Another hallowed arrow from his quivers
One of cricket’s greatest shiver givers
Coursing down your spine like rivers
Fine line..never dithers as slivers
Of adversaries hopes on the ropes..withers
Tipples tickle our livers
The latest tropes of how
Somehow…anyhow won’t kowtow
Postman Pat delivers
Matinee idol looks tease
Record books hooks please
Finds batters crannies &
Nooks with such ease
Impeccable length…metronomic
Chin music chagrin
Such strength..astronomic
Gift of getting the ball to lift
Chronic bounce…hedonic
With his swag bag of quicks tricks
Name on the adored hall of fame
Lords boards with six..another Cummins elite fix
Beat Bob Willis’s record tome of the best
Test figures for a captain at cricket’s home..
Yep..yet another done like a kipper
By this chipper ripper skipper
Who’s not found wanting
His chiselled jaw..up there for sure
With the mean hardcore
Ponting or Waugh
As the best Test baggie green
Top draw Captain (not woke...just a better bloke) seen on screen
Or that’s maybe ever been
crane flows over the water
ripples with forks upriver,
a kiss of a daffodil mirage
the flower's fleeting visage.
in the gust of a hurricane,
a pumpkin ornamentation
batters a door of a stranger,
they answer, but no one is there.
it did happen.
Menacing winds howl through the fragile trees,
In shadows, rain slashes windows like a whip,
Lightning cracks—each flash a brief, jagged tease,
Thunder roars, shaking the earth with its grip.
Outside, the storm batters everything in sight,
Nerves stretch thin as we brace through the night.
A world viewed through cold eyes creates
frozen tears & hardened emotions
Going through the motions only solidifies
the pain as salty feelings
cut like ice sickles impaling warm veins
These feelings bleed out into the
streets of our minds that were constructed
upon old structures & paradigms in vain
At times I feign ignorance of these
false foundations because ignorance
is bliss
knowing burying my head in the
sand could be hit or miss
No one is at home in this batters box
& it would be remiss of me to not
mention this paradox
The glass half empty view if full
of contradictions no one wants
to see through
& in a world viewed through cold eyes
tears are frozen before they've
had a chance to cry
Dry ice falls & shatters leaving
you to pick up the pieces
as if gathering your emotions
isn't hard enough in this season
stormy weather reigns
batters stems makes no amends
still those blossoms bloom
NO 1234 NEW POEM ONLY
Sponsor Brian Strand
air depression in ocean
thick cloud sucked by low pressure…
moisture billows up
hurricane is born
eye follows blindly the track …
land lacerated by fall
storm surge flattens things on way
flood drowns the ruins…
devastation batters lives
______________
December 12, 2022
Syllable count : 775, 577, 757 (HMS)
Contest : Triple New Charlieku
Sponsored by : Charles Messina
Dark clouds
Gather
Lighting
Thunder
Heavy
Rainfall
Flooded
People
Strong Wind
Batters
Fervent
Prayers
Teams of
Savers
Sunshine
After
We're made
Stronger
Nov. 16, 2022 7.05am
1.
life is good (I think?) -
I’m able to move one bite
from home plate to mouth
2.
“first base’s” great goal
but “second,” “third,” feels better –
a “home run’s” too quick
3.
a “base hit’s” the best
“home runs” raise expectations -
who needs the pressure?
4.
pitcher’s arm’s fragile,
the worst batters get lucky –
a perfect game? fluke!
5.
balls juggled in air
each day fewer in number -
hits are what matters
6.
all bases loaded,
one more run in means you win -
hit still what matters
7.
game’s umpires all suck,
most truth, it seems, disputed -
just gravity wins
Brian Johnston
23rd August in 2022
The wind batters the fragile flower,
in a test for ultimate power.
Nature cannot afford much emotion,
that is left to human devotion.
Like the grey day that ends with a shine,
or when grapes have been turned into wine.
How dawn illumines the dark of night,
and shadows disappear in the light.
When love assumes ultimate power,
the wind will caress..the fragile flower.
Our growing children feel trapped
compare themselves to piers
prematurely leaving
a natural thing
life batters them about
like a cat on a grouse
they retreat to a mental cay
they once called home
patching wings
with fear and self pity
plotting another escape
seasons go by and by
they've grown plump -complacent-
thinking they're ready for another foray
mistakes of the pin feathered past
their unacknowledged ballast
just outside the breakers
a final glimpse of a patched wing
skimming just above dorsal finned prayers
a salty spray engulfs the heart of the cay
the gulls are screaming
the gulls are screaming
a black life matters
saw their glass as it shatters
broke by mean batters
after window shatter
know that a black life matters
while sinful scatters
THE BIG TRAIN
IS A COMING.
HE'S STEAMING
IN TOWARDS TOWN.
ONE THING IS
FOR CERTAIN.
HE'LL MOW
SOME BATTERS DOWN.
NOW WE'RE
TALKING BASEBALL.
WHEN BASEBALL
WAS THE GAME.
A LEGENDARY
PITCHER.
WHO RESIDES
IN THE HALL OF FAME.
HE WAS SAID
TO HAVE A FASTBALL
THAT HISSED
AS IT PASSED BY.
ACCORDING TO
OLE TY COBB
AND I DON'T BELIEVE
HE'D LIE.
HE STRUCK OUT
MANY BATTERS
THE MOST OF
IN HIS TIME.
TAKE THE TIME
TO READ HIS STATS.
THEY'LL BLOW AWAY
YOUR MIND.
ONE CAN
JUST IMAGINE.
STANDING
AT THE PLATE.
THINKING YOU CAN
HIT THE PITCH.
JUST END UP
SWINGING LATE.
WHEN IT COMES
TO SHUTOUTS.
IT SURE MIGHT
CROSS YOUR MIND.
HE TIED
OR LED THE A.L.
A RECORD
SEVEN TIMES.
TALK ABOUT
HIS EARNED RUNS.
THAT NUMBER
SEEMS TO GLOW.
TWO POINT SEVENTEEN
MY FRIEND.
IN CASE
YOU DID NOT KNOW.
TALKING ABOUT
WALTER JOHNSON.
THE GREATEST
OF HIS TIME.
HIS LEGENDARY
DAYS OF PLAY
IS WHAT MAKES
BASEBALL SHINE.
06032020.
April snow still batters my soul
Someone upstairs is asleep at the controls
A negative tone
One person alone
Still wreaking havoc on us a-holes
NATURE’S REVENGE
Raging gale howls, lashes, batters,
sideways stones, peppering gunshot,
frowning sky weeps, weeps, weeps,
floods the ground with angry tears.
Earth’s lungs ripped from their roots,
creatures driven from their homes.
Furious waves flex their muscles,
throw their huge weight over shores.
Intense heat burning the earth,
no water to quench our thirst.
Creatures cremated, crops charred,
forces too powerful to beat.
Nature is angry at our abuse,
time has come for her revenge,
We must listen, make reparation,
or face our demise.
Ruth Mawdsley
19/2/20
i take my stance
abandoned on these
desolate tracks of life
that seem to lead
to road blocks
and dead ends
blandishment
weakens an already
dying heart
temporarily
before
it batters
a soul
if caution came
aforetime
like a warning
on train tracks
perhaps
i could halt
impact
before
it implodes
my heart
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