the Irish team kept fighting.
All hope had long departed,
the wall replete with writing.
Downcast, distraught, dejected,
we watched the savage mauling.
Our rear was not protected.
The Spanish wolves came crawling.
But then we were dumbfounded
as church bells started ringing.
A mighty roar resounded –
ten thousand voices singing.
Neck-hairs stood to attention.
No longer were we dismayed.
We signalled our intention,
although outclassed and outplayed.
Written in response to Kerry's challenge to write a Celtic quatrain at Toads
11 comments:
Ah, Peter, you have the jump on us in this challenge, don't you? The blood of the bards is still undiluted in your veins.
I love the title of your poetry book - I'm sure it must be one of a kind.
Good to see your work on Real Toads.
What a fever this sporting event is ~
To play even when one is outclassed is a brave thing ~
Great form ~
You have written this poem with strong feeling in great form, Peter! May the best team win!
This feels so absolutely natural--effortless and smooth--also very intelligent and exactly the kind of event I imagine a bard of old might indeed have decided to perpetuate in a song-poem. Thanks for showing us how it's done.
I agree with everyone's comments... and I love that you wrote about sports with such poetic finesse.
Damn Irish anyway. Oh wait a minute...
(sheepish smile)
The energy that builds towards the closing builds up in the rader, too. Love the idea of all those voices singing, to give the lads some support and inspiration!
love it! i always love to visit your words. go team!
You've used this form to perfection to capture your chosen topic! Well played!!
Hannah stole my, "Well played" but I can't disagree with any previous comments. You did something really amazing with such an ancient form and your sports passion. Well done!
The alliteration of the "d" sound drums out the passion of a sporting spirit! Dramatic!
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