Listening to the cricket
England aiming to reach the semi-finals
Grey skies in the United Kingdom
But sunlight fills our hearts
The final leaves fall
As only the final leaves are able
Most days I would try to write a poem; it is a practice, as I suppose is meditation, or smiling, or watching the world go by
Listening to the cricket
England aiming to reach the semi-finals
Grey skies in the United Kingdom
But sunlight fills our hearts
The final leaves fall
As only the final leaves are able
The cricket nets
Have been pulled off
To the side of the pitch
Boy there’s been some downpours today
But not in Brisbane, Australia
Where England defeated New Zealand
To head back up the super 12 group 1
After that debacle with Ireland in the rain
If they weren’t so far away
It could be your boys coming to the wicket
To become heroes for the country on this day
When jet aircraft are grounded for remembrance
The Sheveling Wine Estate
Black Americano and Creme Brûlée
Yes, here at the top of the Holme Valley
Overlooking the vineyard on the hillside
There appears to be a problem allocating tables
Although I am sat by a window
It seems that the computer is at fault
Its algorithm’s being somewhat inflexible
I never knew quite so many romantics
Frequented the Holmfirth region
Not at least since Last of the Summer Wine
Brought tears to our visitor’s eyes
I myself, once the mid-life crisis lover
Wrote a levelling up letter, on the moor
Sat by a dry-stone summer’s wall
Where a butterfly kept me company
Law Common Road
On the way
To Cartworth Moor
Past the heather clad
Lands of the reservoir
Past the heathen led
Shooting grounds
Law Common Road
What does it mean
Is it a law
Which marks this as the way
To common ground
Not a place
To be shot at
Into the imaginary
As if the elbow on the knee
Would help the thoughts
To first bring the smile
Followed by a beautiful stirring
Of the heart
The spirit and the soul
How many have fallen away
How many have stayed the course
Yet this one room; home
As it will have been called before
Away from the imagination
As if the balls of the feet
Would follow the pathway
To first say thanks for the smile
Followed by beauty recurring
In the soul
The spirit and the heart