Glory baize of old

by Michael   Jun 18, 2018


often, a place I would be seen
was at the bus-mans club canteen
a place i’d often hope and dream.
A flight of stairs and off I’d trot
unto a room right at the top
where men cue-d up to take a shot

A hush would fall in silent mode
(Snooker ethics, and players code).
A stance takes on a half-bent spoon,
chalk rubs over a half-shaped moon
knees bend clicking from swaying hips
cigarettes droop from bottom lips.

Smoke would set in a fuzzy haze
wispy mist - like a dewy glaze.
cues are drawn from an elbows bow
a crack of balls will start the show
motion is fired to strike the white
beneath the rays of shaded light.

Balls break out in a rash of red
the game is on to clear the spread.
Blue dust showers and scores are hit
balls are struck-down a netted pit.
Then all comes down to pot the black
sweat drips down the players back.

The game is won and hands are shook
one walks off with a grimaced look.
The balls are racked to play again
i’d sit for hours through every frame
I always dreamed of the day i’d play
which always felt like years away

Well just a lad and under-age
i’d have to wait to take the stage
and being only four feet tall
my feet could barely touch the floor,
and four foot short, back in those days
I had to grow, to grace that baize!

    report violation
9


Did You Like This Poem?

Latest Comments

  • 7 years ago

    by Mr. Darcy

    Judging comment:

    As a child I loved nothing more than playing with my balls. This reached a peak in my teens, spending many an hour sinking balls into holes.

    Tennis, football and snooker – I loved them all.

    “History of snooker. The game of snooker is a cue sport which emerged in its modern form in the late 19th century, with roots going back to the 16th century form of English billiards. Billiards was popular among the British Armed Forces stationed in India. ... Eventually, these two games were combined to form snooker.” Wikipedia

    This poem talks nostalgically about this game. Specifically, for this writer, the ‘bus-mans’ club canteen’ where many a snooker match was watched and practiced as a child. The imagery of him being just ‘four feet tall’, trying to cue up a shot is hilarious. The sound and visuals are so real – that I felt I was there. From the smoke-filled room, to the strained faces desperately trying to build their break.

    It seems that a poem like this reflects, not only on a child’s memory and poets enjoyment of the game; but also, the subtle changes in society. There was a time when you would find the game of snooker played everywhere – from canteens, to snooker halls. It was accessible, played in every town, in a number of venues and by all classes. Now, it seems, that the snooker clubs are reducing in numbers, so the game is now more exclusive and that is a shame.

    The poem is written in both rhyme and meter, which is always a nice touch.

  • 7 years ago

    by mossgirl19

    A lovely and fun poem Michael!!! I really enjoyed the read!

    • 7 years ago

      by Michael

      Thank you Miss Mel :)

  • 7 years ago

    by Milly Hayward

    Great snooker poem. A great quirky piece. Best wishes Milly x

    • 7 years ago

      by Michael

      Thank you Miss Milly :)

  • 7 years ago

    by Mr. Darcy

    Okay, it's official:

    You're potty!

    Super write, really!!

    • 7 years ago

      by Michael

      "snooker loopy nuts..." just cant do the whole lyrics - nor you!! ;)

      Thanks Mr D :)

  • 7 years ago

    by Ben Pickard

    Michael, I play an awful lot of snooker myself so how could I not love this? Brilliant write.

    • 7 years ago

      by Michael

      Thanks Ben,
      Being a player of such a sport you get it. Sadly a dying sport here. We used to have 5 snooker clubs, but all now flats and retirement homes

Read All Comments (14)

More Poems By Michael

People Who Liked This Also Liked