No Losers here
England versus South Africa
I hope you are looking down Dad
He was the real Rugby lover
Played it in the Navy
Mum used to clean the team's dirty kit in
her washing machine
So it's fitting his adopted Home
South Africa the Rugby Springboks
Play England his place of Birth
For the Rugby World Cup Title
So no losers here but i know whom he would support
With a Castle Beer in hand surrounded by Family
But i am sorry Dad
England are going to Win
South Africa are going to have to
settle for 2nd this time
Otherwise what was the point of us beating the All Blacks
No Losers here Dad
Either way we will all be thinking
of you over a Beer
As a winning or loosing tear
Reminds us all of the wonder year's
When you were here
Categories:
springboks, miss you,
Form: Free verse
She wafts the fog through the frizzy fields
She does it for giggles that her beauty yields
Then she blushes and my eyes eye a vision
The springboks of joy are running on a mission
I touch her sleek hands as soft as a dove
Nested her yellow eggs in the breath of love
I kiss her swan neck and peck her cheeks
And beat the foam of love until it peaks
Then we stand erect as the friends for life
Jo Alfred and Mary Lou husband and wife
Gods see us from the vault of the sky
The birds winging the air we have to fly
Breath Of Love - Poetry Contest
Sponsor Gail Angel Doyle
8th February, 2015
Categories:
springboks, love,
Form: Rhyme
A stealthy tiger stalks his prey
His eyes alight with cunning gleam;
And tho' the world may peaceful seem
The lissome springboks graze and play --
The danger lurks, not far away
He crouches low, his muscles taught
While calculations fill his mind
The perfect arc of force to find;
His quarry, still without a thought
Of what design the tiger sought
The tiger springs, the creatures flee
His mighty limbs with awesome force
Perform their planned and deadly course;
Now lies the springbok piteously
Forever torn from things that be
And o'er his corpse presides the prince
His solid jowls bespecked with blood
His razor claws in crimson flood;
He glories in these trickling glints
That show his skill in ruby tints
And when the prince has et his fill
The birds descend to eat the rest
To feed the young ones in the nest;
But on the tiger roams at will
He's free to wander, hunt, and kill
Written on the twenty-eighth of July, 2013
Categories:
springboks, animal, cat, death, power,
Form: Quintilla