Without Djokovic in the Game - Kathy Figueroa

Way down south in Aussie Land
We now know where the unvaxxed stand -
If trying to cross that border
They’ll be deported in short order

It doesn’t matter if you’re a tennis star
That’s come to play, and travelled far
To participate in the Australian Open
The Australian Border Force has now spoken

Novak Djokovic is a tennis hero
But to Aussie PM Scott Morrison, he’s a zero
Novak’s tested positive for COVID-19 in the past
And his natural immunity should indefinitely last

But they won’t let him enter the land “down under”
“No vax? No pass!” they proclaim and thunder
The 2022 Australian Open won’t be the same
Without Novak Djokovic in the game

Kathy Figueroa


Image : Pixabay - Tumisu

Bad Sports - Donald Keyman

They’ll take the knee but not the needle
As on the pitch they whine and wheedle
They like to think that they’re the best
Above being jabbed like all the rest

A vaccination ref? - it’s so unfair
I’d rather go and style my hair
I’ve no time to get that appointment in
I’m gonna take my Bentley for a spin

With everything that we have learned
You’d think that they would be concerned
About the deadly threat of the viral strain
When a gentle tap has them writhing in pain

Donald Keyman


Image : Pixabay - shauking

Land of Hope and Glory - Marcel Le Clerc

This...
This is England
land of hope
and glory
3 years on from that semi-final and this time
this time
it'll be a different story

The planets have aligned
It's written in the stars
We gave the world the beautiful game
Now's the time to take back what is rightfully ours.

Kane is gonna score
The three lions are going to roar
We're going to beat the unbeatable
Defeat the undefeatable
Achieve...
The unachievable
Become kings of the game once more...

This….
is England
land of hope -
and glory

COME ON ENGLAND !!

Marcel Le Clerc

Image : Pixabay - dimitrisvetsikas1969

See Marcel read the World Cup version here on Youtube.

Land of Hope and Glory - Marcel Le Clerc

They call this the land of hope and glory
Another 4 years
Another world cup
This time it's going to be a different story

The planets are aligned
It's written in the stars
We gave the world the beautiful game
Now's the time to take back what is rightfully ours.

The three lions are going to roar
Kane is gonna score
We're going to beat the unbeatable
Defeat the undefeatable
And become kings of the world once more...

ENGLAND !

Marcel Le Clerc

See Marcel read his poem here on Youtube.

Anyone For Tennis? - Oscar Milde

We hit words to and fro,
employing power and back-swing,
serve and volley,
determined, each, to score points off the other.
We both started out with Love
but now it’s six-two, six-three
and the neighbours are complaining
about the racquet.

Oscar Milde

Driving Ambition - Jerry Hattrick

I’m hard of hearing and bat-blind,
with a stiff arthritic shoulder
and the slow, painful reactions
of some one a great deal older,
not to mention nervous twitching
and persistent chronic itching.
Bits of me are red and swollen,
other bits have ceased to function.
I’m less mobile by a long chalk
than a train stuck at a junction.
While others sing and dance and leap,
I just nod off and fall asleep.
My chest wheezes, my knees wobble
and I get peculiar visions:
voices, disembodied voices,
help me cope with my decisions.
When getting drunk or getting high,
sometimes I think that I can fly.
One leg’s shorter than the other,
my right hand jumps like a lizard.
Just to make me halfway normal,
would, for certain, take a wizard.
Chronic pain with every step, see.
Did I mention, epilepsy?

So to manage these afflictions
I have turned to gin and whiskey
but I take heart medication
so strong alcohol is risky.
Thank God though, life’s still starry,
when I race my red Ferrari.

Jerry Hattrick

Why Is It Called A Boxing Ring When It's A Square? - Lyndon Queripel

Was it the second round ?
The boxer couldn't tell
That last punch was hard
And it had hurt like hell
Against the ropes he reeled
And to the floor he fell
Through a mist of pain
He heard the referee yell
"Seven,eight,nine," and then
Clang! Saved by the bell.

Lyndon Queripel

Grand Prix Heroes - Lyndon Queripel

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in October 2012

Mike Hawthorn was a champion of the fifties code
He retired at the top only to be killed on the road
Jim Clark died at the wheel and Peter Collins too
The plane of Graham Hill dived out of the blue

Fangio and Nuvolari have now passed away
But the magic of their driving is still revered today
Stirling Moss was the complete driver of his time
A near fatal accident stopped him in his prime

Auto Union, Maserati, Vanwall and B.R.M.
Were they all as classic as we remember them?
Goodwood, Kyalami, Donnington, Zandvoort
And the time before Hockenheim was cut short

Jochen Rindt was killed at Monza in nineteen seventy
But he still became the champion posthumously
John Surtees did the double on four wheels and two
Jackie Stewart won three titles and a safety first issue

Hunt the Shunt was a nickname James had to live down
But that didn’t stop him from winning the crown
Niki Lauda survived the inferno at The Nurburgring
And amazingly came back, again to be king

Villeneuve of steel behind the Ferrari wheel
As engines scream and tyres squeal
Gilles was on the track when it all went black
In a fast lap speed trap and never came back

Ayrton Senna lived to drive and that’s how he died
Unless he was winning he was never satisfied
The San Marino weekend was such a tragedy
But the cause of his crash is still a mystery

In the Grand Prix circus, the ring of Formula One
With twists of the wrists the gladiators shone
It was death or glory in the most dangerous drives
But the power of the story cost so many lives

Lyndon Queripel

Sitting In A Bar At the Airport - Andrew Barham

Today's poem is a "Golden Oldie" and was originally published here in October 2012

Sitting in a bar at the airport –
Moody, melancholic day-dreaming bar
Taking me away from everything
As it draws it all into perspective
Waiting to see if I shall board the next flight
Out.

Been a while since I've sat in a bar
Contemplating the meaning of life over a pint of beer
While ogling a favoured waitress,
But nowadays they're all sports bars –
That ubiquitous telly staring down at one
From every possible point of vantage
Advertising sports, endlessly …

I hate sports – thugs in gaudy uniforms
Paid ridiculous sums of money
To knock a bit of rubber
Or an inflated bladder
About with their hands or their feet
Or batter it with sticks and bats
For the entertainment
Of beer-swilling couch potatoes.
It puts one off by focussing one's attention
On something utterly ephemeral and worthless;

Been too long since I had a drink at the airport,
Yet, I remember a time when we would never dream
Of going to the airport
To board a flight or see someone off
And not have a drink while we were there …

Andrew Barham

Football - Richard Fleming

I was West Ham, claret and blue;
my brother, Manchester City:
simply arbitrary choices.
Just kids, we didn’t have a clue,
as we outdid Walter Mitty
in our dreaming. We heard voices
of imaginary team-mates,
a ref’s shrill whistle, the crowd’s chant;
pictured a stream of cloth-capped men
filing through turnstiles, the broad gates
of Upton Park, ant after ant
in an anthill of sound. Often,
I’d let him win: I was older.
More often, I’d score the winner:
(Vic Keeble, with gunslinger eyes,
shoots the first goal!). Few were bolder
than Keeble. When called for dinner
we’d comply with audible sighs.
and the pitch would become backyard
or patchy grass once more. Roy Paul
would sit with Vic to eat barmbrack
and jam, forgetting that they’d warred
for Cup or points. We loved football
back then, and football loved us back.

Richard Fleming

Oh Well, That’s Cricket! - Lester Queripel

Ouch! My leg! My ankle! My shoulder!
I must be getting older.
But I’m not that old.
I’m not too old to catch a cold.
Pity I can’t catch the ball.
Every time I try to run I fall.
I’ll just have to do my best.
Today is the ‘big test’.
It’s the day of the big game.
I’ll just have to forget all my pain.
I’m really going to ‘go to town’.
Wear a smile, not a frown.
I’ll hit the ball all over the place.
I might even hit it into my own face!
Look on the bright side, it’ll be fun.
I’ll be happy if I score a run.
Must get ready.
It’s time for the game.
I’ll grab the glory.
My moment of fame.
Shin pads, gloves, helmet and ‘box’.
Blimey! That’s a hard ball.
They might as well throw rocks!
How can I run in all of this gear?
I’ll make sure I’m fitter next year.
Now it’s my turn to bat.
Well will you look at that.
I’m out for a ‘duck’.
That’s really bad luck.
The ball has hit my wicket.
Oh well, that’s cricket.

Lester Queripel

Grand Prix Heroes - Lyndon Queripel

Mike Hawthorn was a champion of the fifties code
He retired at the top only to be killed on the road
Jim Clark died at the wheel and Peter Collins too
The plane of Graham Hill dived out of the blue

Fangio and Nuvolari have now passed away
But the magic of their driving is still revered today
Stirling Moss was the complete driver of his time
A near fatal accident stopped him in his prime

Auto Union, Maserati, Vanwall and B.R.M.
Were they all as classic as we remember them?
Goodwood, Kyalami, Donnington, Zandvoort
And the time before Hockenheim was cut short

Jochen Rindt was killed at Monza in nineteen seventy
But he still became the champion posthumously
John Surtees did the double on four wheels and two
Jackie Stewart won three titles and a safety first issue

Hunt the Shunt was a nickname James had to live down
But that didn’t stop him from winning the crown
Niki Lauda survived the inferno at The Nurburgring
And amazingly came back, again to be king

Villeneuve of steel behind the Ferrari wheel
As engines scream and tyres squeal
Gilles was on the track when it all went black
In a fast lap speed trap and never came back

Ayrton Senna lived to drive and that’s how he died
Unless he was winning he was never satisfied
The San Marino weekend was such a tragedy
But the cause of his crash is still a mystery

In the Grand Prix circus, the ring of Formula One
With twists of the wrists the gladiators shone
It was death or glory in the most dangerous drives
But the power of the story cost so many lives

Lyndon Queripel

Sitting In A Bar At the Airport - Andrew Barham

Sitting in a bar at the airport –
Moody, melancholic day-dreaming bar
Taking me away from everything
As it draws it all into perspective
Waiting to see if I shall board the next flight
Out.

Been a while since I've sat in a bar
Contemplating the meaning of life over a pint of beer
While ogling a favoured waitress,
But nowadays they're all sports bars –
That ubiquitous telly staring down at one
From every possible point of vantage
Advertising sports, endlessly …

I hate sports – thugs in gaudy uniforms
Paid ridiculous sums of money
To knock a bit of rubber
Or an inflated bladder
About with their hands or their feet
Or batter it with sticks and bats
For the entertainment
Of beer-swilling couch potatoes.
It puts one off by focussing one's attention
On something utterly ephemeral and worthless;

Been too long since I had a drink at the airport,
Yet, I remember a time when we would never dream
Of going to the airport
To board a flight or see someone off
And not have a drink while we were there …

Andrew Barham

Gladiators - John Carré Buchanan

Channel 4 have been running a superb advertisement for the 2012 London Paralympics which start tomorrow. The advertisement is based upon the fact that the British Paralympic athletes are superhuman. Think about it; just for a few seconds please stop reading and think about it;

These people have a struggle to do things many take for granted, things such as; getting dressed, traveling to and from work, even mundane things like having a bath or going to the loo and that is before they start training. Each of them has adapted to, and overcome their personal difficulties and then gone further and learnt to compete at the very top of their chosen sports. This takes guts, determination and a singular focus on their goals.

These people are truly inspirational. In my eyes, the eyes of someone who finds just getting to tomorrow a struggle, they are magnificent, and yes they are in every sense of the word, Superhuman. My poem is dedicated to all of the Paralympians representing Great Britain, Go Team GB.

Gladiators - John Carré Buchanan

They stand proud.
Clothed in national colours
they form one body,
and that body exudes confidence.
The smiles on their faces betray them!
For these are smiles that know;
‘I can – I will’ and ‘I have’.

This knowledge;
born of unfathomable hardship
underpins all.
True - carbon fibre, plastics and alloys,
support bone, flesh and blood
but all are useless
without the knowledge.

So believe, British Gladiators,
believe and be proud.
And I will stand behind you
with a Nation that believes in -
and is proud of - you.

John Carré Buchanan

The Circus - Karen Allaway

Glamorous circus arrives
In bejewelled principality.
A playboy paradise;
Yachts, prancing horses
Money and demigods.
In the pits
Fit chicks;
Barbie style!
Long bronzed legs
Go on for miles.

Chiselled features
There he sits -
Slim hips, tight fit;
In carbon fibre
Monocoque.
Highly sculpted -
Carbon and titanium
Wrapped aluminium V8.
Testosterone charged
High octane cocktail.

Nomex clad gladiators;
Podium finishers.
National anthems play.
Kisses and handshakes,
Glittering trophies.
Moët ejaculate
Tingles gustatory senses.
Back slaps
From faceless fans.
Circus Formula One.

Karen Allaway

Hang-Gliding - Stuart Price

Eighty pounds of weight on my shoulders as I climb the magical hill,
Rhossili Down on the Gower Peninsula, my fondest memory still.
A vast magnificent expanse of green, erupted at the edge of the sea,
That I would soon be flying over, high on life, smiling, happy and free.

We practically sprinted up the hill in our enthusiasm to leave this world below
With it’s temporary pleasures and sadness, where pain and suffering grow.
But first to assemble this aluminium and sail cloth, earth leaving glider
With Mylar and concealed floating cross tube, to make me fly higher.

At last it is rigged, pip pins, batons and leading edges all pre-flight inspected
Best to take my time with this procedure than have it bitterly regretted.
I’m standing on the edge, fresh breeze in my face, attached to my wing.
A friend holds down the nose, at last he lets go and upwards I zing !

I pull my weight forward to increase airspeed and fly away from the hill
I'm two hundred feet above where I started, how to describe this thrill ?
It's an ecstasy that's legal and completely natural still, this freedom, this oneness
This fountain of natural kindness, that carries me skywards is boundless.

As my wing makes love to the Westerly wind with graceful ease and pleasure
I'm soaring above this world with joy in my heart and moments to treasure.
I'm surrounded by seagulls as I look down at the world with altered perspective
An hour has gone by and I'm joined by my friends, the hang gliding collective.

Dummy dog fights ensue as we stage friendly fights in the sky,
Zooming in and out of clouds with the element of surprise.
Don't let the other guy get a fix on your tail, cos there he could shoot,
To escape I pull my weight forward and dive down a few hundred feet.

I've not made it up, but there's a downside to everything at the age of twenty five,
In the many years since, nothing else has come close to making me feel so alive…..

Stuart Price

Fishing Memories - Karen Allaway

Happy memories of fishing trips at St Sampson's harbour and the Castle Emplacement with my family as a small child was my inspiration for writing this poem. - Karen.

Fishing Memories - Karen Allaway

Looking into a bucket of sand
Rag and lug squirming under my hand.
Worms collected that very afternoon,
So we could go fishing under the moon.
A worm is carefully threaded on my hook
And then.......
I cast out as far as I can.

I can see my float dancing up and down.
Under the moonlight, I dance round and round.
I’ve caught a fish, I’ve caught a fish
I nice big bass my dearest wish.
I frantically wind back the reel and........
Nothing!!
Just a remnant of worm left on my hook.
Maybe I’ll just go and take a look........

........over here.

The cranes are not working now finished for the day
So I step in the bucket and begin my play.
I’m sitting on a ferris wheel that’s going round and round
Or maybe on a train and I make the sound
Clickety clack, “tickets please”,
Doesn’t the moon look like a big piece of cheese.
Hmm, I wonder what we’ll catch today?

I hear mummy calling, I run over and look
To see what my brother has got on his hook.
The family’s been busy while I’ve been away
Some mackerel, a rockfish we pack up for the day.
So home we all go to eat for our tea
The fish we have caught...
With new potatoes and fried tomatoes YUM!

Karen Allaway

As Sure As I'll Ever Be - Aindre Reece-sheerin

Can you see what I can’t see
Could you be me if I were thee
What is it that you do there
Could you still do it if you were over here

Why is 2 times 2 four
Why does it rhyme with a knocking at the door
Or falling on the floor
Or being like a bird to Soar

Where am I who am I Why
Am I really innately shy
Just like a pig in a sty
Why can’t I take wing and fly

Why is ‘it’ so
Where should 'i' go –now
What is next
What was then
Where is now
Who am I why

Aindre Reece-sheerin

Pony & Rider - Jenny Hamon



Image Source - Jenny Hamon

I was inspired to write these poems as I have been a volunteer and Group instructor with our local group for many years.

I have had experience of the wonderful bond between horse and rider and the theraputic value for people with all sorts of disabilities or problems.

The Riding for the Disabled Pony - Jenny Hamon

My eyes are yours for just a while,
My legs, so strong, will walk a mile.
To share my world, my precious friend,
My gift of movement I will lend.

I give to you my body power,
For you to use for just an hour.
To shake off shackles and to see
A whole new world because of me.

Patiently I’ll stand and wait.
I’ll carry you with steady gait.
I’ll keep you safe and carefree here.
In me you have a friend so dear.

In my dreams we’ll gallop free,
Along the beach, beside the sea.
Your wheels are gone, there is no need.
Just you and me, your trusty steed.

Jenny Hamon


The Disabled Rider

I feel your muscles, hear your hooves,
With joy of liberating moves.
You give me time and space to see
Your world that never restricts me.

A glimpse of life that’s free and able,
Instead of living with a label.
Upon your back I am just “me”,
A rider who is young and free.

But do not think that I despair,
While riding on my chestnut mare.
I shake the shackles from my feet,
And for that hour my life’s complete.

A precious gift you leave with me,
You give me life and help me see
There is a world that I can share
Despite me “living” in a chair.

Jenny Hamon