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"quicks" poems
Klusener could whack it, yes Lance, To spinners, down wicket, he'd dance,    No defensive tricks,    He smote them for six, The same for the quicks without prance. Sometimes he could bowl pretty quick, Sometimes the batsmen he'd trick.    Gave balance to the side,    Served country with pride, All without ever being a ***** His best score V England, remember? Our bowlers he got to dismember.    Zulu hit it so high    Way up into the sky, It didn't come down 'til November.
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Mar 1, 2010
Mar 1, 2010 at 10:40 AM UTC
Ode to Lance Klusener
as the Indian pitches are always spin prepared few batsmen ever get well spared the bowler's turn of the ball does the trick there is that out sound in the bat's snick Aussie selectors must be aware of a slow delivery when they name the team who'll carry the livery quicks are a dead loss on the subcontinent time and again this has been so consistent if we want to win a test series on Indian soil we can't let our eleven be sent there to boil the wicket has constantly favored wrists and fingers so we don't require fast stinging zingers
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Feb 6, 2017
Feb 6, 2017 at 8:47 PM UTC
Advice For The Australian Cricket Selectors
One thing that get's me all venty Is bad talk of jolly 'T' 20. It's much better by half So much more of a laugh Because 50 is far more than plenty. England play Pakistan later. I think that our players are greater. But Gul bowls great yorkers, And other rip-snoters, And the ball, oh Afridi, he ate her! For England the openers are wrong Neither will give it a biff or a **** We need someone tough And aggressive enough To win it for us when on song. Our bowling is coming on nicely The spinners are landing it precisely But the quicks can get hit When missing length by a bit Shouldn't do it like that more than twicely Will we win it today, well who knows? By then I'll stop blowing my nose. I'm now on my knees, So a close contest please. I cannot wait to see how it goes.
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Feb 19, 2010
Feb 19, 2010 at 1:38 AM UTC
Plennty Twenty 20
rushing mountain stream grey stones protrude blackberries hang just above little splashes cause sparkles sunshine filters through branches light dances on the moving promenade a lonely leaf passes by without fanfare ~ we sit watching discussing home ownership steps dropping names of realtors considering taking the plunge just over 1050 square feet spring fed wood and oil heat tiny cabin off Tree Farm road future property of Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Lyman Temple ~ bright blue Steller’s Jay squawks his arrival ***** a mow-hawked head and considers us for a moment three quicks hops and one more call before he flies off into the foothills nature gifting us a nod of approval /
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Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 11:16 AM UTC
welcoming committee
Wild bird, whose warble, liquid sweet, Rings Eden thro' the budded quicks, O tell me where the senses mix, O tell me where the passions meet, Whence radiate: fierce extremes employ Thy spirits in the darkening leaf, And in the midmost heart of grief Thy passion clasps a secret joy: And I--my harp would prelude woe-- I cannot all command the strings; The glory of the sum of things Will flash along the chords and go.
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788
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: Part 088
Sitting pretty and tight in my crib got me the quill gonna get me the nib and poke out your eyes with the poetry that ties us together. It's nearly Christmas and I'm going out I may be some time.
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Dec 22, 2016
Dec 22, 2016 at 11:43 PM UTC
Quicks