Best Ruck Poems
It was a day of chaos
The day the pensioners struck,
Massed Mobility Scooters moving
Forward like a Rugby Union ruck,
Blocking all the streets
In the centre of town,
To all intents and purposes
Closing the city down.
The police were very tolerant,
Withdrawing their attack
After more than one officer suffered
From a wielded walking stick's whack.
The atmosphere changed
Soon after that
Lots of bonhomie
Banter and chit chat.
The action was called offi
Promptly at five to three
Thus allowing each
To be home in time for tea.
The action wasn't called
For any cause or good:
No it was carried out
Just to show they could.
Massed Mobility Scooters moving
Forward like a Rugby Union ruck.
It was a day of chaos
The day the pensioners struck.
Written: April 23, 2025, for contest sponsored by Tania Kitchen
************
Chocolate, cinnamon hug,
Steam ceramic mug
Creamy smiles of cozy love
Smoothy delivered
Sweetness from her lips
Ruck sweet kiss
Treat!
The grandstand is gelid by a sharp wintry breeze
Carried off from the field are the last of dead leaves
The shrill of the whistle, muffled calls from the crowd
From the tunnel stampede, metal studs echo loud.
With high, flick-tossing coin each Captain his reason
To kick-off with his mates a new rugby season.
The kicker announces starting ball high and long
And on lumbering wind sings a rugby man’s song.
Fifteen players below impatient stand waiting
Eyes fixed to the heavens, the ball falls rotating.
To arms of the hardest with sweetest possession
Grueling match has begun— the rugby obsession!
Steaming bodies in scrums, deep grunt of engagement
Weary boots grappling earth now frozen like pavement
By tackle-ruck-lineout, each man one-and-for-all
With a powerful push a try-bound rolling maul.
Players leaping for joy, heads of others hang low
Elation, deception such do rugby games go.
So Grand Final is here, a long winter has passed
The crowd and the speaker say it happened too fast;
Cut-throat right to the last; Wing, Second Row to Prop
A try, then conversion, to make every heart stop.
(Far left of the uprights flew last quiet ball spent
but with westerly drift over black dot she went!)
…
And with sweet summer grass blowing crisp in the sun
where butterflies frolic, spider webbing is spun
White sidelines are missing, fields all ripe, rich ‘n’ green
Rugby season has passed, but young spirits are keen
A rugby ball punted, a lone boy, polished boots
To play for his country, his dream built on grass roots.
-------------------
Alexandrine Poem in balanced six syllable cesurae for each 12 syllable line
SPUN FUN
I wonder about nonsense and things that are askew,
Like, if you strangled a Smurff would it's face turn Blue?
And is Rudolf's nose really as bright red as they say?
I mean, would you recognise him if you saw him in May?
Sentences we use are strange and wonderful to decide,
Why do we say stairs are indoors and steps are outside?
We're always looking for something that’s left us bereft
If you lost your left arm would your right arm be left?
I watch sports on TV the player's struggling in a ruck,
I mean, I get enough exercise just pushing my luck!
Why don't cemeteries explain the prices they're giving?
They just moan and blame it all on the cost of living!
Science and its wonders and the knowledge they spark.
If they are so cleaver, answer me, "what’s the speed of dark"?
But my brain starts to throb and the questions grow dim.
And the fool inside me says, good night to me and him.
The other day I saw the most pathetic thing I think I shall ever see!
It was so macabre and shocking that it piqued my curiosity!
Seems this old miser died having atoned for his many transgressions,
But was adamant about taking with him all his earthly possessions!
He had derided that well-known saw, "you can't take it with you",
And asserted, "Them's my things that took a lifetime to accrue!"
Even on his deathbed as he breathed his last and ceased to function,
He fretted about his stuff as the priest administered extreme unction!
In the funeral procession behind the hearse was a huge U-Haul truck,
Containing his suits and shoes, booze and gold plus all his other ruck!
Oft' I've pondered about that old tightwad and his ultimate fate,
And how St Peter handled the matter when he greeted him at the Gate!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved
Villanelle: The Dilemma of the Non-Violent – 43
Cuck-uk ruck-cuckoo Paloma on the wing
Who gets to curry pot with 100Bn
The Eagle or the Cock gets to down bird with sling
Are the waters receding while we loud sing
Who brought us to high point at 2015
Cuck-uk ruck-cuckoo Paloma on the wing
Ere the ink is hardly dry El Ninos swing
How many wars will be wrought now in between
The Eagle or the Cock gets to down bird with sling
Will the Good Lord re-freeze melting ice crackling
From mouths of Seine Thames or Hudson here eighteen
Cuck-uk ruck-cuckoo Paloma on the wing
Nuclear tests in Pacific still in ears ring
How many more lush love green isles sunk in sin
The Eagle or the Cock gets to down bird with sling
Cheer one hundred ninety-seven hands signing
On waters lapping on heels under heat-lid bin
Cuck-uk ruck-cuckoo Paloma on the wing
The Eagle or the Cock gets to down bird with sling
© T. Wignesan – Paris, 2015
Newcastle-upon-Tyne Dackel was nine
He sniffed the breeze for the traces of Rhine
In the show there was a foe
Badger was biting his toe
He whined and sent badger a valentine
Roger the badger went to Kebbit the rabbit
A sneak and scratching dick was badger's habit
And he gave the buck a ruck
Dackel's valentine guck
"We really got sucked in by this muck"
WASHINGTON POST Saturday, February 14
Fifty Shades of Grey - Valentine's Day
Badger Beauty got a card from Curious, lively, charming, and brave Droozy
Suffering from tunneling syndrome
This Dachshund may be right for you.
(sung – in a round pussy willow warble - to the tune of --
Oh Where Oh Where has my little dog gone)
With a flam boy hunt deft jais nais sais quois
firm lickey split tongue
and two bell yule yar pissant
little nappy ruck berry filled up paul ling sacks
viz peppy la pew doth not peter out,
and weathers clawed rained swipes
from hello kitty when faux pas gets swung
assisting climbing Jacob's ladder
(without pussy footing,
orb bing a putz like the president)
advancing quick to attain orgasmic rung
while heading into a slippery sloping sluice
(with prickly endeavor emitting cleat trill
smooth sailing along a ****
re coarse upon phallic shaped pung
crossing la brea tar pits (peppered
with lai bee ha tricky bridge over the River Kwai)
comprising ideal place de la resistance
to woo tang clan foreign nee Kate,
where two puckered rill lee fleshy ruffling rills
tinged pinkish lips overhung
a challenging escarpment,
where many a brave Tom, Harry or Dick get hung
up, particularly while searching for fabled “G” spot,
cuz portcullis hamstrung
even the most fiercely determined
Engleburt Hump per dink
necessitating the moist risky ski maneuver
as most studs know tubby gelandesprung
though booby prize wool worth any slimy setbacks,
where sticky gook gets flung
from angry cat,
who does not in the least find amusing,
and if further pricked with rage
not averse to hurl dung
gar (with) ease at snaky,
retractable hardened beastie boy twill clung
for dear life and limb (er, or twig and berries),
while applying crampons (bivouaced
within his maxipad), viz bung
gull low, essentially a ball peen size cove
hammered out by Dashiell Hammitt, where coiled,
kinked follicles strewn tightly inlet among
pheromone laced verboten fruit.
here I go again
on a belt fed groove,
suck it up
ruck it up,
legion on the move,
all the things we used to have
all too soon are gone,
wave goodbye
eyes gone dry,
another trek through foreign dawn.....
see the henna hidden dirty faces
bodies broken poppy crowned,
empty futures, empty lives
only empty bargains found,
while broken daughters cast away
scream silent rage while bound...
(our hands help up, theirs slap 'em down)
and cast on through the compound
catching tracer lighted round,
jump into a compensator boogaloo
side slippin' all around,
as I slowly turn my eyes
body armor turned and wound,
hands up in greeting, STOP!
the brass like shining carpet
clinking sharply tragic sound,
falling slowly oh so slowly
like coffin nails drowned...
my soul spilling on the ground.
My poor beat up truck,
we've had quite a muck,
for when we got stuck,
you made such a ruck.
My poor beat up truck,
we went threw much,
getting hit sucked,
and had to pay such.
My poor beat up truck,
sitting all alone,
sitting there stuck,
looking like a bone.
my poor beat up truck,
cant go around,
stuck in the ground.
Now driving in a car,
just not far,
from getting My Poor Beat Up Truck.
they would dice many a chive
by management me from da dive
apartments in hatfield in close proximity
to the bloody sorry fate
oof a von nee gutt
thar slaughter house five.
mine eyes saw gore
and remained fixated
orbital fixture
of poor creatures in a daze
sans reaction averting gaze
away from disgusting entrails
visible picture amidst the maze
of chutes and ladders
stepping on select
foursquare did raise
or lower (similar to an elevator)
but movable blocks
also went cross ways
oh, anyway, this reply
written by me - scott math u
passable poet tree - at most true
this email far ye to rue
these twisted sister strands
of pearl jammed zz topped
chromosomal strands being did hew
who only to five feet and ten inches grew
crafts, finesses,
indulges love of language
to prose from fingers flew
and writes poems
cawing all r e'en juiced
one angry emu
leaving her/his presents
custom made doo doo
per comprising a motley crue
of a family - pearl jammed color ague.
please rsvp asap via text
to me scott matthews my chosen ac/dc label
i.e. pleasure like rubbing against sable
create r hard woo n intimate scorpion fable
unless ja noah under me ma jib rush
like inxs o ruck kiss in tower o babe bull
by texting if willing, ready, eager and able
froom - - scotts matthew
who lives way off the mainline -
juiced about a few dirty dozen dancing deeds
done dirt cheap miles west of philadelphia,
and some ten miles east of king o prussia
pennsylvania who imagines your sultry skin
silkily soft as a lynx, pussy cat
rubbing against ma leg under da table.
Sent from my iPhone 456789
This poem is dedicated to the one I love
Today I walk a million miles.
I walked a million miles,
I hump this ruck all day
I hear the small bing and ding as the straps begin sway
the sound of the desert winds begin to blow.
the sand begins to swirl.
I walk a million miles for this I do not know,
As Tiny drops of sweat begin to roll, these tiny drops of sweat are much like us you know, as these tiny drops begin to flow, they roll down my neck arm and legs for where they go is just unknown.
I walk a million miles
For this, I do not know
I feel so very tired and begin to slow, but with each step, we press on, with each step we must keep marching on, step after step searching looking, searching for what it's really not known.
I walk a million miles
the feeling of fear is really clear, the feeling of fear is thick as smoke and stench begin to fill the air.
the sand is blowing and swirling all around.
I walk a million mile for what, it's really not known, we hump these heavy ruck's that cut you to the bone.
I walk a million miles for this, you will never know, but as we keep marching, humping these ruck's
sweating tiny drops that roll and go to places we do not know
we keep praying, that we will make it through the day.
I walk a million miles, for this I do not know, protecting freedom land
For this Is, I do know.
I walk a million miles as bullets fill the air,
the smell of sulfur is thick in the in the noonday air
I'd walk a million more so this you will never know.
I walk a million miles, for this I now know, I never want you to see these things, or smell the stench I've known. I never want you to feel the pain or the hardships that I've endured.
I've walked a million miles but I'd walk a million more, to save you from the horrors to keep freedom on our shores, for these things I will endure keeping the enemy away if it takes my life to ensure this it a small price to pay. I've done it all for you, the ones I love the most so you will never know, the ugly horrors of war, for this I have endured
to keep freedom on our shores.
But I've done this all in love for you and I'll walk a million more
to ensure ole glory never falls and the bell sounds of freedom never fade.
Duty Honor Country I'll walk a Million more
Tracy Scott 2/18/2015
His eyes get bloodshot!
Fight engorges his body!
He roars and defends!
Enter his red zone
To hurt or help... be dismayed!
His attack strengthens!
He pays back double!
He avenges his soul's sake!
He cools down in days.
Harb Holl, a hilarious puck
Grabbed some crazy crabs in the ruck
He cracked under strain
A grievous brain drain
He fell off the back of a truck
My heart races as my name is called up,
Please, try not to worry Sara, good luck.
My mother handed me a water cup,
Telling me not to focus on the ruck,
As parent-made applause begins to roar,
Eyes once on the ground shifted from the floor,
The light centered on me was glistening,
The adrenaline in me quickening
Thoughts are disintegrating from my mind,
I find within myself a faith unmined
So strong I recall everything in time,
Fully prepared it is now time to shine,
The glance of the judge stills the growing din,
I draw my final breath as I begin.