Poetry for Company

By James Hathersage

These are poems that have been chosen from a collection of over 1,000 poems and they have not been previously published. As in life's experiences the subject matter changes randomly. Five sad poems in a row would not in my view be a good choice. Descriptive poems in this collection will be understood by children, but the  allegories might pass them by, without a nudge from a perceptive adult. These poems are always written for the enjoyment of the reader.

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Hathersage
• Release date: Apr 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215556153

Book preview

1. ‘Peach’ Basketball.

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We’re standing on the maple boards,

And waiting for the start,

The ref looks at his umpires

and the Catholic cross their hearts.

Our five man team advance now,

With the referee’s loud blast,

Then swiftly, four ‘cuts’ later,

The ‘point guard’ moved that fast,

He passed it to the ‘centre’,

With one foot in the ‘lane’,

Who rose above the huddle, and,

One ‘basket’ he would gain.

We fell back for the off again,

With ‘man to man defence’,

To neutralise ‘offensive cuts’,

And reap the difference.

An ‘intercept’, a ’dribble’,

Diverted to our ’4’,

Deflect direct to number ‘3’,

And so one ‘basket’ more.

Our number ’3’ had all the moves,

‘Set shots, Jump shots, Rolls’,

When there’s a chance of ‘Slam Dunks’,

We feel the crowd cajole.

Substitutes, they came and went,

Our score was climbing higher,

Our number ‘3’ had so excelled,

They called a sanctifier!

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2. A Blur of Fencing.

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Fencing on the fencing piste,

Controversy is King,

With wires on springs, and other things,

Flashing lights and pings.

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Opponents well protected,

Their weapons feather light,

Skill not might, rare wins outright,

Swift gifted as a sprite.

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One by one the number count

displays the leading fencer,

No recompense for making sense,

Dependent on some sensor.

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If truth be told it’s all too quick,

A ‘slow mo’ is required,

One’s misfired, Two’s time expired,

Then someone needs to be rewired!

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3. A Football Referee’s Last Blast!

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His whistle blew to start the game,

The Blue team passed the ball,

The Red team tried a tackle,

But the Blues retained the ball.

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Our man in Black tried running back,

But tripped and fell, alas,

The players simply carried on,

As he sat on the grass.

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He scrambled to his feet, poor chap,

And ran to join the play,

But fisticuffs had broken out,

He joined instead the fray!

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The sweeper decked him with a punch,

Then waited for dismissal,

But all authority was lost,

The Ref had gulped his whistle!

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He tried to find his coloured cards

to show the sweeper Red,

Concussed and in confusion,

Waved a handkerchief instead.

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The players just ignored the Ref,

And rule-book, come to that,

More bookable offences thus,

His absence then begat.

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A linesman said he’d lend a hand,

And tried to take control,

The poor deluded Referee,

Felt needful of some hole

to clamber in and hide inside,

For ever and a day,

To safely re-emerge just when

this game had gone away!

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And then the ball whizzed over him,

The players ran amok,

And pushing past the referee,

Left him a laughing stock.

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The game was thus abandoned,

The players took their bath,

To leave a member of the Press

to write an ‘epitaph’.

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The swallowed whistle travelled on,

And next day, passing through,

T’was shortly after teatime,

That the final whistle blew!

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4. A Maladroit.

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A maladroit is maladroit,

Ham-fisted if you will,

All thumbs with tasks that others do with ease,

Cack-handed tying simple knots,

A fumbler with forget-me-nots,

And, no more ballroom dancing if you please!

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At threading beads, dear