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bouttime
08-22-2005, 07:13 AM
hi, first time poster. i've always loved the game but don't play nearly as much as i'd like.

anyway, i wrote this poem and thought i'd share it with those who can appreciate it's subject.

any feedback is welcome.

thanks, hope you like it.


'Trouble in Englishtown'



"151, 152, 153...." and on it went,
balls dropping like flies, a pensive pause and a swift stride,
followed with a silk stroke and the usual cry, "154, 155 ...."

it was a new song
sung by a new heart
to an old simple tune.

he taught them to dance or so it seemed,
his cue stick conducting a symphony.
they followed his commands with grace and ease,
and the vanquished always swore the balls could see.


the realm is cue and ivory,
and for all to see
the monarch of the green
continues his riegn secure and supreme.

at times he grows bored,
his kingdom safe and assured.
he takes time off to see the world.
the laurels come often and free,
words heavy with honey like returning bees.
they add to his waist but still he is king.
everyone says so, everyone agrees.

as night followed day,
they were still at play.
the man who dared to say
'I am king' but had no throne
and the king who had grown fat
and moved like he was old.


curves, draws, banks and spins,
it mattered not, they kept going in,
the king looked on as the tally rose
and thought, 'I remember those.'
he rallied and tried courageously
to stave off assault, but it was all for naught,
his belly was too big and his arms too short.

the new king lifted his crown and proudly said loud,
'this is the day i have dreamed all my life'.
someone then asked him, when was he born?
'on the old king's day off.' came the repose.