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Stanley Wilkin Jul 2017
15 to love, still able to win,
gotta tough it out,
winning is everything. Losing's a sin.
I'll keep trying. I'm still in with a shout.

My backhand slices
the ball to my foe
(Joe's my friend but in a crisis,
I shift where the winds blow)

He parries, sends the ball to the line,
his touch is immaculate,
cleaner than mine.
I leap like a cat

return it with ease
he flicks it back over the net
intending to tease.
I grimace. We made a bet

and now I engage
into higher gear,
my brain fills with rage,
my heart fills with fear.

Advantage to me,
the crowd stands to cheer,
Joe falls to one knee,
buckled, losing a tear.

I volley. It whizzers
past his frozen form
he tries, but misses,
defeated, forelorn.

At last I have won,
the gold cup is mine,
another dream spun,
back to the factory line.
gray rain Jun 2016
6 hours until school
4am and I'll be there
But Wimbledon sounds cool
So I don't really care.

6 hours in a vehicle
4 probably sleeping
It should be feasible
As long as my friends aren't beefing.

I'm going to Wimbledon tomorrow with school. I don't know anything about tennis and it's a long journey.
Andrew T Apr 2016
Wimbledon’s playing on the TV in the living room. Dad and I are watching on the sofa.

In the kitchen, Mom cuts carrots and cucumbers with a long blade. She slices the vegetables one by one. Orange pieces. Green pieces.

I glance over Mom chops up the carrots and cucumbers without a cutting board, taking each long carrot and cucumber and slices it with precision, as though she’s a professional like the film with Natalie Portman and Jean Reno.

But she’s not a little girl and she’s not a Frenchman. She’s like a mix-in-between, like the asphalt in our driveway and the grass sprouting in between the cracks.

Dad is a computer engineer. He used to be an artist. Used to study technical drawing in a university in Saigon.

He met mom when he was working on a play. She was the lead actress. Shakespeare had said, “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: they have their exits and their entrances; and one man in his time plays many parts, his acts being seven ages.”

He’s right, but right now I can’t tell what act I’m in. Dad focuses on the TV. Watches Federer and Djokovic, his eyes, darting from left to right like the mood of a young boy that crosses back and forth from light to dark, and back again.

Blade in hand, Mom makes longer and deeper cuts across the cucumber, cutting away the skin, leaving deep cuts in the vegetable. Dad turns his head towards her, his neck cracking like the forehand swung by Federer.

He clears his throat, softly, soft as gas leaking out from a stovetop from a studio apartment, like the scene in Fight Club, a match about to be struck.

Mom sets the blade down on the table, and bites her lip. Her nostrils flare. I press down on the couch arm, and stand up, my head bent, my eyes wandering to the doorway.
Paul Butters Dec 2015
Davis Cup to Andy Murray,
Oh my God that man can scurry, in a flurry.
Sports Personality on the BBC,
Andy’s the pride of Team GB.

Andy Murray,
Replaced Fred Perry, the past to bury.
(Yet praise he does not curry).
First Wimbledon, then Davis Cup.
Team GB is on the Up.

Paul Butters
I could have written many more of these!!!
Damian Murphy Jun 2015
Winter and Spring have long since passed,
cold wind, rain and frost belong in the past,
darkness thankfully no longer descends as fast,
long hot summer days arrive at long last!
Colourful flowers and plants, trees and shrubs
burst forth from hanging baskets, gardens and tubs
outside homes and shops, hotels and pubs;
brightening roadsides, roundabouts, parks and golf clubs.
Exams are over and school is finally done,
children everywhere mad to get out in the sun,
playing outside all day, having such great fun,
warm summer days being enjoyed by almost everyone.
People everywhere outside busy doing something;
weeding, mowing, watering, general gardening;
cleaning cars, washing windows, mending or painting,
or simply sitting out with the neighbours, gossiping!
Time for sunglasses, sun cream, getting a tan,
Wimbeldon, music festivals, holidays to plan,
ice lollies, ninety nines from the ice cream van,
water shortages of course and the annual hose pipe ban!
Time for day trips, sports, to picnic or sunbathe,
for the park or the beach, to swim or just wade,
to get burnt to a crisp or just relax in the shade,
for beer gardens, barbeques as the sun starts to fade!
People making the most of each sunny summer day,
determined to enjoy the sun, lap up every last ray,
each enjoying the summer in their own particular way,
“Long may it last”, people around the country pray!
For not getting a summer seems to be our worst fear,
but thankfully the summer seems to be finally here.
All around the country there is a party atmosphere
such a shame it cannot be like this all through the year!

— The End —