The Wicket Cricket Critic
If the cricket critics' nagging
Merits stern official gagging
Which I doubt
How would critical ascetics,
With their prosy homiletics,
Shut it out?
And the question then arises:
If more cricketing surprises,
Such as bodyline, begin to threaten cricket,
And another stunt, when sprung,
Call for clicking of the tongue,
Should a cricket critic critically click it?
When the barrackers grow lyric
In a manner most satiric
And profane,
How, one ventures still to wonder,
May the clamor be kept under?
How restrain?
For one barbaric larrik-
In can do a lot of barrack-
In', and cause a lot of worry at the wicket.
But would sportsmen be abusing
Cricket canons in refusing
To supply that cricket critic with a ticket?
As a critic analytic
Of the cricket critics' critic
I would say,
When we criticise their cricket,
Then the players have to stick it,
Come what may.
No specific soporific
May be used; for it is diffic-
Ult to strike a critic partly paralytic.
So there's nothing gained in seeking,
As I know; and I am speaking
As a critic of the cricket critic's critic.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
Cricket Is Just Another Game
Cricket just like baseball and football and golf is just another game
And though some great cricket players have won Worldwide fame
Cricket for most cricket fans like followers of all other sports
From their life cares is just an escape of sorts
The praises of sports celebrities millions every day do sing
And nowadays sports Worldwide is a huge thing
And those not in some way involved in sport a minority
At least that is how it does seem to me
I've got nothing against cricket I'd like to make that clear
Though on t v and radio so much of it to see and hear
Like every sport for millions of poor people I am aware
A temporary escape from their lives every care
And cricket after all is just another game
Like every other sport it is much the same.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lonely Cricket
In the darkest hollow where
echo giants live,
a Lonely Cricket screams cowardly
in cold boots
Lonely Cricket gasps, hidden
in a musky capsule away from
eager steps
Lonely Cricket falls mute from
the trivial flirt of a monstrous tread
In that cave, Lonely Cricket cries –
spewing shards of gossip to cut
insomniac puppets
“O Lonely Cricket what bulbous grapes you have”
“dimmed reflections of your desolation”
May blind feet find you hermit –
a crusty delight of incarnate shell
Creak not your raspy venom
Lonely Cricket…
“For I too can spit”
poem by Phil de Lange
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Cricket
Reaching peak is a dream
Cricket is viamedia
To reach the peak
Cricket is a dream.
Reaching peak is a dream
Life is a dream
And dream comes true
Cricket is true.
Reaching peak is a dream
Dream is real
Pursue the dream
To enjoy life.
Reaching peak is a dream
Dream is cricket
Cricket sings the song
That enlightened life.
Reaching peak is a dream
Dream comes true
And in truth only
life becomes sincere and fluent.
Everything is cricket
And cricket that makes
both happy and sad
is the mixture that is life.
Life is cricket
Enjoy it
Sing it
And make hurrah.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Butterfly Flutterby
The butterfly was young
Her vibrant wings of delicate lace
Such grace such poise
A hcarming butterfly
The cricket was slick thicket
Moving quick but swift
Yet smart somewhat wise
Proud of his chirp
Hopping through the grass
Butterfly fluttered by till upon a rose
Spreading her wings a dainty show
Slowly sipping sweet
Hopping skipping
Cricket saw
Butterfly glanced
The cricket saw butterfly
The butterfly looked yonder
Cricket hopped and chirped
A jumpety crickety song
Butterfly sighed
And rolled her eyes
Cricket hopped closer
Butterfly laughed
Silly cricket trying hard
Butterfly cared less
Poor cricket hopped and hopped
Butterfly sipping nectar sweet
Cricket sang sonfter sweeter
Butterfly stopped
A song so sweet
Too lovely than nectar
Cricket hopped upon a rose
Butterfly jumped
Almost to fly away
Cricket song too lovely to fly away
Butterfly in a trance
Fluttering her wings lovely
Too charming
Too tempting
Crickect sang
Butterfly in a spell
Too late to break
Lovers forever
Strange couple though
Yet lovely
Yet happy
Suave cricket, Princess Butterfly
Flutterby, flutterby.......
poem by Bella Ravenstar
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A Win Of Cricket 2011
So I remember this cricket we win
with fresh flower for you Indians
and the wonderful sights you made here
winning the match 2011
Then we 'll go to there
deep under the emotions
and go over a great moments
to skate through our great dreams
and be under the thrill
I love to play with them,
And to watch them with you
I cannot live without cricket
I will never forget playing cricket in those days
poem by Thampi KEE
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Strict It Gets
To challenge oneself,
Isn't fun that's done.
Because,
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
To challenge oneself,
Isn't fun that's done.
Because,
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Stalking as a menace,
Looking for perfection in it.
And...
The critic vists.
And strict it gets.
Stalking as a menace,
Looking for perfection in it.
And...
The critic vists.
And strict it gets.
Picking seeking detail...
To prevail,
And...
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Detailed...
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Stalking as a menace,
Looking for perfection in it.
And...
The critic vists.
And strict it gets.
To challenge oneself,
Isn't fun that's done.
Because,
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Detailed!
The critic visits,
And strict it gets.
Detailed!
The critic visits,
And strict it gets.
Stalking as a menace,
Looking for perfection in it.
And...
The critic vists.
And strict it gets.
Detailed!
The critic visits,
And strict it gets.
Picking seeking detail...
To prevail,
And...
The critic visits.
And strict it gets.
Detailed,
The critic visits.
And strict it gets...
Detailed!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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All that a critic, as critic, can give poets is the deadly encouragement that never ceases to remind them of how heavy their inheritance is.
quote by Harold Bloom
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Inspired by Issa - The Cricket hops
our quiet conversation
now where's that intruder
the cricket?
inspired by
the cricket hops
atop the winnowing fan's
dust pile
-Issa,1819
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Cricket Is A Serious Thing
In politics there’s room for jest;
With frequent gibes are speeches met,
And measures which are of the best
Are themes for caustic humor yet.
E’en though the pulpiteer we fret
With sundry quiddities we fling,
We pray you never to forget
That cricket is a serious thing.
The crowd assembles at a Test,
And Hobbs at length is fairly set,
Though Gregory rocks ‘em in with zest;
The barrackers may fume and fret
When Parkin has contrived to get
Five men of ours – we feel the sting,
And give expression to regret,
For cricket is a serious thing.
They have the lead; we would arrest
A sort of rot. No epithet
Is proper, though they’ve got our best
For next to nothing, and your bet
Is good as lost. Don’t sit and sweat;
Due reverence to the problem bring.
We have a pile of runs to net –
Ah, cricket is a serious thing.
poem by Edward George Dyson
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We Mean to Say
We mean to say, it never has been granted
That anyone but England could decide,
In the crease or at the wicket,
Just exactly what was cricket
And, of course, I mean to say, we have our pride.
The great old game was, as it were, invented
On the playing fields of Eton, and all that,
And to try to steal our thunder
When you think we've made a blunder
Why, dear old bean, that's talking thro' the hat!
We mean to say - the game originated
With us, back in the dear old top-hat days,
And the gentlemen who played it,
By their sterling methods, made it
A top-hole game for sportsmen - hence the phrase.
So, hang it all! If something 'isn't cricket'
It's our prerogative to say so, flat.
And it's cheek, you know, cool cheek,
When you dash in, so to speak,
And take the words out of our mouths like that.
We mean to say, there's quite a choice of phrases
That you might use, if you must make a fuss.
Curse away of you feel hot;
But it's simply bally rot
To apply our own pet shibboleth to us!
There's the code, you know - our code, we would remind you.
We made it for ourselves, and mean to stick it.
And to try to knock us flat
With a boomerang like that
By gad! It isn't done! It isn't cricket!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Sonnet: On Indian Cricket
The One-Day Cricket is live telecast;
'Tis India versus another great team;
The clime is good and pitch really fast;
The Indian batsmen now face bowler's seam.
The spectators hold placards and make noise;
Most fellowmen are glued to T.V-sets;
A 'sixer' makes all country-men rejoice;
The Indian players were good at the 'nets'!
Most unpredictable team are our boys;
Their team-work's seen once in a way, by luck;
Yet, players score a century with poise;
Some famous players come home with a 'duck'.
And still, they break records so very oft;
Their cricket is an entertaining art.
Dedicated to the Indian Cricket Players
30-9-2000 by Dr John Celes
********
poem by John Celes
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Poets and critics
The poet is a child, emotion ridden.
The critic is a teacher, a check dam.
The poet bursts to cry or weep.
The critic stands there with a whip.
23.09.2000, Palasa
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ignorance is exuberance
A child, a man, a singer or a critic,
Any can listen and enjoy the music.
Child’s is the highest.
The critic’s is the lowest.
Ignorance drops defects.
25.11.2001, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I still think like a critic, and I still analyze films like a critic. However, it's not possible to write criticism if you're making films.
quote by Paul Schrader
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Patience Is Dying
Five day cricket tests were in vogue;
Then came in the one day cricket match.
Now four hour match is popular.
Is patience or stupidity gone?
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Soccer and cricket were my main sports growing up. I had trials as a soccer player with a few clubs interested, Crystal Palace being one, but it was cricket which became my chosen profession.
quote by Ian Botham
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Cricket's Love Song
cricket's shrill
courting love
each shrill digs
at my lonely heart
each shrill
an extra inch
of lonelines
cricket's shrill
a field of love songs
not even one for me
each shrill chills
this lonely heart
cricket's shrill
courting love
i wonder whether
she would come
for this late night tryst
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Cricket on the Hearth
When red-nosed Winter takes the road,
An icicle his walking-stick,
When frost is on the woodman's load,
And snow is falling fast and thick,
Come, lusty youth and sapless eld,
Let's make a circle round the blaze
And talk of stumps,
Of nasty bumps,
That flew and came in sunny days.
For Cricket is played again, again,
At freezing time in Hull or Bath;
When summer's done the game's not gone--
There's Cricket on the Hearth!
Here's Jones from Rugby, Eton Jack,
And Grandpapa who, long ago,
Loved hitting when the Field was slack,
And crumped the bowling, swift or slow!
No more he's nimble on the green,
But what a history he tells
Of Surrey men
And hits for ten,
And heaps of most tremendous Swells!
For Cricket is played again, again,
At freezing time in Hull or Bath;
When summer's done the game's not gone--
There's Cricket on the Hearth!
The girls may call to Hide-and-Seek,
And lovely lasses take the floor;
But we discuss the Lob and Sneak,
The Canvas, Umpire, Over, Score!
How great a game to fill July,
May, June, and August with delights,
Yet in the frost
Be never lost,
But stir the blood on nipping nights!
For Cricket is played again, again,
At freezing times in Hull or Bath;
When summer's done the game's not gone--
There's Cricket on the Hearth!
poem by Norman Rowland Gale
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The critic has to educate the public; the artist has to educate the critic.
quote by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet Fears Failure
The poet fears failure
& so she says
"Hold on pen--
what if the critics
hate me?"
& with that question
she blots out more lines
than any critic could.
The critic is only doing his job:
keeping the poet lonely.
He barks
like a dog at the door
when the master comes home.
It's in his doggy nature.
If he didn't know the poet
for the boss,
he wouldn't bark so loud.
& the poet?
It's in her nature
to fear failure
but not to let that fear
blot out
her lines.
poem by Erica Jong
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