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Famous Cricket Poems by Famous Poets

These are examples of famous Cricket poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous cricket poems. These examples illustrate what a famous cricket poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).

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by Atwood, Margaret

Hello, hello.
The one hand that still works
grips, won't let go.

That is not a train.
There is no cricket.
Let's not panic.

Let's talk about axes,
which kinds are good,
the many names of wood.

This is how to build
a house, a boat, a tent.
No use; the toolbox

refuses to reveal its verbs;
the rasp, the plane, the awl,
revert to sullen metal.

Do you recognize anything? I said.
Anything familiar?
Yes, you said. The bed.

B...Read More

by Tebb, Barry
...paint peeling,

Telephones ripped from

The wall, worn desks on

Their side, creosoted

Palings gone, our last

Game of cricket played.


The last coal wagon

Has gone to the tower

At Nevill Hill to be

Hauled high and drenched

And dropped from the sky.


Every house-row would

Glow with red and 

Chiaroscuro, walls

Polished by the passage

Of a thousand souls.

The binyards were

White with winter,

Every gable end’s

Attic window

Waited and...Read More

by Bradstreet, Anne
...d liberally,
56 But Ah and Ah again, my imbecility! 


57 I heard the merry grasshopper then sing,
58 The black clad Cricket bear a second part.
59 They kept one tune and played on the same string,
60 Seeming to glory in their little Art.
61 Shall creatures abject thus their voices raise
62 And in their kind resound their maker's praise
63 Whilst I, as mute, can warble forth no higher lays? 


64 When present times look back to Ages past
65 And men in being fan...Read More

by Smart, Christopher
...bless Christ Jesus with the Rose and his people, which is a nation of living sweetness. 

Let Mephibosheth with the Cricket praise the God of chearfulness, hospitality, and gratitude. 

Let Shallum with the Frog bless God for the meadows of Canaan, the fleece, the milk and the honey. 

Let Hilkiah praise with the Weasel, which sneaks for his prey in craft, and dwelleth at ambush. 

Let Job bless with the Worm -- the life of the Lord is in Humiliation, the Spir...Read More

by Dickinson, Emily
...pse -- the Bumble bee --
Nay -- Nature is Heaven --
Nature is what we hear --
The Bobolink -- the Sea --
Thunder -- the Cricket --
Nay -- Nature is Harmony --
Nature is what we know --
Yet have no art to say --
So impotent Our Wisdom is
To her Simplicity....Read More

by Raine, Craig
Grasshoppers shiver, chafe their limbs
and try to keep warm,
crouching on their marks perpetually.
The African cricket is trussed like a cold chicken:
the sneeze of movement returns it to the same position,
in the same body. There is no change.

The rumple-headed lion has nowhere to go
and snoozes in his grimy combinations.
A chaise lounge with missing castors,
the walrus is stuck forever on his rock.
Sleepily, the seals play crib,
scoring on their up...Read More

by Bryant, William Cullen
...beauteous race the last. 
Yet a few sunny days, in which the bee 
Shall murmur by the hedge that skim the way, 
The cricket chirp upon the russet lea, 
And man delight to linger in thy ray. 
Yet one rich smile, and we will try to bear 
The piercing winter frost, and winds, and darkened air....Read More

by Ammons, A R
...ican ****, gannet

**** (wholesome guano), fly **** (periodic), cockatoo
****, dog **** (past catalog or assimilation),
cricket ****, elk (high plains) ****, and

tiny scribbled little shrew ****, whale **** (what
a sight, deep assumption), mandril **** (blazing
blast off), weasel **** (wiles' waste), gazelle ****,

magpie **** (total protein), tiger **** (too acid
to contemplate), moral eel and manta ray ****, eerie
shark ****, earthworm **** (a soilure), crab ****,

wolf sh...Read More

by Wilde, Oscar
...oor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.

He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.

I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.

I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another r...Read More

by Dickinson, Emily
Is the unknown peninsula.
Beauty is nature's fact.

But witness for her land,
And witness for her sea,
The cricket is her utmost
Of elegy to me....Read More

by Wilde, Oscar
From a thin sickle to a silver shield
And chides its loitering car - how oft, in some cool grassy field

Far from the cricket-ground and noisy eight,
At Bagley, where the rustling bluebells come
Almost before the blackbird finds a mate
And overstay the swallow, and the hum
Of many murmuring bees flits through the leaves,
Have I lain poring on the dreamy tales his fancy weaves,

And through their unreal woes and mimic pain
Wept for myself, and so was purified,
And in their s...Read More

by Graham, Jorie
...hall I put them further to the left
into the light?
Win that fix it, will that arrange the
Yellow sky.
Faint cricket in the dried-out bush.
As I approach, my footfall in the leaves
drowns out the cricket-chirping I was
coming close to hear 
Yellow sky with black leaves rearranging it.
Wind rearranging the black leaves in it.
But anyway I am indoors, of course, and this is a pane, here,
and I have arranged the flowers for you
again. Have taken the de...Read More

by Yeats, William Butler
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core....Read More

by Sexton, Anne
with her eyes slit like Venetian blinds,
she of the tubes and the plasma,
listening to the heart monitor,
the death cricket bleeping,
she who calls you "we"
and keeps vigil like a ballistic missile,
would understand.

this king had twelve daughters,
each more beautiful than the other.
They slept together, bed by bed
in a kind of girls' dormitory.
At night the king locked and bolted the door
. How could they possibly escape?
Yet each morning their shoe...Read More

by Eliot, T S (Thomas Stearns)
...say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust. 
 Frisch weht der Wind
 D...Read More

by Miller, Alice Duer
...t, Mother,
But good salt hay.'
Bowling for the village
As his father had before;
Coming home at evening
To read the cricket score,
Back to the old house
Where all his race belong,
Tired and contented—
Rosamund was wrong. 

If some immortal strangers walked our land 
And heard of death, how could they understand 
That we—doomed creatures—draw our meted breath 
Light-heartedly—all unconcerned with death. 
So in these years between the wars did men 
From happie...Read More

by Lawson, Henry
...mused for your short span, 
Until your children's heritage 
Is claimed for China by Japan. 
The football match, the cricket score, 
The "scraps", the tote, the mad'ning Cup – 
You drunken fools that evermore 
"To-morrow morning" sober up! 

I see again with haggard eyes, 
The thirsty land, the wasted flood; 
Unpeopled plains beyond the skies, 
And precious streams that run to mud; 
The ruined health, the wasted wealth, 
In our mad cities by the seas, 
The black race suici...Read More

by Murray, Les
...od by daughters' daughters. 
In the year of Nelson, I notice, the winter was mild. 

But our talk is cattle and cricket. My quiet uncle
has spent the whole forenoon sailing a stump-ridden field
of blady-grass and Pleistocene clay never ploughed 
since the world's beginning. The Georgic furrow lengthens 

in ever more intimate country. But we're talking bails,
stray cattle, brands. In the village of Merchandise Creek
there's a post in a ruined blacksmit...Read More

by Housman, A E
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....Read More

by Harrison, Tony, not beer on tick,
to the Kashmir Muslim Club that was the Co-op.

House after house FOR SALE where we'd played cricket
with white roses cut from flour-sacks on our caps,
with stumps chalked on the coal-grate for our wicket,
and every one bought now by 'coloured chaps',

dad's most liberal label as he felt
squeezed by the unfamiliar, and fear
of foreign food and faces, when he smelt
curry in the shop where he'd bought beer.

And growing frailer, 'wobbly on his pin...Read More

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