“Turf’s Famous Cricketers”
________________________
I have a full collection of cigarette cards,
(Well, cut-outs from the back of Turf Cigarette packets)
Of famous cricketers from 1933.
All the smiling proud men are now dead,
The last died two years ago, two of them died
In 1941.
Their’s was not the life of the video
Or the internet,
But of village greens,
Of LBW’s, silly-mid-on’s and gullies,
And cucumber sandwiches in the pavilion.
I still feel their ghosts
Whenever I travel to Trent Bridge or Lord’s,
But it is more likely
That they will all be in Heaven
Playing cricket with the angels.
—
The Reverend Tobias Trontby
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“Bus-Stop Poem”
Under the warm street-lamp
I await a bus.
I am quite happy
when the bus is late
Because I can smell
The moving shadows,
Listen to the mobile-phone conversations,
Or just watch the people.
Watch the people,
And learn
What poetry is all about.
—
Lord Pineapple
Comments (32)
totally love “the bus stop poem” ah, yes, in “wasted” moments we find so much.
amen and amen. Enjoyed them both very much. I recognized the truth of the second one more and more.
PS…tell the Sarah’s that sometimes, only sometimes, I really am a smart ass!
Zowie – just gotta say – bus stop poem – I enjoyed that very much. I feel like that sometimes when I can stop and be unattached and listen to all the people around me and listen to and see what they are attached to.
Thank you for sharing your talent.
Someone has to have pride, because of a lack of pride, a lack of perfection much of the world has suffered. I can’t be responsible for everyone’s lack of concern in areas where pride could and would make many thing much better. I have added even more to my blog that you didn’t get to read. My computer pulled a stunt and lost something I had to rewrite.
Back in a while to read your poems.
Regards,
As usual, excellent sentiments and writing.
Jim
Word! Awesome work!
Wonderful, both of them. Many a card have I saved but nothing like that collection but I have studied many collections out in the shops. This reminds me of the scene in Dead Poet Society for some reason, I can see those faces looking out from the cards with their youthful expectations and exuberance and emotive views of life.
Poetry in motion, that is exactly what the masses are, those moving about and those sitting doing nothing. To sit and watch them you do see poetic tales unfold. I see no hurry in making time pass when viewing or writing poetry but only the value of the moments.
In my dotage I so enjoy the “waiting” times. Today I joined a loooooong que at the post office with a copy of Dorothy Sayers’ “The Unpleasantness at The Bellona Club”. I read and watched people. Many came in, saw the line and left. My favorite clerk is a dour guy with thinning blond hair and pencil slim who never changes his expression. We have had some great conversations…mostly me talking, but he occasionally gives me a wee smile. “I can smell the the moving shadows”…I love that. My saying such would make my family say, “See, she IS senile.” The pox on them.
Good stuff, Thanks for the comment, I apologize if my website offends you at all. Also I wanted to know if you know what the hebrew mean to my name is.(I already know I just want to see if anyone else does)
-Tobias
I love watching people, half of my poetry come from it. They are funny and sometimes sad.
Ohhhhhhh the cricket poem reminds me of my father – see I knew why I visited your page
Excellent. I do study the shadows as often as people. That, along with reading things backwards makes for an interesting perspective on life. Peace.
yup .. im back
y do they hav famous cricketeers on cigarette cards?? anyone…mine is a life of not cucumber sandwiches in the pavillion but internet and videos..not my fault. but hey, if we didnt hav the net i couldnt read ur poetry evryday and bombard u with useless comments!!!
You definately remind me;Life is poetry…in motion…in still form…cigarette cards…the observations of the people….thank you for reminding me to sometimes go outside myself..look around..observe!
A reflective poem.. I like it very much.
mm i like bus stop poem, my version would be ‘the only good thing about cityrail’
I like especially the second poem . Add to this poem the good smell of a bakery early in the morning and nearby from the bus stop. I have experienced that in the past .
About the first poem I am born in 1933 !!! Brrr !
In friendship
Michel
I liked these…*S*
I love the bus stop poem, simple, sweet, beautiful.
~V
Your “Bus-Stop Poem” is simply brilliant. I can’t even really comment on it except… brilliant!!
~Leah
Neat poem about the bus stop. I wait at one every day and get a good chuckle each day at some of the things I overhear.
I am not good at fishing. The only thing I can catch is a mosquito. But the area is pretty and very relaxing.
bus stops rule!
i’m glad someone gets it lol =)
i lack the words to tell you how nice your poems are.
Very nice poetry.
Yes, these are the days of nostalgia that’s for sure.
It seems from the comments that the bus stop poem is the more popular. It’s old news to me. Still nicely done. I’m sure cricket must be the game of choice in heaven because most of the baseball players are probably in hell.
Peoplewatching is such a lovely way to spend time. I used to wear reflective sunglasses so that I could watch people without them being able to tell. These days, I think maybe I draw a little less attention than I used to (except when I’m wearing my grubby work clothes). Not sure. It’s definitely one of my favourite hobbies, though I don’t get the chance to partake in any kind of an organized way lately…
Take care
-J-
i love your poems, especially the “bus stop”…hope all is well with you…i have been working a lot and late…haven’t had much time to catch up with my favorite folks…but i will get around soon.
*HUGS*
I am most certainly a lover of the bus for this very reason…I love to watch people…and I love to think about what their lives must be like..and write my own story..
Great poem..loved both really..Peace and blessings..Sheri
I like your softer side…:)
The 1st one is sooo touching, and the second I totally agree with. People and life (yours or theirs), always make a poet a poet. To observe and understand and shit. Thats like the heart of poetry.
-Stephanie
come 2 my site @ asole
Whilst visiting Doro Tuesday, she asked me why I never used the experiences of my life to write a book and really, the makings of a book is there. I thought a minute and said, “If I do make an effort, there is only one person I would trust to read it. His name is Terry and he lives in England.” I proceeded (within the parameters of your privacy) to explain why I feel this way about you. It may never happen, Terry, but if it does, you will be the first and perhaps the only one to know.