Tuesday, 30 September 2025
AT BRINKLOW... (My poem about visiting Brinklow FC, Warwickshire, 2016...)
At Brinklow…
There was spring sunshine,
A large, mown, grassy field
Marked by white lines
And a boundary of thick, mature trees
At Brinklow…
Goal-nets quivered to a breeze,
As players stretched sinews
Uniformly as dancers, or military crews
And balls were served by amateur coaches,
Bringing goalkeepers to their knees…
White nets shivered from seven strikes,
As shots turned into goals.
Scorers, like dancers, bared their souls
As balls flew past amateur goalies,
Bringing despair and frowns alike…
There was a spring shadow,
A man and his dog on a field
Marked by white goal-frames
And a balcony of stark, secure trees
At Brinklow…
Pete Ray
May 2016…
Visiting Brinklow FC meant viewing a large field with goal-nets, players warming up and bright sunshine on a warm May Saturday.
Brinklow beat Ambleside Sports 5-2…
Afterwards when the players and the spectators had left the scene, the nets had been taken down and all the perimeter flags had been removed.
I saw then a man walking a dog in a rural spring environment on a bland green field…
Monday, 29 September 2025
MAWGAN PORTH, 1924... (My poem about an old image of Mawgan Porth, Cornwall...)
Mawgan Porth, 1924…
It was like a closing of the eyes
During late afternoon and succumbing,
Allowing the mind to fall,
Befuddled and helpless, numbing
Oneself into the imaginings of a dream,
Whereby a scene known in modernity
Might be stripped bare, becoming
Monochrome and thus a peek into the past
Which lures and entices with its distant thrall…
The sharp corner, the acute bend
Is merely a well worn lane or track
And recognisable cottages and telegraph poles
Disguise a footpath up the cliff to Bre Pen…
The coastal road would surely wend
Its well worn way over river bridge’s back,
Where huers might have scanned the sea for shoals
In the deep, which cruelly hunted fishermen…
One vessel idles in the bay’s high tide,
One figure idles, a long gone hut beside.
One handcart idles in antiquity
And one’s dream and idylls fade into reality…
Pete Ray…
Sunday, 28 September 2025
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