When you ride the surging passion
And are engulfed within the roar
When you urge the team to fashion
One more victory, then you soar.
Then you soar towards the heavens
You soar among the stars
Goals may not come in sevens
But we dream of ‘spectaculars’.
Such passion overwhelms you
Sprinting through the veins
Forever we will hold you true
Success breaks all the chains.
The inner voice, the scalding hope, the glue of DNA
Make Red supporters long for the feats of yesterday.
Miss Amanda Milinthrop the First
Developed a substantial thirst
Resulting in her looking bleary
Hoping mates still find her cheery.
She loves the thrill of gin and tonic
Although affected something chronic
Dancing on or slumped under table
To cope with booze she wasn’t able.
Miss Amanda Milinthrop the very First
Screwballed when she’d slaked her thirst
Swigged from Three to well past Eleven
And woke up dead just outside Heaven.
The moral of this tale will maybe shock
A crazy mind won’t let you safely rock.
Lying weakly draped on our grand settee
Where the hell is that leopard taking me?
That leopard who with the sharpest claws
Held high the World in his spotted paws.
Growling, croaking, so overcome by germs
Groaning at nurse to bring this ‘flu’ to terms
Battling to hold leopard’s sickly paws aloft
Insisting this feline has not yet gone soft.
But still a prowling, graceful, bristly beast
Who’s dynamite when not feeling creased
Sharp, fiery whiskers and rough, licking tongue
Dappled cat’s flattened ears so sickly overhung.
Memories of health pass leopard’s misty eye
As he pads to the fridge for the naughtiest pie.
[A common experience for many of us who, in the jaws of ‘flu’, can only hope for a comfortable return to health……….and quickly, please!]
A coruscating, flashing 3-wood by the ancient Master
Tore this mighty hole to absolute defeat and shreds
While his puny partner toyed with unravelling disaster
Imperious the stride as on the green the Master treads.
A tiny cough to clear that icy brain before the rolling stroke
Like honey caressing the silky green to seal the sweetest four
And jumping joy engulfed the Master as realization broke
A Birdie snatched with consummate ease, the partner poor.
The fearsome Twelfth, sneering its size and called The Burn
Legendary with its runny brook and brooding bunkers grim
Our Master struts his happy talent and gambles at every turn
His golden reputation sealed by golf sublime, his figure trim.
In this most noble sonnet, should you sense the poet’s awe
Reflect, then turn the page and say, “What was the score?”.
This sonnet relives the majestic play on the 517yds hole that stunned the poet.
Have you noticed, Cheryl sweet
How Time slips under others’ feet
Yet we are still prevailed upon
To slip Hobbs and Per Una on.
To flash Chanel and fling the Bling
Our silken hose, our golden string
Our winning ways, our fabled charm
Still keep us safe and free from harm.
Yet many a scented man has winked an eye
Full many a head has turned as we pass by
Our slim-line tailored jeans and vivid blouses
Inspire essential talk in all the finest houses.
We think our flaming youth remains the reason
Why we are sweetly feted through every season.