C Boomer's Cricket Poetry.

[C Boomer]

A Cricketing Christmas Cracker !

As I roved out one 24th of December
I had in my possession, as I well remember
an old cricket ball to practice my bowling
as I find this more engaging, than simply strolling!

Now bearing in mind 'twas Christmas eve
just what occurred, you'll barely believe,
but listen intently is my earnest entreat
for my story is true, bereft of deceit!

When in position and ready to go
I heard a gregarious laugh and a hearty Hello,
then from the shadows, there suddenly appeared
a gigantic man, sporting a flowing white beard

Slung over his shoulder was a massive cloth sack,
which he set on the ground, from off his broad back
and from it withdrew, a brand new cricket bat
as nervously I pondered, was he doing with that?

He then spoke to me saying, Please sir if you would,
throw me that ball and I'll break in this wood? "
so I ran back and bowled at a very fast pace
at this impostor so alike, the late W.G. Grace

And for all that I knew, he may of well been
for he was the greatest batsman, I'd ever seen,
a very talented fellow, dressed in red and white
who hit every ball with perfect timing and dynamic might!

Then he set down the bat and with a broad grin
said, " Well bowled but next time try spin,
alas, now I must leave, no longer can I stay
and thanks for the game, despite late in the day

For tonight, I have many chimneys to descend
as at this time of the year, children depend,
so please take this new bat, a present for you
also these parcels, for your good family too!

And before I leave, may I further say this
never lose faith in the spirit of Christmas,
for a little imagination is good for the soul
and what is more, can often turn brass into pure gold! "

Then he bid me farewell and with a whimsical wink
instantly disappeared, within an eye blink,
so I set off for home just as it began to snow
and far off in the distance, a voice cried out "Merry Christmas, Ho,ho, ho "

 

[C Boomer]

A Tedious Routine !

Monday to Friday twice daily
I commute on a weekly ticket,
as the wheels of the train go around,
clickity, clickity, click it,

A tedious routine and though
I'm thoroughly sick of it,
unless my 6 numbers come up in the lotto
for the next twenty years, I'll just have to stick it !

But what keeps me happy is come Saturday
I will be at the wicket,
leather v willow, ball striking bat
playing and enjoying cricket!

 

[C Boomer]

Your Pro v Our Pro.....

At this particular amateur cricket club, unlike many others nowadays, there is not the sufficient funds or readily available revenue to pay for the services of a 'Professional' player/coach, but then again I ask you..Do they really require one ?

1.Your Pro I guess, comes from a foreign soil
Our Pro lives local, doesn't bother with suntan oil
Your Pro is young, fit, the darling of your crowd
Our Pro's getting on, has arthritis, but he's still proud.

2.Your Pro bowls well with vigour and zest
Our Pro just bowls and hopes for the best
And when your Pro bats, the crowds in a trance
Our Pro bats eleven, likes to give the rest a chance.

3. I bet your Pro gets runs and wickets galore
when our Pro last got a wicket, his hamstrung he tore!
And I know your Pro runs, like an Olympic champ
Our Pro can't run fast, cause he goes down with the cramp.

4. But let's look at the 'Pro's and then the Cons',
in a few years, will your Pro be gone?
Is he like Clint Eastwood, the young hired gun
'For a few dollars more', will he up and run?

5. Not so our Pro. No! He'll never leave
been at his club 50 years, wears his heart on his sleeve,
Now what price would you pay, for service like that?
Yes he's our Pro and if you meet him,
please...Tip your hat!

 

[C Boomer]

The lark at dawn !


An early rise with the lark at dawn,
to greet a rapturous,fine summer morn,
leaving behind my humble abode,
through fields of lavender, I eagerly strode

I raised my head and gazed aloft,
to view a sky of blue, behind clouds, cotton soft,
then I closed my eyes and inhaled deep,
vitality filled my lungs, as others sleep!

Pleasant aromas then infused,
with the lark's shrill song, my senses enthused,
erasing every folly e'er I knew,
all rendered hence a pleasing adieu!

'Twas then my reason to wonder why,
grown men in slumber, prostrate lie
and never rise with the lark at dawn,
nor hear its shrill, invigorating, song?

Continuing on my pleasant pilgrimage,
exulted in harmony and redolent fragrance
to a venue of esteem and worthy merit,
where a game is played with fortifying spirit,

Within an open and hallowed ground,
leather on willow, another summer, sultry sound
and on arrival to sojourn for the day,
I took my seat just as an eminent voice called out;" Play"!

 

[C Boomer]

Just Walk !

Pastor Pete was fond of a treat
when visiting his congregation,
a cup of tea with something sweet
before each biblical recitation!

Tommy O?Toole liked his beer cool
along with a double chaser,
prone at times to act the fool
locally known as the village spacer!

Surprisingly sharing a common theme
both enjoyed playing cricket,
opening batsmen on the same team
fastidious when at the wicket!

Playing together for the last time
in a now notorious match,
Tommy nicked one very fine
and the keeper took a straightforward catch!

But before the mandatory appeal
he did not stand there and balk,
about turn, right wheel
then set off for the long walk!

The Pastor then suffered a similar fate
feathering a minute edge,
but chose to remain and remonstrate
aware the ball had hit the wedge!

With both umpires rather uncertain
he hung on like an overzealous actor,
who refuses to withdraw behind the curtain
as you may have seen on the X factor!

Thus he escaped due to a howler
and his foibles most underhand,
but this so angered the bowler
his next ball knocked Pastor Pete, into the promised land!

Now if you should you edge one to the keeper
please don?t stand there and gawp,
as it may be you could be facing the grim-reaper
so if I were you, I?d just walk!

----------

A certain Stuart Broad inspired me to write this poem !

 

[C Boomer]

" Providence", said a Pig !

The past summer had been long
and incongruously hot
still I played every game,
though my score remained nought
yet despite that empty feeling,
when you've lost the lot,
I remained steadfast in the hope
of one final, productive shot!

But with the very last match,
providence brought
those longed for scoring runs,
eagerly sought
then after, straight to an ale house
caring not a jot
of my betrothed elsewhere waiting,
like the lady of Shallot!

As that previous day,
a fine wedding ring I had bought
hand crafted and embossed with a jewel,
expertly wrought
my intention to propose
at a well known lover's spot,
a place where each evening,
we would meet at precisely 8 o'clock!

But too much booze and bravado,
mixed together in a pot
are quite often the undoing,
of many an honorable plot,
so later that night,
swaggering down a road I knew not
I tripped over my boot lace,
which had not been tied taut!

Tumbling head first into a ditch,
like a clumsy clot
I lay there cursing,
precarious and distraught,
then a passing pig sat down beside me,
in the grime and the grot
and with a look of disdain,
it spoke all snooty and snot!

"Providence can elevate a man,
or reduce him to squalor and rot
just as a drunken fool's efforts,
invariably amount to naught
and no lady of principal
would marry a man who can't tie a knot,
so if I were you I'd give these matters,
some pragmatic thought!"

Then it quickly got up and made off
in a prancing, pompous trot,
leaving me to mull over a lesson,
sagaciously taught
and since this immodest encounter,
defiling and fraught
to this very day the wise counsel of the Pig,
I have never forgot !

 

[Varun]

Well, just combine all the poems in a single thread?

 

[C Boomer]

As the cricket season draweth nigh !

As the cricket season draweth nigh
summer swallows migrate and fly,
players and officials heave a sigh
then bid each other a parting goodbye.

The great fraternity, likewise comply
departing to their homes, warm and dry,
like hibernating bears preparing to lie,
within caves, safe from winter's chilling pry.

Gone at last their craving to satisfy
a curiosity, encroaching wry
incessant in hunger like a fox sly,
now nourished in knowledge, no more to vie.

Victory secured, the trophy raised high
embellished on silver, their names testify
noble battles fought out on fields of rye,
big fish inevitability, consume small fry.

As grey clouds gather in a menacing sky
the falling leaf does not belie,
gone the days of a balmy July
willow v leather, cream with strawberries or apple pie.

Though summer flowers will fade and die
as the laws of nature, decree and apply
but wipe that tear from your eye,
no need for sorrow or mournful cry.

For as sure as a pig sleeps in a sty
father time marches forward, by and by
so the glorious bloom will return and multiply,
as shall the great fraternity to once more soliloquy...

If around the silver, their mascot they'll tie ?

 

[C Boomer]

The dawn of a new season !

As the cricket season draweth near,
the winter doldrums, fast, become small beer
players and officials most revere,
search for crumpled whites and dusty gear

The great fraternity from hibernation reappear,
as an awakening bear, stern and austere
then do imbue each other's speculative ear ,
with various conundrums intended sincere

Like prophets gazing into a crystal sphere
their curiosity doth blend and cohere,
long before a ball is bowled cavalier,
or struck back eagerly, without fear!

Will the sun from a blue background adhere
and shine warm, bright and clear?
Which team will lift the cup in cheer,
or sit proudly atop the summit of the premier?

What bowler and which batsman will domineer
and top the averages for this year?
Long into the night shall they persevere,
to confabulate, about the game they do endear!

From common man to noble peer
all must wait patiently to hear,
as father time rows forward at steady steer
in a pearly craft of gilded veneer, like a celestial gondolier!

Indeed let's pray an almighty hand of zenith tier,
shall never bowl a ball to end his career
the consequence of which, could be rather severe
As both you, me and the universe, into a black-hole
would instantaneously, disappear!

 

[C Boomer]

Dr jekyll & Mr Hyde

Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde

Jekyll and Hyde could not confide
Neither agree nor abide
Not two men but one of a kind
Each lived within the other's mind

Jekyll a doctor and gentleman
Do for you and me all that he can,
But Mr Hyde is not so nice
Opens his mouth, not thinking twice

One did enjoy a game of cricket
Though did not last long at the wicket
He made a potion, a kind of tonic,
To help him stay there, turn bionic

From the bottle he took a swig
No time to use a guinea pig,
Thus Hyde was born, the story goes
Hairy eyebrows, crooked nose.

He dare not wait, had to play
Off to the pitch, he raced away
Out in the middle, pads, gloves and bat
Took his guard, then coughed and spat

But all did not go, according to plan
For this rude, obnoxious man
He swung and missed at each ball
Each time to the Umpire, "Wide!" did call

The bowler then bounced one in short
Again to the umpire, Hyde did retort
"Call no ball; it is a disgrace
He clearly meant to hit my face!"

Next ball was fast, full and true
hit his pad, LBW and he knew
the appeal was loud, regards Mr Hyde
though he gauldered, "Pitched out leg-side!"

The effects of the brew, then disappeared
Back Dr Jekyll, so revered
Observing still, the pointing finger
About the crease he did not linger

As he departed, those poignant blue eyes
Looked towards the umpire to apologise,
Then made his way, without refrain
To pour that tonic down the drain
And thank goodness, Mr Hyde, never appeared again!!


----------

During a match I was umpiring, a normally modest and cordial gentleman became rather irate when I adjudged him to be leg before ???

 

[C Boomer]

Man's best friend !

A little bat & ball, is good for one & all
but who would join me for a game?
Perhaps my next door neighbour
would kindly do me a favour
so upon his front doorbell,
was my finger's aim!

"Ah the pleasure would be mine
but now is not the time,
alas with you, I cannot play,
I have just this hour,
to mow the lawn and wash the car
call back some other day"!

Although a tad downtrodden,
I thought all off a sudden
with my skipper I shall call !
"Have you lost all sense of reason
it's long past was the cricket season"
and off he went to play football !

Now somewhat sadder,
an idea made me feel gladder
I'll ask my good lady, the wife !
"Do you think I have nothing better to do
than stand in a field and throw a ball at you,
be off and cause me no more strife"!

Now my mood was low, alone I'd have to go
as usual was the trend,
without obliging, human friend
Then at my leg a tug, I glanced down the the rug,
standing there with ball, for my attention his urgent call,
none other than my old dog Fred !

And it was plain to see, as he looked up at me
through devoted eyes, this is what he said...
"Throughout all mankind, a true friend is hard to find
your neighbour maybe busy,
your skipper thinks you're crazy
and she cannot always be there for you, your wife!

So day or night just call my name,
I'm always up for any game
through triumph and disaster,
I will for you my master,
gladly fetch your cricket ball
and of course that's not all, for You, I'd gladly give my life'!

 

[C Boomer]

A brandyball coloured sweet !

A Brandyball Coloured Sweet

From city's maddening throng to getaway
a lone mountain peak far away
like shipwreck survivor, castaway,
I sought retreat!

Atop terra firma the ascend
the rocky terrain a tiring transcend
then high frontier and journey?s end,
at last complete!

Astonishment!.. An elderly man stood there
of my persona seemed aware
as down unbroken remained his stare,
upon jungle, of steel and reinforced concrete!

From outermost, protruding ledge
beckoning with stick of blackthorn hedge
to stand by him and gaze o?er the edge,
was the clear entreat!

At first unease the feeling
then curiosity came stealing
his countenance most genteeling,
so along side him I drew, to view the hordes effete!

Then in a voice unfazed
he described a setting somewhat less abrazed
though my appraise his view was hazed,
thick smog upon his eyes, had surely wrought a wicked cheat!

"Regard below bereft of guilt
fields all around like patchwork quilt
as erstwhile men swathe crop, firm grip on sickle's hilt
then bind sheaves of corn and golden wheat!

Take in the tranquil village on this sunny day
children all outside contented in their play
mothers busy in kitchen parlours, separating curds from whey,
mindful, neither two shall meet!

Behold pleasant green and marvelous sight
of fine men in cotton shirts, flannels, linen white
who play the hallowed game, spectators, ensconced in sheer delight,
this scene now almost replete!

Observe the skipper beckoning to me
inviting his strike bowler, O.W.B.
to join again in kindred spirit, the game esprit
and this team elite?!

He raised his head and pointed low
I gauged his desire to descend below
then on return to level plateau
within my palm he did bestow, a tasty little treat!

We bid farewell as into the fog he walked away
straight to the cricket club, I made my way
through decorated gallery, the foray
and there between silver accolades on display, somewhat discreet!

A faded photo and to immense surprise
center of rear row, a face in younger guise
including inscription below, the apprise,
in letters bold and neat!

The winning team in cheer, McMullan Memorial Cup, 1930 the year
man of the match, the initials were bold and clear
O. W. B. and then reflective tear,
as still within my palm, that little sphere
My favourite childhood, brandyball coloured sweet!

 

[Dutch]

It is all very well but stop opening new threads. Stick them all in one thread. Any threads opened after now will have to be deleted.

 

[C Boomer]

Until the emergence of an old black/white framed photograph found in a family members attic, I never would have known that my late grandfather ever played the game !

 

[Dutch]

Great and I am very sure it has great value to you but opening a thread for each contribution is not working mate.