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From Inside, Right

~ Looking At Football And The World Through A Frosted Window

From Inside, Right

Author Archives: marco4

Water In The Outfield

13 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by marco4 in County Cricket, Cricket, Cricket Poetry, Kent CCC, Uncategorized

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County Cricket, Cricket, Cricket Poetry, Kent, Kent CCC, Poetry

Just a quick one, was going for a bit of a Winnie the Pooh sort of a feel for this.

There’s water in the outfield,
That will not drain away,
Despite the ground team’s efforts here,
There is no chance of play.

There’s water in the outfield,
It came on yesterday,
And rain fell overnight again,
There is no chance of play.

There’s water in the outfield,
The season underway,
But not down at the Spitfire Ground,
There is no chance of play.

There’s water in the outfield,
We’re called off for the day,
The umpires made the judgement known,
There was no chance of play.

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The Runcible Night

06 Friday Apr 2018

Posted by marco4 in Language, Nonsense, Poetry

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Nonsense, Nonsense Poetry, Poetry, Runcible

A bit of fun with adjectives and adverbs.

The runcible trees cast a runcible shadow,
As the runcible moon glimmers down,
Spreading shafts of a nothing-but-runcible light,
Through the streets of the runcible town.

A runcible man walks his runcible dog,
At the end of a runcible day,
And he nods at a runcible girl that he sees,
As they go on their runcible way.

A runcible boat travels into the night,
Propelled there by a runcible crew,
No yelling, just guidance by a runcible voice,
As they runcibly know what to do.

This runcible scene is an idyll of course
Full of runcible mem’ries to keep,
It could never happen in runcible life,
Just in runcible dreams when asleep.

Ode to Carrow Road at Dawn

31 Saturday Mar 2018

Posted by marco4 in English Football, Football League, Football Poetry, Fulham, Norwich City, Uncategorized

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Football Poetry, Fulham, Norwich C, Poetry

Though lights are on Canaries sleep,
There is no match today,
A mowing maybe, keep it neat,
A far cry now from yesterday.

For this was then a sea of faces,
Expectant eyes and minds,
And those who travelled up with us,
Saw their eleven shine,

For Fulham played and Fulham won,
Like Norwich wish they could have done,
In truth they might have got the one,
But for Bettinelli being Bryan Gunn

And that’s the highest praise round here,
Comparison to yesteryear,
The heroes of today, I fear,
Are always in their shadow

The lights are on, Canaries sleep,
There is no match today,
With love so strong for things antique,
It would not matter anyway.

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Great to be back at Canterbury and in the Upper Woolley for my first day as Kent's official poet in residence. Shame the White Horse batted as though they had hooves instead of hands.

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