Cricket

One tends to picture cricket as

a gentle game. The green of grass,

a sunny day, men dressed in white

stand scattered on the field of play.

The rise and fall of bowler’s arm

is echoed by the moving bat.

a timeless moment seems to pass

before the sound can reach the crowd.

And then you see reality,

The sweating bowler charging in

 to hurl the ball with frightful speed

towards the batsman’s careful guard.

The solid click of bat on ball,

or thump of leather hitting man,

perhaps the shouted, anxious call

‘Howzat!’ will echo round the ground

and one lone man is made centre

of all attention, ‘til he makes

the gesture they’re all waiting for.

The fielders celebrate while one

lone figure sadly trudges back

to where his team-mates sit and wait.

Or, perhaps, just a shake of head

will greet the shout, then bowler turns

and trudges of to start again

his paced-out run.  And in a match

where every ball that’s bowled must count,

the scampered run will get a cheer

as big as test-matches hit six

The muttered chants of ‘ten off four’

will hold spectators minds, intent

on seeing if their team can win.

I’ve come home from some matches hoarse

with shouting at batsman’s stroke

or yelling at the fielders drop.

Some days are gentle, and the match

will dwindle into lazy draw

but then, for every game like that,

I’ve seen one where my heart has raced,

my body tensed and every ball

has gone so fast I can’t believe

a day has passed so speedily.

Posted for A Saturday Celebration: Let The Games Begin on One Stop Poetry.
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