Grand Rapids Cricket Club
In Grand Rapids is a handsome club,
Of men that cricket play,
As fine a set of skillful men
That can their skill display.
They are the champions of the West,
They think they are quite fine,
They've won a hundred honors well;
It is their most cunning design.
Brave Kelso, he's considered great,
Chief of the club he is found;
Great crowds he draws to see him bowl
The ball upon the ground.
And Mr. Follet is very brave,
A lighter player than the rest,
He got struck severe at the fair ground
For which he took a rest.
When Mr. Dennis does well play,
His courage is full great,
And accidents to him occur,
But not much, though, of late.
This ball play is a dangerous game,
Brave knights to play it though;
Those boys would be the nation's pride,
If they to war would go.
From Milwaukee their club did come,
With thoughts of skill at play,
But beat they was, and then went home --
Had nothing more to say.
Grand Rapids club that cricket play,
Will soon be known afar,
Much prouder do the members stand,
Like many a noble star.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Croquet by Moonlight
On a moonlight evening, in the month of May,
A number of young people were playing at croquet,
They mingled together, the bashful with the gay,
And had a pleasant time and chat, while playing at croquet.
CHORUS:
This play they call croquet, croquet,
This play they call croquet,
It is amusement for the young,
This play they call croquet.
On that pleasant evening, the moon shone clear and bright,
And every heart among that crowd was filed with great delight.
It was a merry party, for lady Dell was there
Her merry laugh above the rest was heard by all, so fair.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
She was the belle that evening, admired by great and small,
And all the boys liked to play with the girl and blue ball.
She was a splendid player, so lively and so gay,
For she was skilled in playing that pleasant game croquet.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
Two young men among them, that loved this pretty Dell;
Although I write about them, their names I will not tell.
They were fine young fellows, so bashful, and yet so gay;
They tried to beat the girl that with the blue ball play.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
Ah! with those handsome fellows, Dell thought she'd have some fun,
"The one of you that'll catch me, may see me safely home."
The play began in earnest, between those fine young men,
To catch the girl with the blue ball, was impossible for them.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
She went around the play-ground, so full of life and gay,
She left them at the farther arch, so she beat them at croquet.
It was late that evening, and as I went away,
I know not how they came out, in that pleasant game, croquet.
CHORUS: This play, etc.
So croquet by moonlight is pleasant, as you see,
For business cares were laid aside, in that little company.
So playing at croquet, croquet, so playing at croquet,
It is amusement for the young folks, this play of croquet.
poem by Julia A Moore
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The Woman Five Doors Down
The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted is the best player in the school football team
And that one day he will play in an A.F.L. Grand Final and that more than once of late she's had this dream
Of watching him receive the Coleman medal for best on ground on football's biggest day
Watched by well over ninety thousand people who cheer him on with a loud hip hooray.
But locals who know of football and watched Ted play say he will never play at the top grade
That he won't go down Swanston Street in the back of a lorry
to loud applause in the Grand Final Parade
They say his mother greatly over rates him and that in his team he's just an average player
And that not one in his club will play A.F.L. football with good under age players they do not compare
Ted's mother believes her son will be a football hero and she seemed so convinced that she convinced me
But others who have seen him play say different and with her opinions they do not agree
They say that she will end up disappointed that her dreams for her son will not come true
That he won't make a career out of football another line of work he must pursue.
The woman five doors down tells me her son Ted will one day play in the famed M.C.G.
And be the hero of a great Grand Final in a game that will go down in history
And though others seem to think that she's only dreaming I hope her son will be a football great
And that she will applaud him in the Grand Final and the football fans his name will celebrate.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Young David The Under Fourteen
With the local football club he plays under fourteen
In their football colours the black, brown and green
He dreams in the A F L he will star one day
Against Australia's finest he will be picked to play.
Everytime I see young David he's with the egg shaped ball
Playing by himself or with other boys in the park for his age he is tall
His dream is to play as number one ruckman for his favourite team Geelong
Enjoying a great victory as he sings the Club song.
Most boys of his age have a wish or a dream
To win a gold medal or play with a top football team
But not all dreams do come true everyone can't know fame
Still it is nice to dream of great things just the same.
He is the top ruckboy in his football team
And as a player of promise he knows local esteem
But few good juvenile players into great players grow
And young David he still has a long way to go.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Let Us Learn How To Play!
Life is a game,
Full of anxiety,
Full of excitement,
Who is the player?
I, you and we are players
if we are all players,
for what we play?
For what we have to play?
For money or name,
Or to gain some toys
to feel only more pain?
We take nothing at the end,
trophies and medals,
will not have meaning,
why we run here and there,
Jump and hop,
laugh and weep, Why we strive to win?
We never know causes,
Whose effect is this life?
We don't know our cause here,
And we talk of causes!
What cause may take us where?
Useless to think, just play your game!
Find the player
who play and enjoy all alone,
Creating own ground and arena,
He plays and enjoys the game,
so many things bring us shame,
Our own thoughts and deeds,
Who is enemy of us greater than these?
Let him play his game,
Pray him for rest,
sit and meditate at his feet,
Or get the yellow card for wrong play!
Anyway find a way to sit aside,
Let others play,
let us rest a while,
Watch and learn how to play!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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Play To Play
Play to play
Not for home
Not for bed...
Play to
The ground...
Play with
Ball and the bat
OR run and play...
Live your body
Good for health
Have the nice...!
Twice the day
Morning and
Evening go to play...
That is secerat
Of your life
Understand
To try with
Play to play
Day by day....!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Kick Off Ball
Kick off ball,
Kick the ball to win the game!
But, with fair play.
Player,
Lyricist,
Arranger,
Keeper,
Composer,
Winner! !
But it was only yesterday that i found you;
And like the game ball in the land of your muse.
Face to face,
Again and again!
But pay and take it;
And, play the match to win the game! !
Play the ball,
Kick the ball,
And like the African Cup of Nations!
Race, ace, face, brace, mace, place, lace;
But words are things upon a thought,
And like something long lost! !
However, play the ball into the net to win the game.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Brave Page Boys
Air -- "The Fierce Discharge"
In the late rebellion war,
Grand Rapids did send out
As brave and noble volunteers
As ever went down south:
Among them were the brave Page boys --
Five brothers there were in all;
They enlisted and went down south,
To obey their country's call.
John S. Page was the eldest son --
He went down south afar,
And enlisted in the Mechanics,
And served his time in the war.
Fernando Page the second son;
Served in the Infantry;
He was wounded, lost both his feet
On duty at Yorktown siege.
Charles F. Page was a noble son --
In sixty-four did enlist,
And in the same year he was killed
In the fight of the Wilderness.
This brave boy was carrying the flag,
To cheer his comrades on.
He fought in the Eight Infantry;
Now he, brave boy, is gone.
'Tis said of this brave soldier boy --
'Twas just before he died --
Stood the flag standard in the ground,
Laid down by it and died.
The friends that loved this noble boy,
How sad were they to hear
Of his death on a battle field;
His age was twenty years.
James B. Page was a fine young man --
He went in the artillery;
He served his time with all the rest,
To keep his country free.
Enos Page the youngest brother --
Made five sons in one family,
Went from Grand Rapids, here.
His age was fourteen years --
When Enos Page went from his home,
He was only a boy, you know;
He stole away from his mother dear,
For he was bound to go.
She followed him to the barracks twice,
And took him home again;
She found it was no use -- at last
With friends let him remain.
In Eight Michigan Cavalry
This boy he did enlist;
His life was almost despaired of,
On account of numerous fits,
Caused by drinking water poisoned --
Effects cannot outgrow;
In northern Alabama, I hear,
There came this dreadful blow.
How joyful were the parents of
Those noble soldier boys,
There was one missing of the five,
When they returned from war.
The one that carried the Union flag
Lies in a Southern grave,
The other brothers came back home
To Grand Rapids, their native place.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Ballad of Bopard Defied
As I came to a playing-field on happy summer day
Two strudy youths I did espy; at cricket they did play.
One had the ball, one had the bat, and, with a right good smack,
As one tossed up the crimson sphere, the other smote it back.
Now, as I reached the bowler's end, I saw the young man quail;
His hand they shook, his knees went crook, his face was ashen pale;
Then, with a gulty kind of look, he cast the ball away,
And in a weak and trembling voice these words to me did say:
(In a tearful, pleading voice, with plenty of temolo and shivering grass.)
'Don't tell them that you saw me,
Or that I misbehaved.
Their methods over-aw me;
But I would not be enslaved.
I love my freeders, msiter, as much as any man;
But, oh, I love my bit of cricket, too.
And I dearly love to bowl,
But the great Board of Control,
They would chain me to their chariot if they knoo.'
(Adopt severe judicial manner, frowning darkly.)
'Young man,' I said, 'it grieves me this state of things to find,
For it is all too clear to me you have the crim'nal mind.
Thus to play without a licence and the noble Board defy
Is very reprehensible. 'Tut, tut!' I said, 'Fie, fie!'
With salt tears streaming from his eyes, he bowed his head in shame.
'Come, come,' I said, 'there's hope for you. Buck up and play the game.'
Then I eyed the other stripling; but, much to my dismay,
In tones most ungrammatical these words I heard him say: -
(In ringing, defiant accents, full of roughneck pride.)
'Go tell them that you seen me;
Go bowl it in their ear.
But no Board won't come between me
An' the game I 'old so dear,
I don't want to go to Indier or England with no team,
Fair Ostral-i-ar is good enough fur me!
I will never sell me soul
To no crool Board of Control;
For me favorite game is ping-pong, an' I'm free!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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High School Clubs And Other Activities.....[Personal; High School]
-
Back then I joined two clubs where my main interests did lie.
Biology Club: I was surrounded by girls. My, my!
We saw local prehistoric bones on museum trip.
Conservation Club: At North Street pond, I think we nets did dip.
Varsity Club was just for guys. Sorry girls. Whoops!
One could get nice jacket if one was good at track or hoops.
Honor Society was for 'good students'. You know the type.
Perhaps, like other human things, it was a bit of hype.
I know there were many 'clubs' in which I did not partake.
In one girls and boys could shoot. In another they could bake.
Foreign languages and music interests were not ignored.
Hobbies and sports were pursued and future jobs explored.
There were social clubs for just one sex. I don't know what they did.
To join, did club invite you, or did you have to make a bid?
Student government members were picked by peer selection.
I was beaten for Justice, by Roger in election.
At play rehearsal at Gretchen's, Carmi found me up a tree.
In play, Dave Hall's toga fell off. I'm glad it wasn't me!
I WONDER if the club 'advisors' got paid to help us learn and 'grow'.
We were nurtured while away from home….SO MANY YEARS AGO.
(2009)
poem by Bri Edwards
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I Don't Play For Money
I don't play for money, just not enough
I don't play for money, but I do for love
Show some emotion, take a chance with me
A pair and a bluff, ain't such bad company
Fortune favors the brave
So stack my deck full of hearts
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I don't play for money, but I do for love
Too many aces, up so many sleeves
Eight chips and a chair, that's all I need
Counting the numbers, then let luck play its part
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I don't play for money, but I do for love
With your house full of diamonds, you're so sharp and so proud
I'll raise the steaks higher, you're with the best in town
Fortune favors the brave
So stack my deck full of hearts
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I don't play for money, but I do for love
Break
Your river of diamonds, is a river of dreams
it turns into nothing, without love in between
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I walk right up and take my chance
Look Lady luck face up and place my bet
i bluff and hold and play my hand
in the only game i love to win
Fortune favors the brave
I've stack the deck full of hearts
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I don't play for money, just not enough
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I don't play for money, but I do for love
I don't play for money, but I do for love
Copyright Colin Coplin 2006 / 2010
poem by Colin Coplin
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The Young Fellow Next Door
The young fellow next door barracks for Hawthorn
And after school he kicks the egg shaped ball
He wants to be as great as Jason Dunstall
And that his name football historians will recall.
He wants to don the brown and gold of Hawthorn
And star in a grand final winning team
But the road ahead won't be easy for Tony
If one day he's to realize his dream.
If he is to be a great footy player
He must train hard for twelve months every year
He must impress the coaches and football scouts
And stay well clear of narcotics and beer.
The young fellow next door says he'll be famous
And that for the Hawthorn Football club he'll Play
And that he will be the talk of all Australia
Ten years from now on the grand final day.
A nine year old with big dreams is the schoolboy Tony
He says i'll be an Aussie sporting great
And i will lead Hawthorn back to glory
And the footy fans my name will celebrate.
On every street there is one like young Tony
Who has this dream of an enduring fame
Who is the hero of the great Grand Final
And kicks the famous goal that wins the game.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Another Football Season
Another Football Season has just commenced having said so just the same
A lot of hype and excitement about a field game
For many from their life problems a relief of sorts
Suppose that's why the establishments created sports.
Some things do seem to change little from year to year
Of football fans discussing football one often does hear
They talk of their Club as if the Club they did own
'Tis from people like them that Football Clubs are grown.
They talk of team ratings and player stats and of last weekend's best on ground
And of who their team are due to play in the next round
And the forward with a goal for the taking who kicked a behind
Next week with the seconds a place he may not find.
Another Football Season commencing the barracker's wife
She does feel neglected but then such is life
He knows about Football and the words of the Club song
And his heart to the Club it does surely belong.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Bed Play
Bed is
Not play ground...
Play boy
Play the bed...
A cricket...
with out dresses
At young women...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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FUNNY jock
Ball on
Ground...
Kick and play
The player's
Ball was
Un happy...!
Lisener's
Also clap
And play...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Play while you play
You just watch the play.
Why don’t you play?
If at all you play,
You do as a goalkeeper only.
Who risks is brisk.
Luck favours who dares.
To be fearless is worry-less.
Love enthuses who brave.
Enter before it is too late.
Play before we are too old.
02.10.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ahh... Sports
Life's a bore, here's some chore
Pick up your gears, join the tour
Tag your spouse, break a sweat
Grab a tutor, take the heat
Swing a club, hit or miss
Play poker perhaps with a jest
Tiger and Stew were on the run
These guys were really having fun
A thing or two, I'd like to express
Give me a deal and I'll do the rest
Projects and tasks from day to day
I work when I work, play when I play
poem by Noel A Medina
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Summer fun at the Beach
Summer fun is so grand
It's so fun too play in the sand
Summer time with family is so fun
you get to laugh and play in the sun
Running around on the beach
and for the ocean they try to reach
Summer fun is so grand
all the little kids run and play hand in hand
Get to play with a beach ball
seems like your there all day long
Making sand castles is really grand
just laughing and playing in the sand
Laughing, running, jumping, and jogging
screaming, shell collecting, beach walking and ball hogging
And all this summer fun has just begun,
I hope you read this poem when you done
poem by Attalia Gooden
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Joki 10
play boy
take to bat
play cricket
a med night
on bed
with out ball
o...wear is girl?
cry pillow...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Play Paly
play boy
play cricket
on the bed...
with pillow bat...
bed ball...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A Cricket Ball
A ball spends its time with Time,
Spilling agony, waste and collisions so rightly found;
By this we spoke too loudly of the ball I’m
Spinning like in cricket, and all this sound!
The field caught my ball this over,
Expensive play! Expensive day of my sport.
There needs a container
For this cricket ball, my real important sort.
poem by Naveed Akram
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