At-Home Poetry & Verse

     THE SWIMMING RACE

 

Butterflies, Complete panic,

A thrill of excitement.

Watching the water, pure and clear,

A feeling of wanting drilling

Through my mind.

The race is called, my first event,

I feel a shudder run up my spine.

Standing in line with my competitors,

My new enemies.

I observe them,

Watch as they prepare themselves.

 

Standing on the blocks,

The eerie silence of the start.

1 single beep and I'm flying,

Straight through the air,

And then splash, I'm in the water.

The smooth cool water is calming,

But now is not the time to be calm.

The chlorine stings my skin.

 

Then it starts, that nagging in my lungs,

My legs start tiring.  

I gain speed, I relish the competition.

Ten metres, only 10 more.

I start thinking of the finish.

It only makes me want it more.

I slide into the wall and finish,

I watch the timekeepers discuss my time.

 

They tell me my time,I feel a rush of pride.

A personal best.

I close my eyes and listen for the results.

They call them, from 3^rd place to first.

Second.  A rush of excitement and regret

fills my body.  But who beat me?

She looks so happy.

In my mind I think she won't be as glad

next time.

 

This extract was taken from the full

poem written by Pia's Poems  

Courtesy: PoemHunter.com

                                                                        BATTING WITH DAD

 

                           Whenever I pass a village green and hear once again the familiar thwack

                             Of leather ball on willow bat; I find myself transported back

                             To days long ago when dad and I played cricket together on Sundays past

                             He in his forties, me in my teens, we batted together on village greens.

 

                             The team that we played for was not very good, but we all enjoyed it exactly the same

                              As if we were England and playing at Lords, while losing the match we were lost in the game.

                              Rustic pavilions with sandwiches spread and all of them washed down with lashings of tea

                              Were welcome twixt innings, a chance to relax, before batting together, my old dad and me.

 

                              He might have been older, I might have been young, but I knew that he batted with vigour and vim

                              He loved a quick single, a scampering sprint, and would call for a 'two' if he thought we'd get in.

                              You had to look lively and concentrate hard; no resting on laurels with him at the crease.

                               A glance down the leg side and off he would run and call for that single, the score to increase.

 

                              Of course, all of this was a long time ago,

                              My dad is now long gone, his innings all done,

                              But if he's up in heaven St Peter should know,

                              That if Dad calls a single, then he'll have to run.

                                                                                                    This sweet poem is by our regular contributor (C.R)

                                                                                             

                               I remember Derek Redmond's 400m semi-final run at the 1992 summer Olympics in Barcelona.

                               The British runner was well placed when his hamstring tore.   He tried to hobble on but seeing his

                               son in agony, his father 'Jim' ran onto the track – fending off stewards.  Father and son

                               completed the course -with Derek in tears -to a standing ovation from the crowd. Derek was

                               disqualified but Jim was named a torch bearer for the 2012 London Olympics.  I have been

                               researching 'Sportsmanship' and I believe it manifests itself in a variety of ways.

                               Source:  BBC Sport.- 8 of the greatest displays of Sportsmanship. 2016           Shared by (J.G)                                                        

     A SUBALTERN'S LOVE SONG

 

Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,

Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,

What strenuous singles we played after tea,

We in the tournament – you against me!

 

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! Weakness of joy,

The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,

With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,

I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn

 

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,

The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,

My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair

And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

 

By roads 'not adopted', by woodlanded ways,

She drove to the club in the late summer haze,

Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells

And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

 

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,

Above us the intimate roof of the car,

And here on my right is the girl of my choice,

With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

 

And the scent of her wrap and the words never said

And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.

We sat in the car park till twenty to one

And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

 

By St John Betjeman  Source: The Poetry Archive     

                                    An extract Shared by (M.G)

 

 

A favourite example of 'Sportsmanship'

for me was at the 1969 Ryder Cup, an

event that was dominated by the USA at

the time.  Britain's Jacklin and the

American Nicklaus reached the 18^th hole   

all square with the overall scores tied at

15.5/15.5.

 

It was the final match of the competition

and, after Nicklaus holed his putt to make

par, Jacklin faced a three-footer to earn

the first ever tie in the event.

 

Instead of forcing his rival to take his shot,

Nicklaus picked up Jacklin's ball marker

and conceded the tie.

 

'I don't think you would have missed that

Tony,' Nicklaus said, 'but I didn't want to

give you the chance.'

 

From: BBC Sport 2016   Shared by (J.G)

 

               Lipizzaner Horses

 

Developed exclusively by the Hapsburg

Monarchy for both war and peace. They

have ceremonial roles but are strong and

used in competitive endurance riding or

racing.  They also excel in competitions

for dressage and give exhibitions.

 

Source: Wikipedia          Shared by (L.M)

             MOVE EASTWARD, HAPPY EARTH

 

                Move eastward, happy earth, and leave

                Yon orange sunset waning slow:

                 From fringes of the faded eve,

                 O, happy planet, eastward go:

                 Till over thy dark shoulder glow

                 Thy silver sister world, and rise

                 To glass herself in dewey eyes

                 That watch me from the glen below.

 

                 Ah, bear me with thee, lightly borne,

                 Dip forward under starry light,

                 And move me to my marriage-morn,

                 And round again to happy night.   

 

                By Alfred Lord Tennyson 1809-1892

                First published in 1842.

                This lovely poem was shared by (A.R)

 

 

TWICE A WEEK THE WINTER THOROUGH

 

          Twice a week the winter thorough

          Here stood I to keep the goal:

          Football then was fighting sorrow

          For the young man's soul.

 

          Now in Maytime to the wicket

          Out I march with bat and pad:

          See the son of grief at cricket

          Trying to be glad.

 

          Try I will; no harm in trying:

          Wonder 'tis how little mirth

          Keeps the bones of man from lying

          On the bed of earth.

 

          By A.E. Housman from A Shropshire

          Lad.   Courtesy Interesting Literature

                                           Shared by (L.M)