Ernestine Northover

Veteran Poet - 1,353 Points (25th March 1943)

Wimbledon Fortnight - Poem by Ernestine Northover

Wimbledon fortnight is here once again,
Whether the sun shines, or whether there's rain,
Out come the nets, the white court lines are drawn,
Another great tennis championship has been born.

The stewards walk on and start taking their places,
Ready to watch players going through their paces,
Seeing that balls are not hit out of court,
These top tennis matches are vigorously fought.

The top seeds have come to show what they can do,
Their fans, with excitement will camp out and queue
To purchase a ticket, which is not easy to get,
To sit through the hours while they win the first set.

It's very nail biting and nerve racking too,
To watch all the moves and be unable to do
Anything to help the poor players, who try,
Especially when the shots are too low or too high.

The thuds of the rackets are rhythmic and strong,
Some serves are too short and some are too long,
The roar of the crowd, when their hero has scored,
And even more so, when their win is assured.

The umpire is diligently watching the game,
He's not here to wallow in fortune and fame,
But he's making sure that there's always fair play,
And that everyone's happy at the end of the day.

The ball boys and girls, who collect all the balls,
When a service is done, listen out for the calls,
From the linesmen, who shout if the shot is not true,
And whisk up the balls. We admire them, we do!

It's love, deuce, advantage, game, set and match,
They battle together, their opponent to dispatch,
The supporters heads sweep, to left and to right,
As they view the tense struggle, the scoring is tight.

But eventually, it's the day of the great final event,
His Royal Highness arrives, it's the tall Duke of Kent,
The atmosphere's electric, the players are here,
The welcome they get is one huge mighty cheer.

The game is well played and the audience are thrilled,
But one's got to win, there's a place to be filled,
The last shot is cast, and the winner jumps high
Over the net, with a loud joyous cry.

The Duke now comes forward, the cup to present,
A very great thrill at the auspicious event,
The winner holds it high up, above his proud head,
He's so lucky, for he only just won by a thread.

But Wimbledon fortnight, has been around now for years,
It's a thrill for the watchers, bringing elation and tears,
With champagne to drink, and those strawberries and cream,
It's the place that's the shrine of a tennis player's dream.


Comments about Wimbledon Fortnight by Ernestine Northover

  • (7/10/2009 6:47:00 AM)


    Hi Ernestine
    What I liked about this poem, is that you haven't missed anything out. Virtually everything about Wimbledon fortnight is here. The real test of this, is that if I close my eyes and listen to the poem being read aloud, then I am right there in the thick of it. It's a whole poem/story/account of all things tennis. Lovely rhyme rythmn and meter too. Very much enjoyed. I'm sorry now that mine was such a skit of 'mens doubles' ha ha
    Much Enjoyed
    Steve
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  • Brian Dorn (6/14/2006 9:23:00 AM)


    Ernestine, you've served an ace! ! Even John McEnroe would love this... well done! !
    Brian
    (Report) Reply

  • (2/24/2006 1:37:00 PM)


    This is packed with energy, makes me want to get the racket out instead of just making one.Love Duncan (Report) Reply

  • (2/20/2006 5:12:00 AM)


    An excellent poem Ernestine with a lightness of touch that perfectly compliments the subject. The rhyming couplets are excellent and the meter very flowing. (Report) Reply

  • (11/2/2005 6:31:00 AM)


    Just like 'Supermarket Shopping', this poem uses rhythm and rhyme to describe that frenetic activity of Wimbledon. I lived in Kingston for a while and frequently had to drive past Wimbledon Tennis ground, and you can feel the eneergy from a hundred years away. the poem sums it up - can't wait for next year! (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Thursday, September 8, 2005

Poem Edited: Friday, May 21, 2010


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