if the Broncos are to win this Friday
night
the intensity of their play must be
right
they'll need full commitment in the
fight
half measures won't cut a victory's
light

the Storm never give an inch on the
field
that why they've held football's top
shield
they keep the pressure on and don't
yield
each member of the team up to the job's
wield

possession of the ball determining the
game
any player slackening off will bear
blame
the premiership's battle is there to
tame
so we'll see a dour contest that's not
lame

less than forty hours to go before the rivals
meet
where footy fans shall experience quite a
treat
the ref's whistle calling upon the vying
beat
there'll be fireworks and no team going into
retreat

Simon “Hurricane” Hudson prowls the snooker table
Like any good mixed metaphor would.
A modern day Pythagoras
He triangulates his shots.

Meanwhile his rival, lion-heart "Rocket" Richard,
Not to be confused with Lionel Richie,
Is on his mobile Googling
How to play the perfect “snooker”.
And the two Perfect Pauls
Discuss the latest football,
While “Whirlwind” Wendy sits in judgement,
Knitting the night away.

At long last Simon plays a stroke!!!
And rattles those unrelenting jaws
Of that elusive pocket yet again.

The game rolls on.
But where the hell is Simon?
The clock on the electricity is running down
But where is Simon?
Where is he?
He’s at the bar
Telling barman Nick how Rochdale
Will win The Cup one day.

Hurray, he’s back to play again.
Cascading planets collide into new orbits
As they did in the Primeval Solar System.

We play on,
Safely keeping those precious *****
Away from those black holes
They call the “pockets”.
We try to pick our shots
(At those pockets lol)
But all we keep potting
Is that white one.
Maybe we should switch to Billiards,
Or *** some plants instead.

Paul Butters

A gob of squash
in a saucer with a hub
let a carrefour marque
with an apple ding
in swirls of romance heading there
a crowd of superfluousness as a hip is king
and a patch through the field
that roll lushly on green for this round mesh
while exquisitness hit so sweet
in a shade of sky  
where ablaze in silky attire
with her brazen desire again.

The epitome of greatness, a mark in history

Of discipline remarkable, a stellar victory

Defeating the unbeaten, knock and break the mould

International heavyweight of Olympic Gold



Strike in quick succession, opponents retreat

Delivery duration, a knockout of defeat

Tactical ability, step into the range

Catalyst created, set for further change



Of the highest calibre, man who beat the man

Delivery on target, a humble champion

Of opponents outclassed, discontinued bout

Dominant performance, within and without



With athletic excellence, distance travelled far

Gym of daily training, cardio and spar

Professional perspective, stood to set the pace

Dedication, boldness, motivate, embrace



Influencing globally, rank of the elite

Rapid combinations, uppercuts repeat

Powerful formation, readiness of stance

Daily preparation, practice over chance



An honourable service, magnificence abound

Celebrating victory, crowding to surround

Continuing the greatness, strength and stamina

The world is truly grateful, Anthony Joshua



Written by Geraldine Taylor ©

Dilly dally ****
Ranieri has now gone.
Sacked by the Leicester board:
Watch them wield that deadly sword.

He won the league last year,
Then made Leicester disappear.
Should have been given a chance
To win the Relegation Dance.

Vardy grabs an away goal at Seville
Then next news the manager is nil.
It was a very nasty shock,
So early in the turning of the clock.

Ungrateful and disloyal too,
Those owners haven’t got a clue.
Hard-nosed business it may be,
Whatever happened to that word “We”?

They should have built a statue in Claudio’s name:
He’ll still be blessed with endless fame.
I’ll leave you with this sorry thought:
Football’s no longer a proper sport.

Paul Butters

Here is a nonsense thought,
A really silly new sport,
Not the sport we were taught,
What about underwater tennis?
Hitting a serve would be a menace!
Then you could volley and lob,
Underwater ,what a hard job!
It's only a nonsense thought,
Can you invent a silly sport?

As cricket still a widget
and insure that noir not cankerous
though evening nigh round ten
whether it resorts at the door affirmatively sound
or an answer with divine presence there
but as countdown in air midst with his rap indenture
till another person knocks it down again tonight.

The ball flies fast,
from player to player like giant pinball,
each touch is a score,
for each pass is a telepathic reward,
of hours spent honing skill and strategy,
friends playing friends achieving their dreams,
to show the world on game day your skill unbound,
there is escape for those on court and of court alike,
the worries gone replaced by the battle of mind and body,
only the ball matters,
a pass high above the hoop leads to alley oop,
the crowd cheers and your heart is gleeful,
for the art is witnessed by all.

I might have retired from employment
But I haven’t retired from Life.
Nature’s wonders are green for me,
So I still love to write.
For sure I wear those slippers
As I type another poem.
But no pipe for me
Or smoke to fill my home.
I strut the courts of table tennis,
And play the full game too.
Sometimes I’m quite the athlete
Though I always like a brew.

I’m not talking tea here,
I think you get my drift.
A pint or too of draught beer
Will always give me a lift.

I love a game of snooker,
And a night of indoor bowls.
I’m not much of a cooker,
That’s just not one of my roles.

Pub lunches are so yummy,
It’s good to have a chat.
I always fill my tummy,
What more can I say than that?

Yes, retirement is so peaceful,
And I am free from “Work”.
It may not suit all people,
But Life I’ll never shirk.

Paul Butters