The Ashes clashes are a proper Proustian transporter
Wrestle in the showstopper Aussies pestle & mortar
Faustian deal came a cropper couldn't be fraughter
Our fielders run ragged like some poor market porter
From table topper ripsnorter glory to gory slaughter
Wizard of Oz magic seen in this Baggie Green backwater
For us tragic end as mean as Lean's epic Ryan's Daughter
Stokesy has already said
Shell shocked how Head sped
Smarting departing fielders fled
Chief belief thief..bowlers bled
Not silly got willy nilly Gilly cred
Ben's men grief left for dead
Travis mischief led fed the dread
Slogan from rogue Bogan bred
Mighty Blighty faces still red
They made this Baz ball bed
Ashes thread of hope shred
So fears where angels tread
May be we should say instead
Going out for a great Travis mate
Rather than I'm getting off my Head
“In a rundown, the runner is in a pickle that could become a rhubarb.” ~ by poet
Rundown.
He's trapped between
bases being pursued
by the fielders who glibly smile
because they know they have the advantage,
to perhaps overtake and tag
the beleaguered runner,
to foil the run.
Rundown.
She works around the clock it seems
Washing clothes and cleaning things.
At times content, at times despairing,
But always there and always caring.
Taking on the daily tasks,
Responding to the voice that asks:
“Mom, have you….” you know the rest.
But do you know how mothers bless?
Mothers run a home, that’s true.
But there’s much more to what they do.
Beyond the making of a house
They make a life, they lift a spouse.
They raise up doctors, raise up teachers.
They raise managers and preachers.
They raise architects, and builders,
Soldiers, presidents, center fielders.
Every daughter, every son;
The homemaker shaped every one.
Our lifetimes bear a mother’s seal,
Because mothers, make love real.
A baseball game is fun to watch and cheer
For nine innings are spectators all geared
Pitchers and batters, runners and fielders
Excitement uncontained as umpires yell there
Batter up is the sound pitcher to the mound
The hindcatcher yells the batter Now!
As the batter swings the crack is heard
Foul ball is the umpires voice and final word
Two strikes and three balls while the batter eyes all
The pitch is thrown as the batter swings tall
April 21 2016
Today's Date July 24. 2015
Contest Entry---First written Spring 2015
game bullying, hero, silly, sports, strength, word play,,
Champing At the Bit! ©
I hear the roars in the almighty arena
I like to see many a game played out
I am a contender ready for sport
Out for a rematch when elected to strike
Bringing on 'mite and dare' with battle-ax!
.
Inside fielders, outside shots
With vinegar, brawn, spit and guts
Side lines, guidelines guard rails spin
Play your bit and take over until ‘taken’
“Roll me over in fields of clover” again
“Let's roll out the barrel” once more
“The gangs all here” for (old time’s sake)!
To ‘bare’ false teeth replaced from knockouts
Falsely breathing like the lion when times taken ‘out’
False starts, ball belongs to the court ‘out of bounds’
Man ‘sports’ a rebel cry with clansmen at the helm
Fight your battles; fight your wars, fight to finish!
Swing of the bat, contests
Fielders’ gloves, ball in motion,
Run, slide, throw - called safe!
Innings are by turns,
Dramatic or biding, boxscores
Revealing who’s up.
Catching foul ball strays,
Or in bleachers just catch rays,
Fans cheer, hoot and wave!
Hear “Smack!” a hit!
Vendors warble, “Peanuts and beer!”
Star spangled banner.
If you come early,
Ask for heros’ autographs,
Snap players’ faces.
Distance ‘tween bases,
Had to be divinely ordained,
Perfecting the game!
Whether the home team ,
Overcomes temporary calamity,
Makes or breaks dreams!
© Chaim Wilson
February 12, 2011
A King's Mountain
A King's Mountain He mounts up under his branded feet.
Mass in size He is hallow by a grandstand He is to you,
But never is He in lieu, so many clues cost one tabboo.
Blown to boredom bereaved He hue's me a pure heart beat.
Shaking or faking Him out I scram to find my own Grand seat.
Surrounded from East to West there is North and South to do.
Blending my flames in hot Summer winds I baked a cake or two.
I'm like self-rising ready to bake surfing up fielders wheat.
A King's Mountain means Look-Out,
Soak it up and suck it all in!
A Hot sizzling day for a Cook-Out?
A King mounted has a Big bin.
He will draw your naked breath in and mount you to His top.
Sprinkling you with honey dew suckling up for more sip sop.
(R) Registered: Ann Rich 2011
04:43:21 AM EST -5
First there is something you need to know,
my friend is only just four feet four.
You should know this great man Martin,
don't say you don't cause he'll be startin'.
He came to me and said "I had a dream",
I asked him "what do you mean"?
He said "two men on at the bottom of seven,
and we are down ten to eleven".
As he stood at the plate and glared into field,
he saw the picther drop down and kneel.
Then he backed out of the batter's box,
and saw their coach grinning like a fox.
When he stepped back in to take his bat,
he heard someone say "he can't hit like that".
So they all started to say "come in, come in",
as the picther fixed his face with a sly grin.
The ball was picthed and "smack" over the
left fielders head,
while rounding third this is what Martin said.
"Come in, come in you all made a mistake,
even when he got to homeplate,
throwing the ball would be too late.
Luther Martin says "I had a dream",
Jimmy Melvin says "I know what you mean".
That's the story of my little friend Luther
and not the big man Martin Luther King.
T.W.I.S.T.
JLM
I want to hold the red ball across the seams
And go racing up my chain like fire
And Gary with bat will pretend
His stumps are children, wife, and hut
And when I clad my skin in white
Pretending I am England ready to fight
The Maroon at the crease will meet
The charging diabolic knight
And send my missile back at me
While history in the pavillion cheer.
I want to play cricket like that again
The fielders set important Indians
Or hunting dogs in British strategy
But O the wiley team, tragedy
Is one pit hole, a native shout of glee
I want to play cricket again, I want to see
The red red stain on the white clothes
Of black rebellious history.
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