Long Bowlers Poems
Long Bowlers Poems. Below are the most popular long Bowlers by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bowlers poems by poem length and keyword.
No channel skipping ..no flannel...it was so gripping…hearts melt…Pant's ripping svelte pelt and belt..stripping and whipping..the fab never drab Rishab lab..was it real..felt like I was tripping… no pipping..surreal cartwheel flipping..
Some verse about the Panto Pant curse…does traverse…like a hearse….won’t reimburse..adverse bowlers terse..things getting worse…reputations nurse…Rishab flash panache smash and grab..rehearse that ramp reverse..in his own homegrown perverse.. with only himself will converse..no fretting..go getting…record setting universe..
Now has outshone and outdone..shoves show pony Dhoni.. as the Indian man alright talisman with the gloves everybody loves with the most tons..holy moly..more three figures scores on England tours than the folklore of before..Sunny and Kohli..
Records splattered shattered..gallivanting Pant parade..cascade and cavalcade …flattered .. Rishab paddled..bowlers addled and raddled..skedaddled
Ignore any naysayer…prime sublime Pantomimes…haymaker…cocktail shaker…p**s taker…tik tok peacocker..run for fun maker…cool cat with the bat..almost indecent crimes..the Indian’s best test player and slayer of recent times..
Sebastian said Dim Whitty,
So as to make this funny
I asked the coach and said
"Honey...Who's on First?"
Coach said eYes!
And I got that part. Write.
Costello asked for the bat
Said he loved the game so
Coach gave him That.
Confused as can be, he swung
it round almost hitting me!
But missed he did when he
hit his own head and said...
that he still couldn't see.
Man wears a bowlers cap.
Indeed.
Who drops the ball so the
runner goes two seconds and
then to thirds. I don't know,
that's just what I heard as
I skirted around to base 3.
“Run Forrest, Today is
catching me!” I heard the
ball cry as it flew on by, hit
by the Bat to be Cause!
I Don't Care said I Don't Know
and so, the game was ended.
Short Stop got an attitude.
..... but I like the game .....
I said to Coach, rename them
in the field. I'll take that bat
and his hard felt hat and we'll
see what a girl can yield.
Who's on first
sWhich two seconds and
What is replaced on 3?
Lefty's out in a field and Why?
Be Cause, the center is Hers
I said, How, Tomorrow can't
throw and Today knows nothing,
it's beyond my comprehension.
New Batter is up and Again I
mention... It's Time Two play.
With. A Team called Woman.
Form:
I once played high school football…I even wrestled on their mat
but I was never a first class athlete…and I am comfortable with that.
My exploits in both fields will never be well known
but when it came to sports in general…I like to think I held my own.
Which is why when Deborah suggested we go bowling…
when she initially planted the seed
I thought, I’m coordinated enough at 66, and enthusiastically agreed.
And despite the fact we hadn’t been bowling since 1989
I thought, given my confidence and physical ability, I was going to shine.
I know I’m not as strong as I used to be, but after tying up my shoes
most balls were much too heavy…so I chose one the children use.
“Isn’t that ball a little light?” Deborah asked, (what was that a psyche?)
I ignored her veiled rebuke and concentrated on my strike.
My feet were planted, I lined it up and was mystified and appalled
when my first roll of my first frame became a gutter ball.
My confidence was quickly waning
I wondered: Is this what the bowling Gods have wrought?
“I think you want to knock the pins down?” Deborah smirked
as I lined up my second shot.
It seemed my brain and arms were at odds with one another
they weren’t working together at all
and when I rolled my second shot…
another gutter ball.
I improved and was eventually satisfied with my result…
although I found it hard to gauge.
Is it golf or is it bowling where it’s good to score your age?
No matter…I got a little better as each game did unfold
and here is what I learned the more and more we bowled:
I may not be the greatest athlete…no crowds…no adulation
but I still can have a lot of fun…once I accept my limitations.
And when Deborah asked, “Will we be back?” I said, “Of course we would.
We may never be great bowlers…but we make these shoes look good!”
A game played by gents they say
But at over ninety miles an hour
A fast bowled cricket ball
Really has some striking power.
A longed for confrontation between
A superb bowler and a class batter.
A match on a wicket so benign
Every ball just got flatter and flatter,
Until he managed to dig one in
And get that little bit extra rise
Which, were it not for his visor solid
have blacked both the batters eyes.
With a blood curdling yell he ran
Up the pitch swinging his bat around
And Following it up with a vicious kick
Felled that bowler to the ground.
Bloody body line bowling he said
I’ve just about had enough
Time you bloody bowlers realised
Us batters can cut up rough
I suppose now he said
There’s not much doubt
The bloody Ump will decide
Ive been and run myself out.
After a quick toe jab to the ribs
Causing the fielders much alarm
He strode manfully from the field
Bat tucked firmly under his arm.
And that’s how it happened when
Under a constant bodyline attack
All the class batters decided it
Was past time they all struck back.
And so the disciplines split
As a result of that fateful morn
And, in the fullness of time
Combat Cricket was finally born,
Hagerstown, Indiana
I strolled my hometown Main Street today (about a quarter mile).
Many happy memories flooded my soul, causing me to smile.
A friendly bench beckoned me and I sat awhile to ponder,
The past I left so long ago for vast horizons out yonder!
The building where Doc Mays' drug store was still stands,
Where my sweetie and I sipped sodas and held each other's hands.
The Cartmell Hardware Store sat catty-cornered across the street,
Catering a variety of gadgets to make our lives more complete!
Ah! The aromas emitted from Seeb's Bakery down the street!
Those savory pies, cookies and cakes - what a special treat!
I recall Harry the barber and his razzing as I sat in his chair.
I reeked of bay rum and the Vitalis that he slathered in my hair!
The bowling alley no longer exists - setting pins was my first job.
If the bowlers liked my work, a quarter tip to me they'd lob!
Gone is the L.B. Owens grocery store where as a lad I worked.
He was a demanding boss, admonishing me if my tasks I shirked!
I left my hometown when I was a young and unpretentious lad.
There were just too many distant vistas and adventures to be had.
But o'er the years I return there every chance that I can get.
I left many fond memories there that I just cannot forget!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Have to admit.. do have a bit
Of a trenchant penchant
Alright adore southpaw purveyors
Dabbles..pique aroused..rabbles in the stands roused
Unique sleek cheek of their chic espoused
Bowlers...reduced to trollopes
Us seduced by players with not
Just a dash of flash panache
But hefty lefty dollops
Innings built by the lilt of lyrical levers which tilt to the hilt
Lush lullaby scores..lapping sandy shores with endless encores
Who’s get the ring or Tiara as
Greatest Caribbean queen ever been seen..
(sorry notions of one of Billy Ocean's top pop potions)
Most blessed and least stressed..every ball caressed and finessed
Also always impeccably dressed…the Calypso
Maestro…lothario…romeo…guru…Brian Charles Lara
First one since the Don to go so much bigger
Score..such vim on a whim…verve and vigour
Doing what only Bradman can but with
More touch..canny elan trigger than rigour
Frightening elite feet..like lightning
Remember in his pomp the 1994 romp
First class farce..501 not out rout..never been out done
Then in 2004.. did it once more..set the new top score
He’s Kane and Abel…top of the table fable for sure
All time prime sublime number one?
From the land of the other hand
Can anyone outgun or out ton?
Travesty to shun..majesty
Artistry of the Lara tapestry
What he brought to the sport
Memories never wane
Prince of the Port of Spain
Michelin star cricketing cook…by hook or crook.. so canny..will find every nook and cranny…if you took a look at the record..score or text book ..won’t have forsook ..our dutiful..beautiful babbling Brook
Although the barmy army might suggest this almighty Blighty Test best..is more like an umami tsunami..
Bravissimo heave ho machismo..top grade…gung ho pyro Tyke tyro.. renegade hand grenade.. Bowlers afraid.. dismayed..slayed and flayed..somehow right now kapow..but also retrograde..
Boisterous babbling brook…a silky blade…gorged.. slices through a dappled glade..forged..handmade..the republic of Yorkshire conveyed and displayed
Stands so tall…enthrall with his gall.. like Jaiswal…towering…flowering overpowering..glowering…never cowering ... .just run showering..
Us all believers.. that larruping levers.. panache dashers rule…fielders does tease..
Shirty..become go fetch receivers..flash or is it dirty Harry..360 degrees wheeze with such ease..
What a way to play…with that hint and glint of Clint ..Please ..go on funk punk.. make my day
Not the most erudite but when it comes to timber tickles…willow wizardry….no luddite… will ignite… when things get dark and stark… Harry will be that spark..shining bright delight..having a lark out on the park..
Our sumptuous Aurora explorer…humming run sorcery scorer..tropic kaleidoscopic hues..rambunctious strumming the spectrum with his plectrum..woos queues with verdant voluptuous views
Many a sage would rage..even those on the other side of the Ribble.. wouldn’t quibble or contest..knows..the latest of those white rose heroes..is the Test best of the new age..
A pest..blessed with zest from the Yorky conquest treasure chest....won’t wain and never in vain…slain by Brook’s insane high octane rampage..gets us off the hook again…
Can’t cage..does entertain…on the ultimate stage..his disdain like heavy rain…no refuge from the deluge..babbling Brook subterfuge..floods the back page once again..
Still baronial the feudal caboodle at the home of cricket
Colonial testimonial for a posh canoodle should picket
Ben used his noodle & won’t see Crawley surely nick it
Purely those who chose bacon egg clothes got a ticket
Neighbourhood of dons not wrong uns in St Johns Wood
Confess is a public school caress where members stood
Impress hamper-ed pampered and champered so good
Largesse epicurean finesse with Eton Mess for your pud
Spiffy faction only see pithy fraction of the action perhaps
Sniffy Telegraph on laps drinking clinking sinking schnapps
Aristocrat sippers in Gucci slippers round neck cravat wraps
Squiffy slumbers sarnies with cucumbers smoked salmon baps
Maps round the ground laps for the sound hand pull taps
Recover in the bar batters flaps to cover another collapse
Diehards doing hard yards tryhards with lanyards on apps
Iffy in a jiffy encumbers fiesta to siesta and afternoon naps
Real fans do obsess about the Black cap chaps prowess
Claps & reciprocal back slaps for underdogs feisty scraps
Kiwi bowlers wrist snaps out of the traps can be express
Batters when matters fielders energy saps finding the gaps
Rare Lords success Bazball under duress feeling the stress
Mystery..artistry...history of the Test tapestry fills me with glee
MCC forever twee picky with bow of dickie for every wannabe
Oh yippee will be many a yuppy but sadly not really any Kiwi
And poorer sorts without Sky Sports can’t even see it on TV
Awe & shock bowlers in the dock our warlock & glock “the Judge”
Rapscallion & stallion with a gold medallion on a sinking galleon
Our burly oracle with each follicle so curly a rock wouldn’t budge
In the 90’s dungeon our classy curmudgeon brassy bludgeon
Can’t begrudge won’t nudge or fudge never a drudge trudge
Truncheon dining on hurly burly Courtenay & Curtly luncheon
Call to arms more like baobabs than palms it is “the Judge”
Robin big breast disarms with charms Test bowlers flogging
Logging in to his noggin not one for jogging just silky slogging
Speedsters scary & lairy others wary time for our hairy chest fairy
Strike hogging quest while the others just dobbins doing bobbins
Pacemen lobbing but no fobbing iron will still run robbing Robin
Smith no hobnobbing or gobbing but not a whiff of a riff of what if
Believers in his jobbing levers will go biff in any tiff the pith of Smith
Made from sterner stuff but always a learner on a bunsen burner
Did bewitch but off the pitch a hitch.. life after cricket not as rich
Strife was rife and as things got rough couldn’t scratch that itch
Baobabbed wizard mocked Windies blizzard grabbed it by the gizzard
Calling card hit the ball so hard seems that BATman was really Robin
Not just some county squire but maybe the ultimate Hampshire Sire
Hall of fame name can’t smudge hats doff to a one off “the Judge”
Have bowlers become spicier?
Hitches in batting riches
Cut sl**s shut in a rut
Pitches become dicier?
Chestnut witches strut
Gluts of stitches
And seams dreams
Humdrum Timber
Tantrum doldrums
Back in the hut
What we did see at the WTC
Wood from the tree
No pretence…don’t do defence
Weary..slain in vain again
Don’t be wary..leery of
Scary lairy leather fairies
Won’t refrain..don’t restrain
Might as well go insane
In that Baz Ball vein
Won’t sit on the fence
Face facts..cracks
No axe to the max
No one really scored
Adored stroke smorgasbord horde
Flawed fraud joke ignored
Afraid slayed blade misery
Very merry cherry glee
Ripsnorter slaughter yippee
Choker jokers..the sly Aussies..rib pokers..
Did sledge.. snide..tried to deride and get the edge
Was a helluva a ride
Will always remember the mystery
Markram and Temba’s pride..stopped the slide
Wouldn't be denied..victory and
History finally for the Saffa side..
But most batters rumbled
Humbled as records crumbled
Even helmet on..the memory will linger
Of slip don Smith’s finger
Catches dropping short
Fumbled..fraught..bumbled
On day one and two…bowling onslaught held sway
Each day..14 wickets tumbled
So willow and leather parity
Hilarity…have to be a cruel fool to rule
Was the best test contest of bat against ball
Clarity of batters depravity
Squarely at the end of their tether
Another not too clever feather
Gravity…kowtowed even without cloud
Loud proud African crowd came
Shame the Aussies can’t
Just blame the weather
For losing the game