
Like an ostrich, who can't understand?
with our team in dire need, I bowled at great speed
taking matters firmly in hand
First, I snaffled a return catch,
then clean bowled the last three in a batch
to win a most enthralling, engaging
and highly unlikely, cricket match!
Now long in this bliss, could I reminisce
in memories, of nostalgia and fun
but my finest hour, the greatest by far
and it mattered not, if we lost or we won!
Such feelings of elation,
mixed with joy and sensation
the emotion I felt, caused my heart to melt,
more so, than anything else I've ever done!
Was just yesterday,
when I walked onto the field to play,
a game of cricket, for the first time,
as a proud father,together with my Son!
----------
" A little dig at society and in particular celebrity culture and ofcourse any up and coming batsman take note !
Mr Unsavoury, Mr Obscene & Mrs Distasteful !
To the BAFTA awards, celebrities in hordes
assembled at this well publicized big bash
some pose quite austere, others au contraire
as countless cameras go flash,
all crave to appear, front, back and rear
in tomorrow's tabloid editions and Fleet Street, front page trash!
No less contrived, three of B-list arrived,
dismounting from plush limousines to well rehearsed routines,
in contrast of contrite, they did alight,
onto the red carpet and inglorious scenes,
stepped a chef, a comedian and oh what a sight,
the ultimate of all drama queens,
can you hazard a guess, try not and digress,
are they really 'celebrities' or just desperado's with means?
The first does his cooking while everyone's looking
in either restaurant, hotel or canteen,
to enhance the flavour and his image to savour,
this illustrious chef prefixes every word with an F
each dish, a most metaphorical, spicy cuisine
Always resourceful, but never remorseful,
as he piles on the gravy, it's Mr Unsavoury!
Next, an attention seeking comedian, with him no happy medium
who now plies his trade across Atlantic water,
to maintain his status, had an idea hiatus,
in cahoots with a soul mate, made headlines through Sachs-gate,
insulting a grandfather concerning his granddaughter,
by means of the telephone, to the utter shock and outrage,
of millions of folk listening at home!
Now occasionally on television screen he can be seen,
a funny man 'of sorts', effervescent with vulgar retorts,
a real libertine,it's none other than Mr Obscene!
Last but not least all eyes now feast
on a 'lady' of irrepressible rants,
formally page 3, now gossip magazines and even T.V
she is often seen without brassiere and pants!
Always in pursuit of the cash though never abash,
she can on demand reduce or expand,
two most profound silicone implants,
it's the ever disgraceful, Mrs Distasteful!
After the smiling and waving, dancing and raving
they stuffed thoroughly their botox enhanced faces,
oblivious of austerity would someone tell me, why avarice and gluttony
quickly indulges those of assumed airs & graces?
They partied into a small hour then en route to the next bar,
walked by an old tramp stood under a street lamp,
begging for a little charity, but in keeping to form as was their norm
with a splutter and cough, noses aloft muttering expletives ending in off,
brushed pasted him so arrogantly, in keeping with character and pedigree!
But this old tramp had an unseen little champ,
who like him does not well associate, or correlate,
with all in modern society and it took great offence at such pretence,
of people so rude, their dismissive attitude,
so decided on due recompense!
As the three hurried away to that next big soiree, naturally,
did not walk by one more paparazzi, camera click
as they posed rather risque, just who or what would betray,
their next sensational, front cover pic?
Then a crafty wee creature of distinct facial feature,
ran out from a dark alleyway and to make amends,
jumped in front of the lens and there, unmoved it did stay,
in the next day newspapers and every magazine
pictured on front and inside, they had no where to hide,
by now, have you guessed who I really mean?
Superimposed over each celebrity's mug, looking so smug
a rat smiling back is clear to be seen!
So if you bat up the order, higher than seven
then it's doubtless, that you are good
but don't be dismissive of number eleven
and the way, he swings the wood
at times, you will be out in the middle
with the last man as he plays second fiddle,
treat him with respect, offer sound advice and the effect,
will be you'll have a friend, who can hold up an end
because, you show compassion and display brotherhood!
Neither, Unsavoury, Obscene, nor Distasteful be
and it shall be obvious for all to see!
You are a first class bat, one decent chap
and besides all of that....You will never be plagued by a rat!
Great work mate. Welcome to the forum btw
I'm not sure about you guys, but I'd take a guy like this any day over another Asian pre-teen.
Thank you Sir !
----------
Formula 1 Cricket
A winning cricket team
is a much admired, glorious machine
that can be likened to a potent racing car.
Each component must gel and glean,
on field be ruthless, mean,
a well tuned engine will propel it, fast and far.
The captain sits behind the wheel
knows which buttons to press, pedals to feel,
reads the road and stays in constant control.
He seeks out weakness in the opposition
to gain advantage and pole position,
then decides if to bat or if to bowl!
It's the batsman who selects the gears
as the captain guides and steers,
with perfect timing on the clutch.
First, second, third then really club her,
fourth and sixth to burn rubber
fifths hard to find, stuck in neutral, Out! Return to the hutch!
The bowler fuels a powerful carburetor
by means of the accelerator,
he can rev it up and make those pistons sing.
A tricky obstinate hairpin,
can be overcome with a little spin
then pedal on the metal, mindful of late tail end swing.
The keeper is the pick of the lads
with protective gloves and heavy pads,
he looks after handling and applies the brake.
It's his swift hand eye coordination and reaction
to why the car retains perfect traction,
as the chasing pack are left behind in her wake.
Waiting by the pit, the groundsman with assorted kit
if the track gets wet he will cover it,
prevents nasty accidents, pooling water and soggy mires.
While the car nips in for shelter
ensuring the track remains a belter
as it refuels, ablutes and changes tyres.
On the course two men in white or blue
to assist and help all through,
they uphold the law and give each relevant sign.
Undue care and attention will incur wrath,
as will running down the middle path,
if unheeded they will impose a caution,
next, its off the road with a heavy fine.
In order to pass the chequered flag
its clear each cog is required,
to assist and prevent turbo lag.
So jump onboard, though heed the words of Aristotle
'the whole is greater than the sum of its parts',
then turn the key and as she starts,
can you taste the bubbly from that big green bottle?
----------
My finest hour !
It's with fondest regards,
I return to heady days and a game,
played between 22 yards
on a green and pleasant field
First in my refer, a cup final
an innings of flare,
like King Arthur with Excalibur,
my bat, I did courageously wield.
On a crusade of pillage and plunder,
each bowler, I took savagely asunder
as against me their resolve,
did totally yield.
Then later in scenes of tumult and rapture
I rose up my arduous capture,
of that much coveted,
silver shield!
Or from a recess in mind,
thoughts aplenty, return in kind
of a victory, from the jaw of defeat
I managed to snatch
Not one to bury my head in the sand
Like an ostrich, who can't understand?
with our team in dire need, I bowled at great speed
taking matters firmly in hand
First, I snaffled a return catch,
then clean bowled the last three in a batch
to win a most enthralling, engaging
and highly unlikely, cricket match!
Now long in this bliss, could I reminisce
in memories, of nostalgia and fun
but my finest hour, the greatest by far
and it mattered not, if we lost or we won!
Such feelings of elation,
mixed with joy and sensation
the emotion I felt, caused my heart to melt,
more so, than anything else I've ever done!
Was just yesterday,
when I walked onto the field to play,
a game of cricket, for the first time,
as a proud father,together with my Son!
----------
" A little dig at society and in particular celebrity culture and ofcourse any up and coming batsman take note !
Mr Unsavoury, Mr Obscene & Mrs Distasteful !
To the BAFTA awards, celebrities in hordes
assembled at this well publicized big bash
some pose quite austere, others au contraire
as countless cameras go flash,
all crave to appear, front, back and rear
in tomorrow's tabloid editions and Fleet Street, front page trash!
No less contrived, three of B-list arrived,
dismounting from plush limousines to well rehearsed routines,
in contrast of contrite, they did alight,
onto the red carpet and inglorious scenes,
stepped a chef, a comedian and oh what a sight,
the ultimate of all drama queens,
can you hazard a guess, try not and digress,
are they really 'celebrities' or just desperado's with means?
The first does his cooking while everyone's looking
in either restaurant, hotel or canteen,
to enhance the flavour and his image to savour,
this illustrious chef prefixes every word with an F
each dish, a most metaphorical, spicy cuisine
Always resourceful, but never remorseful,
as he piles on the gravy, it's Mr Unsavoury!
Next, an attention seeking comedian, with him no happy medium
who now plies his trade across Atlantic water,
to maintain his status, had an idea hiatus,
in cahoots with a soul mate, made headlines through Sachs-gate,
insulting a grandfather concerning his granddaughter,
by means of the telephone, to the utter shock and outrage,
of millions of folk listening at home!
Now occasionally on television screen he can be seen,
a funny man 'of sorts', effervescent with vulgar retorts,
a real libertine,it's none other than Mr Obscene!
Last but not least all eyes now feast
on a 'lady' of irrepressible rants,
formally page 3, now gossip magazines and even T.V
she is often seen without brassiere and pants!
Always in pursuit of the cash though never abash,
she can on demand reduce or expand,
two most profound silicone implants,
it's the ever disgraceful, Mrs Distasteful!
After the smiling and waving, dancing and raving
they stuffed thoroughly their botox enhanced faces,
oblivious of austerity would someone tell me, why avarice and gluttony
quickly indulges those of assumed airs & graces?
They partied into a small hour then en route to the next bar,
walked by an old tramp stood under a street lamp,
begging for a little charity, but in keeping to form as was their norm
with a splutter and cough, noses aloft muttering expletives ending in off,
brushed pasted him so arrogantly, in keeping with character and pedigree!
But this old tramp had an unseen little champ,
who like him does not well associate, or correlate,
with all in modern society and it took great offence at such pretence,
of people so rude, their dismissive attitude,
so decided on due recompense!
As the three hurried away to that next big soiree, naturally,
did not walk by one more paparazzi, camera click
as they posed rather risque, just who or what would betray,
their next sensational, front cover pic?
Then a crafty wee creature of distinct facial feature,
ran out from a dark alleyway and to make amends,
jumped in front of the lens and there, unmoved it did stay,
in the next day newspapers and every magazine
pictured on front and inside, they had no where to hide,
by now, have you guessed who I really mean?
Superimposed over each celebrity's mug, looking so smug
a rat smiling back is clear to be seen!
So if you bat up the order, higher than seven
then it's doubtless, that you are good
but don't be dismissive of number eleven
and the way, he swings the wood
at times, you will be out in the middle
with the last man as he plays second fiddle,
treat him with respect, offer sound advice and the effect,
will be you'll have a friend, who can hold up an end
because, you show compassion and display brotherhood!
Neither, Unsavoury, Obscene, nor Distasteful be
and it shall be obvious for all to see!
You are a first class bat, one decent chap
and besides all of that....You will never be plagued by a rat!
Last edited:
D
Dutch
Guest
To any readers out there visiting the thread: if you do not like poetry or this work just leave. No need to post abusive comments about the content.
We should take pride in the fact that PC can cater for a wide spectrum of input, including these contributions.
Don't like it, don't visit.
Thanks.
We should take pride in the fact that PC can cater for a wide spectrum of input, including these contributions.
Don't like it, don't visit.
Thanks.
zimrahil
Retired Administrator
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2001
- Location
- Birmingham, England
- Online Cricket Games Owned
- Don Bradman Cricket 14 - Xbox 360
- Don Bradman Cricket 14 - Steam PC
C Boomer
Club Captain
- Joined
- Dec 17, 2013
'You are old', Skipper !
Said a precocious nipper, to his experienced skipper;
"You are old yet still a cunning critter,
a very handy hitter,
you never miss a sitter,
over point a classy chipper,
of the pads a crafty clipper!
And you bowl a deadly dipper,
a floating flipper,
mixed with the odd, rotating ripper,
the batsmen's knees tremble and jitter,
as you run in patter-pitter,
the only sound a little titter,
when you release that stealth, stump splitter
to claim another 5 for, or double hat-tricker!
Not forgetting you are a serial,specialist slipper,
a great fielder, catcher, grabber, gripper!
Pray tell, what makes you such an all round, cracking, cricketer"?
Replied the experienced skipper, to the precocious nipper;
"Now listen very carefully, young snapper-whipper!
Time is much too precious, to throw away or fritter,
for if you choose to wander, or simply be a quitter
you'll end up on the shelf like a moldy kipper
so here are my proven tips, from an expert tipper!
Practice makes perfect and helps get you fitter,
so don't lay around too long, tweeting on that twitter
sending silly messages, by electronic transmitter!
Avoid smoking, or risk being a cougher and a spitter
though a social beer is recommended, or a pint of bitter
but don't go the way of many and become a steady sipper,
throwing away good money as you would the litter!
Find a supportive wife, who does not nag or nitter,
enjoys cricket, is domesticated, a thrifty sewer, stitcher, knitter,
don't fall for the first, who flashes long lashes with a flirtatious flitter!
Finally, enjoy the game and your career will surely glitter,
but remember, the umpire is the adjudicator, judge, jury, the sole arbiter,
his decision is final, so please, no back chat or silly chitter
And if you prove yourself, someday my son, you shall be the skipper?!
----------
( Although not specifically about cricket the great game does get a venerable mention within) !
Who am I ?
I am within without, here there and everywhere,
Unseen by naked eye, just as the pure thin air
Blow cold north wind that heralds winter snow,
Then beckon at spring lambs, to leap up high and go
Bring forth the summer sun in most resplendent ray,
When green leaf slowly fades, remind swallow to fly away.
Will on the mighty bird to fly free on the wing
Uplift the souls of weary folk, when little children sing
Inspire the spawning salmon not to relent the fight,
Against the raging current, with journey's end in sight
Returning to that brook, where was its place of birth,
To procreate the seed, then die in happy mirth.
Darwin spoke of theory to figure a solution,
How life formed singularly, the precede of evolution
But I've been here from time immemorial, before all life began
The plants, the creatures and the ape, he said turned into man
No doubt he was a scholar of much vaunted pedigree,
Though at life's end was heard to say, 'I believe in thee!"
I spur on the ailing chick to break the hard, encasing shell,
Awaken sleeping bear, with spring's sweet,enticing smell
Paint the colour in the flowers that captivate the bee
Aid the tiny acorn to grow into a massive tree
Which in turn provides a haven and sanctuary
to many wondrous creatures, that dwell within its canopy.
Encourage new born baby, to cry aloud with zest
As mother draws up lovingly,to nurture from her breast
With bowler and the batsman, opposed in sporting rivalry
Who later sit together and enjoy each other's camaraderie
I march with gallant soldier, to answer his country's call
And serenely he shall walk with me, if in battle he should fall.
Many acclaim me as the Creator, or other names of merit,
Though often people refer to me, as Mother Nature's eternal Spirit!
----------
Beware a Nightly Visitor !
Once upon a midnight eerie, while I pondered weak and weary,
over volumes of old score books dreary, from the season past and before,
while I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
as if someone a gently rapping, rapping at my front door?
"Tis some late caller" I did mutter, rapping at my front door
Only this and nothing more.
Ah distinctly I remember, the cricket all over as was September
and at my fire-side, the flames cast shadows across the floor
eagerly I wished the morrow, for these books brought only sorrow
Sorrow as no runs did I score, not this season nor none before
each time at my name a zero, zilch, a duck,always this and nothing more!
Again a tapping at my door, tapping, rapping as before
terror gripped me my nerves all tore,
so now I stood there, my heart fast beating,
wondering who entreating, entrance through my door,
some late visitor, maybe this and nothing more?
Presently my soul grew stronger, so hesitating then no longer
"Sir or Madame, truly your forgiveness I implore"!
But the fact is I was napping, when so you came rapping
scarcely so I heard your tapping, tapping, at my front door,
so now I'll open and there darkness and nothing more !
Deep into this darkness I stood peering, wondering, fearing
doubting dreaming dreams, no mortals dared dream before
and the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no token
outside perhaps a ghostly apparition, for what I heard lent to my suspicion,
as forlornly I inquired, ?Will someday at my name be a score"?
Came back the echo, "Nevermore"!
Back into my room quickly turning, my soul within me burning
still I heard the tapping, even louder than before,
so again though not certain, a rustle at my curtain
and the tapping more profane, now upon my window pane
this mystery I must explore, is it just my imagination?
Pray it's this and nothing more!
Open quickly I flung back the shutter and without fuss or flutter,
in stepped a stately black duck, from the saintly days of yore,
not the least embarrassed was he, what business did he want with me?
Jumped down upon my settee and onto the floor,
standing there and staring, with beady eyes towards me, glaring,
said I unto the fowl, "What is be thy name" ?
Quacked back the duck that word, "Nevermore"!
Then I thought is he a prophet come to warn me, it's time to stop it!
So closer towards him I did draw, "Tell me now duck, don't be a bore"!
Even closer reclining, thinking and divining,
"Will a century I ever score"? Quacked back the duck, "Nevermore"!
Ah, this bird he made me furious, yet still I grew more curious,
was he some tempter sent to tempt me? This duck I was beginning to abhor!
Again I engaged it into guessing, towards the brute, expressing,
"Shall a fifty be mine to score"? Quacked back it again, "Nevermore"!
Crazy yet more crazy I was going but I could not quell the fire of knowing,
"Quaff oh Quaff, tell me this and don't say, "Nevermore"!
Take thy bill from out my heart's core and thy form out the door,
and leave me now for it is late, don't even stop to close the gate!
But just before you go; "Am I destined 'A Duck' always my score"?
?Quack oh Quack replied he, yes you?re spot on there mate"!
Then it left me there, lamening for now and evermore!
:
----------
'Beware a nightly Visitor' is ofcourse my own 'take' on the great Edgar Allen Poe classic 'The Raven' only in my humble version, I've substituted Poe's macabre Raven bird for an equally haunting 'Duck' which visit's a yearning, lonely cricketer late one night while he laments over his ever permanent failure to score any runs !!
Said a precocious nipper, to his experienced skipper;
"You are old yet still a cunning critter,
a very handy hitter,
you never miss a sitter,
over point a classy chipper,
of the pads a crafty clipper!
And you bowl a deadly dipper,
a floating flipper,
mixed with the odd, rotating ripper,
the batsmen's knees tremble and jitter,
as you run in patter-pitter,
the only sound a little titter,
when you release that stealth, stump splitter
to claim another 5 for, or double hat-tricker!
Not forgetting you are a serial,specialist slipper,
a great fielder, catcher, grabber, gripper!
Pray tell, what makes you such an all round, cracking, cricketer"?
Replied the experienced skipper, to the precocious nipper;
"Now listen very carefully, young snapper-whipper!
Time is much too precious, to throw away or fritter,
for if you choose to wander, or simply be a quitter
you'll end up on the shelf like a moldy kipper
so here are my proven tips, from an expert tipper!
Practice makes perfect and helps get you fitter,
so don't lay around too long, tweeting on that twitter
sending silly messages, by electronic transmitter!
Avoid smoking, or risk being a cougher and a spitter
though a social beer is recommended, or a pint of bitter
but don't go the way of many and become a steady sipper,
throwing away good money as you would the litter!
Find a supportive wife, who does not nag or nitter,
enjoys cricket, is domesticated, a thrifty sewer, stitcher, knitter,
don't fall for the first, who flashes long lashes with a flirtatious flitter!
Finally, enjoy the game and your career will surely glitter,
but remember, the umpire is the adjudicator, judge, jury, the sole arbiter,
his decision is final, so please, no back chat or silly chitter
And if you prove yourself, someday my son, you shall be the skipper?!
----------
( Although not specifically about cricket the great game does get a venerable mention within) !
Who am I ?
I am within without, here there and everywhere,
Unseen by naked eye, just as the pure thin air
Blow cold north wind that heralds winter snow,
Then beckon at spring lambs, to leap up high and go
Bring forth the summer sun in most resplendent ray,
When green leaf slowly fades, remind swallow to fly away.
Will on the mighty bird to fly free on the wing
Uplift the souls of weary folk, when little children sing
Inspire the spawning salmon not to relent the fight,
Against the raging current, with journey's end in sight
Returning to that brook, where was its place of birth,
To procreate the seed, then die in happy mirth.
Darwin spoke of theory to figure a solution,
How life formed singularly, the precede of evolution
But I've been here from time immemorial, before all life began
The plants, the creatures and the ape, he said turned into man
No doubt he was a scholar of much vaunted pedigree,
Though at life's end was heard to say, 'I believe in thee!"
I spur on the ailing chick to break the hard, encasing shell,
Awaken sleeping bear, with spring's sweet,enticing smell
Paint the colour in the flowers that captivate the bee
Aid the tiny acorn to grow into a massive tree
Which in turn provides a haven and sanctuary
to many wondrous creatures, that dwell within its canopy.
Encourage new born baby, to cry aloud with zest
As mother draws up lovingly,to nurture from her breast
With bowler and the batsman, opposed in sporting rivalry
Who later sit together and enjoy each other's camaraderie
I march with gallant soldier, to answer his country's call
And serenely he shall walk with me, if in battle he should fall.
Many acclaim me as the Creator, or other names of merit,
Though often people refer to me, as Mother Nature's eternal Spirit!
----------
Beware a Nightly Visitor !
Once upon a midnight eerie, while I pondered weak and weary,
over volumes of old score books dreary, from the season past and before,
while I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping
as if someone a gently rapping, rapping at my front door?
"Tis some late caller" I did mutter, rapping at my front door
Only this and nothing more.
Ah distinctly I remember, the cricket all over as was September
and at my fire-side, the flames cast shadows across the floor
eagerly I wished the morrow, for these books brought only sorrow
Sorrow as no runs did I score, not this season nor none before
each time at my name a zero, zilch, a duck,always this and nothing more!
Again a tapping at my door, tapping, rapping as before
terror gripped me my nerves all tore,
so now I stood there, my heart fast beating,
wondering who entreating, entrance through my door,
some late visitor, maybe this and nothing more?
Presently my soul grew stronger, so hesitating then no longer
"Sir or Madame, truly your forgiveness I implore"!
But the fact is I was napping, when so you came rapping
scarcely so I heard your tapping, tapping, at my front door,
so now I'll open and there darkness and nothing more !
Deep into this darkness I stood peering, wondering, fearing
doubting dreaming dreams, no mortals dared dream before
and the silence was unbroken and the stillness gave no token
outside perhaps a ghostly apparition, for what I heard lent to my suspicion,
as forlornly I inquired, ?Will someday at my name be a score"?
Came back the echo, "Nevermore"!
Back into my room quickly turning, my soul within me burning
still I heard the tapping, even louder than before,
so again though not certain, a rustle at my curtain
and the tapping more profane, now upon my window pane
this mystery I must explore, is it just my imagination?
Pray it's this and nothing more!
Open quickly I flung back the shutter and without fuss or flutter,
in stepped a stately black duck, from the saintly days of yore,
not the least embarrassed was he, what business did he want with me?
Jumped down upon my settee and onto the floor,
standing there and staring, with beady eyes towards me, glaring,
said I unto the fowl, "What is be thy name" ?
Quacked back the duck that word, "Nevermore"!
Then I thought is he a prophet come to warn me, it's time to stop it!
So closer towards him I did draw, "Tell me now duck, don't be a bore"!
Even closer reclining, thinking and divining,
"Will a century I ever score"? Quacked back the duck, "Nevermore"!
Ah, this bird he made me furious, yet still I grew more curious,
was he some tempter sent to tempt me? This duck I was beginning to abhor!
Again I engaged it into guessing, towards the brute, expressing,
"Shall a fifty be mine to score"? Quacked back it again, "Nevermore"!
Crazy yet more crazy I was going but I could not quell the fire of knowing,
"Quaff oh Quaff, tell me this and don't say, "Nevermore"!
Take thy bill from out my heart's core and thy form out the door,
and leave me now for it is late, don't even stop to close the gate!
But just before you go; "Am I destined 'A Duck' always my score"?
?Quack oh Quack replied he, yes you?re spot on there mate"!
Then it left me there, lamening for now and evermore!
:----------
'Beware a nightly Visitor' is ofcourse my own 'take' on the great Edgar Allen Poe classic 'The Raven' only in my humble version, I've substituted Poe's macabre Raven bird for an equally haunting 'Duck' which visit's a yearning, lonely cricketer late one night while he laments over his ever permanent failure to score any runs !!
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Paree
Panel of Selectors
Great poems
Varun
ICC Board Member
- Joined
- Mar 14, 2009
- Location
- Delhi, India
- Online Cricket Games Owned
- Don Bradman Cricket 14 - Steam PC
I love poetry. I love cricket. Didn't know it gets better.
