Two people of equal weight
Strong muscles straining
Both suddenly subdued with spiteful hate
Hand and buzzer the winner ordaining
In truth the real sport
Is the judging of the referee
Here the fighters are in his court
And he moves like a boat across the sea
The fact is that he moves across the ring
Slithering and crawling
All waiting for the finial ding
Or the contestants still and sprawling
Striped shirt with logos on either sleeve
Sponsorship like the fighters in the match
Except his own body does he heave
And both rule breakers and winners does he catch
Sometimes moving on head and toes
So he can spot the smallest changes
All to see the joys and woes
And anger’s varied verbal ranges
So, put simply, this is his domain
With the expert eye of a professional chef
He goes through the most entertaining strain
Enjoy watching the ref
Categories:
ref, humor, sports,
Form: Lyric
Dear Tom, IN FUN
not intentionally trying to stealing Jan's glory.
in limerick rhyme, I too can tell a good story!
Tom Cunningham, I can!
A touch of meanness I am!
Come on let's make this limerick all gory!
oh I don't often win those big prizes
from the loins of that woman from Devizes
my verse, all one-sided
just small, my hand guided
by me mum, that woman! Of 2, different sizes!
couldn't resist, in fun... Mick
Categories:
ref, humor,
Form: Limerick
Dearest Prof –
Upstairs, downstairs:
Racing ref-wards: lasses
(Prof, a roused lad saw them)
Breaking through the prime fogs
Racing like some fleece-hunters
Led by a night-gowned lass
(Where could they be going?)
The peering at something in soils:
Some retreated – wordless!
Like a soul peeved by a sight.
Dearest V.C. –
Many racing clay of lads: restless!
Racing ref-wards as the lasses
(Prof, a roused lad saw them)
A corpse at the rear of our ref
(Prof, a roused lad saw it there)
The thick stagnate flood
The naked log devoid of pistils
Was it a sermon for each beast?
(Who cut down this limping tree
From this famous forest of pantology?)
Dearest Prof –
Each beast: even rabbi-beast
Came and saw himself
In a log: that naked log
“A rebel caught by pig-watchers!”
(A roused lad herd it told!)
Was the log alone in the mad act?
The corpse by the ref
Whose flesh & blood was he?
And those two dry logs lying at Medical Centre
Whose bones & blood were they?
Categories:
ref, sad
Form: I do not know?