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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Inspired by Issa - While i was away
just a little while
to live
a little while
to die
slit in between
a drama
of senses
inspired by
while I was away
just for a while...
a splendid young bamboo!
-Issa,1819
http: //cat.xula.edu/issa/
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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 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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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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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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Inspired by Issa - Off to see the Play
'We're off to see
a friend, ' they say...
with cinema tickets in their pockets
inspired by
'We're off to see
the play, ' they say...
spring rain
-Issa,1819
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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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Inspired by Issa - Telling the sky
telling the sky all your grouses,
magpie, is there no one
to help you?
inspired by
are you calling
for your devoted child?
evening sparrow
-Issa,1819
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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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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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inspired by Issa - Mountain Temple
mountain temple
the priests' chant echoes
in the heavens
inspired by
mountain temple-
the little boy's name
on his fan
-Issa,1819
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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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
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Isn't cricket supposed to be a team sport? I feel people should decide first whether cricket is a team game or an individual sport.
quote by Sachin Tendulkar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Hero Lives Much Nearer
If your hero is Steve Waugh the cricket player I must say that suits me fine
But I've heard enough about him since your hero isn't mine,
My hero lives much nearer his house is across the street
And his name is Jack Iversen a man I often meet.
If you want a favour done to Steve Waugh you can go
But in your moment of need you he would not wish to know,
You well may have his autograph on your cricket bat and ball
But I don't see that as a favour 'tis no big deal at all.
If I need a favour done on Jack I can depend
To many who have been in need he has proved himself a good friend
Without expecting any favours in return he will help you if he can
He's not out to 'feather his own nest' I like that sort of man.
My hero is in his seventies his hair is silvery gray
And for to help out other people he goes out of his way
And your's is a cricket player who enjoys widespread fame
And though you may have his autograph he doesn't know you by name.
Steve Waugh Australia's cricket captain is your hero a man you once briefly met
And he scribbled his name on your bat and ball something you won't forget
But my hero lives nearer he is just across the way
And he doesn't hog the headlines and I see him every day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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Cricket
Cricket, cricket
chirping all the night.
Why don't you sleep
until the morning light?
I lay there abed
listening to you.
Sometimes you stop.
I think you are through.
But no, chirp, chirp
you start in again.
I'm up searching your sound
but it's then
you are silent
'til I'm back in bed.
You are relentless
and so it is I dread
another sleepless night.
I'll find you in the morn
and when I do,
You'll wish you'd not been born.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Crickets
Chirping cricket families talk
Under the midnight moon
But chirping cricket children
Hide when it is noon
They don’t make a sound when the sun comes out
But they are lively at night-
For when we come out they hide,
So they are like us in the daytime at night.