Stick

We're having a little compo

Younger brother and me

Put to the test, to be the best

Who'll win? Well, we'll see

Racking up some good scores

With screen shots for proof

The totals are tough, it's just enough

To drive you through the roof

Back and forth the battle goes

A right bloody old ding dong

Neither will give in, come thick or thin

Till said lady's sung her song 

So here am I on a train to Leeds

Giving every ball its dues

Let the sixes fly, not be distracted by

The women with gorgeous shoes 

But enough of my musing

Time to end this tale

Not lose a wicket, back to Stick Cricket

Sorry bro, you know I will prevail

Dimple

Turned down yet again

By the selection board

Of this dull and lonely process

I'm getting rather bored

All I simply wanted was 

A new and better job

May be it's too much to ask

And I should shut my gob 

Just wanted to be occupied

Feel useful here and there

Come in each and every day

And have a purposeful air

I like to make a difference

It's just how I think

But obviously my resume

Creates an unpleasant stink

I get the feeling 

That it's all in my name

I could always talk to deed poll

And play a different game

But that's not how I am now 

And it will never be

One thing I can't hold back on

Is being me, me, me

And don't go thinking

I'm after sympathy

This is me just letting off steam

Not a call for empathy

So I'll slink back to my corner

And not be too obsessed

That once again, yet again

The reject button's been pressed

Ode to my dead leg

Dear dearest dead leg

You're becoming a little bore

Here we are at 5am

I want to sleep and snore

My alarm's due to sound

Forty minutes from now

I'm not in a best place

For Wednesday, somehow

Yes, battered bruised limb

I know it's my bloody fault

For crashing off my bike Monday

In a spectacular somersault 

Blame that sodding tunnel

It's far too narrow and dark

Guess I lost concentration

On my arse I chose to park

Yes, yes, purple-coloured thigh

I can see and feel your pain

But I wish you'd stop complaining

I'd like to go back to sleep again

Spare a thought for lonely bike

In the underground store at work

Wait till I tell it it's for the bin

It'll go berserk

You see, swollen lumpy leg

You'll get better over time

It will all be a distant memory

Forgotten, just like this rhyme

But not so for poor old bike

With handlebars bent and bucked

The only way to describe it

Is well and truly beyond repair