Wednesday, 18 June 2014

Poetry Thursday 115 - Football Cliché sonnet

This first poem is an exercise in shuffling. I have followed the World Cup for almost fifty years and commentary has gone from the sublime, one man not seen on camera, to a plethora of ex-players doing their utmost to destroy and reconstruct the English language in the space of a couple of hours.
The sonnet format has provided me with a puzzle in which to try and fit their blatherings.

Football cliché sonnet

Football was always a game of two halves.
You have to take advantage of set play.
Getting on the front foot stretches the calves.
End to end stuff at the end of the day.

A funny old game setting out their stall.
For a big lad he is good with his feet.
He’d no right to score from that place at all.
Tends to go missing when playing in heat.

Such a whole-hearted physical player.
Game needs a goal on the stroke of half time.
The ideal man for this team on paper.
Fervour runs high when it’s squeaky bum time.

Manager armed with a transfer war chest
buys unknowns that he hopes will beat the rest.
©David L Atkinson June 2014

The effort below came from a throw away comment by a friend on Facebook.

I hate my alarm clock

In defence of the hapless device
it sits by the side of your bed,
with nerves as cold as ice,
coiled ready for the action ahead.

There is no intended malice
the purpose a job well done.
No attempt at early dark practice,
but going for success in one.

It was you that started the action.
Your worry about being in dock.
So bottle unreasonable detestation
give thought for the poor alarm clock.
©David L Atkinson June 2014

God Bless