Another hallowed arrow from his quivers
One of cricket’s greatest shiver givers
Coursing down your spine like rivers
Fine line..never dithers as slivers
Of adversaries hopes on the ropes..withers
Tipples tickle our livers
The latest tropes of how
Somehow…anyhow won’t kowtow
Postman Pat delivers
Matinee idol looks tease
Record books hooks please
Finds batters crannies &
Nooks with such ease
Impeccable length…metronomic
Chin music chagrin
Such strength..astronomic
Gift of getting the ball to lift
Chronic bounce…hedonic
With his swag bag of quicks tricks
Name on the adored hall of fame
Lords boards with six..another Cummins elite fix
Beat Bob Willis’s record tome of the best
Test figures for a captain at cricket’s home..
Yep..yet another done like a kipper
By this chipper ripper skipper
Who’s not found wanting
His chiselled jaw..up there for sure
With the mean hardcore
Ponting or Waugh
As the best Test baggie green
Top draw Captain (not woke...just a better bloke) seen on screen
Or that’s maybe ever been
Categories:
tipples, sports,
Form: Rhyme
[Foreword: spring in the UK is delightful
But it isn’t all sunshine and roses!]
***
’tis a word, oft heard, for March, April, May
The crocus enlivens the woodland way
’twas not to be seen only yesterday
Spring is the word that the birds sing today
Weeping the willow tickles the ripples
The angler most keen swigging Scots tipples
For frost isn’t distant there on the bank
Yet Bream ’neath the branches dance flank to flank
A tail on a golf ball, this is the wren
As an old friend, good to see him again
Venture in sweater to fend sneeze and cough
Yet should the breeze drop, the sweater is off
’tis a word, oft heard, for March, April, May
Spring is the word that the birds sing today
***
11 March 2021
Contest: Breath of Spring
Sponsor: Regina McIntosh
Categories:
tipples, spring,
Form: Sonnet
It was judgment hour at the village show:
I was volunteered as they thought I'd know
how to discern between eight small bottles
of rhubarb and ginger vodka tipples.
Tasting just a sip from each of the eight,
I puzzled over a method to rate
just which was the best, then second and third.
I knew which was first but my memory blurred
the flavour of others. So what to do?
I looked for sediment, for clarity too,
but couldn't decide without more tastings
of others before making the placings.
Each one I sipped seemed better than the last
so should the one given first now be recast?
I looked at my jottings and scratched my head
as my mind now fuzzy was losing the thread.
I stuck with the first but with others so fine
placing second and third was hard to assign.
For each of the eight who entered a bottle
thanks from the judge with a bit of a wobble.
Categories:
tipples, confusion, drink, humorous, judgement,
Form: Light Verse