Best Scrum Poems
The whittled worries and fears shred my nerves like ants on glass, sparkling red. I notice and bow to the glitterati in their fine silks and cuts of cloth because they pay my wages; they care little for the red-cheeked fellow in the silly hat, whose spring step is more right-right than left-right. I’ve become the cheesy blue veined odour curdling on the edge of the plate, readying the silver bone china scrape.
I don't belong at this party with my ill-fitting garb and my eyes mercilessly seduced by the bejeweled beauties beset with jouncy bouquets, spilling colours fountain-like, their exuberant price tags hanging down unembarrassed, soliciting the eye to not deny the wealth. The verdant green will see two-stepping tonight, to the tunes in my head. I am the entertainment, yet feel like the booby prize no one sees. Must I sing for my supper in my red striped specially selected boating hat, or should I croon like the scolded cat serenading the moon.
That's when I saw her slinking and jingling, a charade slipping its mooring, her face dreamy, floating on a tide of lilacs and honeysuckles, and like a brazen queen-worthy vessel, she parted the waves to meet me on the floor closely followed by a scrum of sweaty-faced boys that up-anchored and waddled in her wake. I sang a croon for her ears alone, to imagine dancing with me under the crescent of the moon, in our garden filled with cents and honey and songs to set the traps with money - but all that this did achieve, was nothing but the wish to be elsewhere, somewhere a little less funny.
someone who describes something as being dumb ~ not considered a chum
my opponent in a rugby game at the scrum ~ I would overcome
one who is hungry when I've a juicy plum ~ I'd not give up a crumb
message given with the beat of a drum ~ and down pointed is my thumb
deleting that word might appease some ~ but too late to change the outcome
what's dumb, dumber, or dumbest ~ it's not a riddle as you might have guessed
and now I'll let it go
With one hand behind my back
I slash and stalk
With deft steps and careful tack
I counter and block
I slash and stalk
My foe
I counter and block
Searching for the final blow
My foe
Offers no complaint to
Searching for the final blow
And bares its throat on cue
Offers no complaint to
An ending soon to come
And bares its throat on cue
To put an end to this scrum
An ending soon to come
I counter and block
To put an end to this scrum
I slash and stalk
The scorn of abandonment,
howls of silence
when a room entered,
the school yard clatter
community chatter,
pulpit perniciousness
traduce in speculation.
Housewives with
corrective attitudes
deft in moralistic anomalies,
snarls over the broom
with piercing eyes declaring
“Hands off
there stands the scrum of the womb”.
Yes i am a motherless child
raised in an environment
of inclement
wagging tongues,
haggish gapes
smug righteousness,
born of woman
alas not a mother!
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Preposterous melody won't exist,
Inside a piano without the chord's beat
Aubade is formed when dolefulness emits
Nails the body to where she always sits;
Ordering her fingers to start a writ.
Corners her world with piano as a friend
Heaves fro the melancholia life has sent
Obsolete in the past yet still remains
Rest in the hands of the hellion of dents
Deceiving the chords life composed to mend
Carted away from the womb of thy mom,
Dispatched to fosters as a surly wan
Ego disappears to the children's scrum
For years she can't find her ruined life's sum
Guided and loved with the help of the rank
An afflatus for three hearts to collide
But deep beneath, she had always been mock
Called in by her fosters as out of luck
Door to door, she lagged capitulated
Reminds herself the poem she narrated
Misses the time her heart elevated
Falls for a man who's crossed-dressing blended
Solitude before but now chaperoned
Laminated by her man's trifle tone
Timbre has echoed when they broke the stone
Do you hear the sixteen chords of her song?
The
scrum-half-
go-between
ARTE MAYOR*: Neither Cricket nor Football
Is this the way to prop A-first
Sock not oval ball overhead
Slam not round ball with drumstick dead
Cut not corporate tax: the worst
Hundred millions sweat till tv burst
Swamp Super Bowl cheer-leaders' tights
The day England scorned Wales' rights*
Would arméd football rugby durst
Catch not ball in leather-gloved hand
Watch how slip-fields pluck balls from air
Out-fields brave boundaries debonair
That's what cricket's in any land
Trumped-up charges make no A-men grand
Nor soft base balls stop eyes grow sore
A-1 Nation must make World soar
Hail Rugby! King Twickenham brand!
Throw missile back You Quarter-Back
Take no step beyond the Red line
Referee draws to keep the front-line
Push no further than ball in pack
The Golden Rule's not to kick back
Unless you're in scrum cheek to jowl
And lick the foe if he must growl
Block those horns in grid-lock Am-track!
Curve ball's By Gad no in-swinger
Reach first base sans one lone strike
Home runs no match sixes through dike
Stop runs coming through huge bouncer
Best way to take the World over
Scrap apéd games from lean memory
Learn to play ball gentlemanly
You'll need no Vinson carrier!
*Arte Mayor (Sp. Major Art) stanzaic form, the art of Archiprest de Hita (12th-13th c.): eight syllabic lines in eight-line stanzas, rhyming abba acca.
*England beat Wales in epic match at Cardiff to win Six-Nations' Rugby 2017 Trophy; the same day the Super Bowl was watched by 125 millions on TV. If the same audience could have seen the match at Cardiff, I'd wager that would have been the very last Super Bowl event in history.
© T. Wignesan - Paris, 2017
Engraved with harsh sound, each shackle's screech molested my eardrum,
Its starry silver, sparked oblivious wham into my heart, shattered like shard,
Rigorously, premature sweat hopped down to my forested beard,
Never! They can't let me loose again, as they gathered like a scrum.
Amid the encrusted iron on my encased cage,
My bendy fingers scratches till shallow hole,
Gallows way, full of groggy drops, I envision the woody pole,
Conscience before me, not my time, my death a sin to age.
Guilty of whatever, the judgement not from the creator,
I despised freedom in all form
Next world, I will buy a spaceship to carry law sector,
For, my time is over like a heavy storm.
Pity and pity me no more,
For, my journey a moral lesson in the folklore.
Morning stand-up in front of you
As beliefs contrary to reality
Somehow almost manic of sociopath
Daily scrum of people chaotic
Poverty of fair speech
Wax and wane, almost wine
Grandiose and bouts agitation
No freedom and praeCOX
Peculiar country
Dyskinesia Republic
wheel ding utmost pro lix:
scrum compulsions won
despite feeling dog tired, (like a ton
of bricks weighed me down)
while seduced by the sun
solar radiation from the sky didst lightly run
sans, i experienced
a weird wired wider sensation pun
knee sensation otherwise, this sun dry
older puppy nun
the wiser (feeling akin
to an overly sated book worm
to boot) on a Mon
Day, nonetheless, forced
by male incarnation from Lon
don, (via NON FAKE voices
inside my noggin) a potential Hun
these tired eyes, could NOT stop reading
even with figurative gun
at my head, until only
sluggish progress made,
which daunting task not fun
bore witness thru novel
(in this instance plotting thru - dun
know if fie could finish
One Hundred Years Of Solitude -
by Gabriel Garcia Marquez)
pea pulling his story with bun
dulls of Hiss panic
Alpha Numeric characters, -
per printed page punctuated
concluded with a period,
(premature mental dejected ejaculation exclaimed
how ah yee got trounced
by harsh obsessive compulsive task master.
"Nay unto you Matthew Scott"!
Uttered by exactly same grievous rot
while er...mailer daemon (as above, pot
tent shill slave driver subsequently not
quite ditto for identical bon mot
mind wielding damn mask kid ding lot
intonation, now setting me hot
to worry about my thinning hair, the little aye got
as expressed vis a vis A previous poem
of mine titled 'Argh! I suffer the plight of Bad
Hair Year In One Day!'
they're looking cool,
the haka, with passion lots
of aggression,
All blacks looking to disrupt,
opening minutes of the game,
hands on the ball,
first out of the line outs
lovely little chip
chip it's on...
playing advantage
it's hosing down
it's pretty solid-gone blind side
solid scrum, "engage"!
set ball
collapse far side
cross and hold
away from the tackle
10 out from the 22
broken tackle
17 minutes gone, 7-0
straight off the top
good burst, quick hands
chase cross kick
wasted opportunity
solid hit
knocked on!
quick turnover
All blacks turn this one...
kicked into touch
bind up! bind up!
engage!
loose ball, hit the rack hard-
drives around the fringe
two players off side
just out from the 22
keen to keep it alive
5 metre mark all blacks looking
strong
looking for the gap
on the charge
Ireland broken through All black
defense
easy try, ...bounced away
back on the attack
good drive
launch the attack
here comes the bullet
closing the gap
come on, put it in!
crunch and hold
stepping his way through
Bit of an Oscar there!
take it right to the limit
squeezed at the line outs
going for drop goal-...wide,
lapse of concentration
cost Ireland many metres
great pressure
scrum feed
sits up well
test match on knife edge
drills another behind
Ireland on the attack
All black bench, very active
absorbing stuff
good delivery
running hard past a couple
All blacks snap it up
to the charge
Irish defense holding
All blacks surviving off Irish errors
5 metres out
2 players off side
interfering with presentation
going for the push over
looking for a better hit
best on the blind side
All blacks between the posts
got the momentum
He's having a big game
Big moment
the flag is up
All blacks heading for the line...
All blacks respond when the
squeeze in on...It's a TRY!
All blacks 27 Ireland 17
At the capitol rotunda
Two senators faced off on
Gun rights versus oversight
Each side bunkered in
Intractable, their way to win
Sharp tongued irate debate
Open thinking went kerplunk
Head to head, noses pressing
Like two rams rutting
One grabbed a neck
The other ruffled hair
Both leaned into a scrum
Onlookers aghast
Heavy breathing, jackets flung
Ties askew, faces flushed
Veins a popping
Fists were clenched, my heart pounding
Spit and foam tossed about
Two old mad dogs yelping
Spin left once, then spin right
Round and round these two locked
Like a chopper blade taking off
Leather shoes and legs flyin'
Scuffing on slippery rotunda floor
Lots have slithered across before
Muffled echoes off the walls
Don't think a punch was thrown
Guards ran in to break the spin
Pull the swirl apart
Just like a gooey sticky bun
'Cept it weren't no fun
Hands grasping foe to foe
Darts of insults still flashing
Reddened eyes, teeth gnashing
Heads adjoined they'd go
Caught their breath, stood up straight
Falling back into friendly hands
Mumbled shards yet flying
They walked away slumping
Like two Humpty Dumptys
Disheveled putting themselves together
Each insisting they were "kerrect"
With hastened breath
I saw it all unfold
Watchers shuffling in doubt
As they usually do
It was a war, weren't no spat
They'll never forget, count on that
See it all on the evening news
Did it change each other's views?
Can we ever talk civilly?
Common Ground is the Solution
So that was yesterday's kerfuffle
Adjudicated by muscle
En darkened skin
and sultry eyes
compelling me to write,
long orange claws
on dainty hands,
long dark hair
with a golden sheen
silhouetting a scrum shish face,
one that draws you in,
makes you reminisce,
but in silence
her sad eyes
speak volumes,,
something hidden,
something unspoken
something lost.
If I had one chance
to run a claw
down her cheek
I could drive those thoughts away,
disperse those illicit memories
and create
a whole new horizon.
Jittery glittery tree
A mouse ran up the Christmas tree
Scaring the life from the fairy
Cat did too, with dog in pursuit
'Twas a fiasco and quite hairy.
Fairy's heart raced seeing the chase
The dog bit the cat on the bum
The tree lights flashed, the tree it crashed
And cat had the mouse in a scrum.
Poor fairy flew off, nerves were shot
It wasn't how a Christmas should be
She cared not a jot for this lot
Her intention was to seek peace.
The lady of the house rushed in
To find what was making the din
Kids lovin’ home movie herein
Were sent to bed with a warnin'
Mother had to clear up the mess
While dad took the cat to the vet
Mouse ran away from the affray
Mice who have laughed last, laugh best.
6th December 2020
A man gets killed by the police
in a most undeserving way,
we all see it and all agree
they were wrong, and will have to pay.
The president himself sees it
and then sends in the F.B.I.,
to figure out why this happened,
since such behavior cannot fly.
The cop who did it is locked up,
to face what verdict may be found,
and somehow people think this means
they should burn the whole city down?!
As if wanton destruction can
undue something already done?
As if hurting other people will
improve the world for everyone?
As if destroying your own jobs
2ill somehow make everything right?
And not just convince others to
distrust all of you at first sight?
And those criminal stereotypes
that people complain of all the time,
do you think arson and assault
will make those people change their minds?
Do you think people that you hurt
will say,”It’s justified,”when they bleed?
They did nothing to deserve this,
you’re just planting future hate’s seed.
The lefties types may support you,
but eventually, when this all fails,
do you think those politicos
will care much when you rot in jail?
And what of those in your neighborhoods
who seem homes and business destroyed?
You ruin a person’s life work
they’ll be more than a little annoyed.
Since most of these folks are you own,
your fathers, your mothers, your kin,
do you think destroying their lives
could ever somehow be a ‘win?’
You’re not fighting for justice here,
you're just violent, criminal scrum,
we all see you on the TV,
running around as if it’s just fun.
Did Martin Luther King loot towns
when faced with oppression far worse?
Would Jim Crow have been defeated
if he’d acted a violent jerk?
And when the big guns do come out,
you'll find yourselves well and truly f@#ked.
Nothing excuses what’s going down,
you rioters all truly suck.