Keith Oldrey Poems

This glorious game, we named it cricket
The finest sport (besides our middle wicket)
How can you describe the fun we get
With mere verbs, adjectives or epithet.
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Marriage is for when you find
A lover to share your life and mind
A friend, who without a doubt
You cannot possibly live without.
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Sometimes no matter how hard you try
The hole’s as big as a bucket, but the ball slides by.
Then you have a day
When it goes the other way.
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Plus fours, flashy sweaters and electric carts
Its golf, so you must dress the part
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How we long to reach the shelf
Currently held by the poetic wealth
Shelley, Keates. Byron & Poe
Amongst those names we’d like to go
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Golf is such a silly game
The less you play it-The greater the fame
But not alas for your average punter
Who stalks the long grass, more like a hunter.
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Motorway traffic, all in a stew
Endless vehicles, in a queue
Onward, ever onward, trying to press
Headaches forming, all from stress
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National Service, was the time when
They took young boys, and turned them into men.
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I have a filing system
I know that you will adore
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Watching the middle classes at art shows
Panamas and teachers with classes
Peering intently through misty glasses
At Indian carpet knotters
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