Cricket on the Village Green [*POEM*]

Cricket  on  the  Village  Green


Where are the cricket fields of yesterday?
Where are the players on the village green?
Where’s the stout lad  who whacked the ball away
Over the rooftops like you’d never seen?
Where are the dreaming spires, where the gowns
Swishing through ancient cloisters ivy-clad?
Where are the owlish dons in cobbled towns
Quoting their Odyssey and Iliad?

Where are the dear old ladies in long dresses,
Cheering the players on the village green?
They’ve all passed on, we’re told, to new addresses
Where everyone is suitably serene.
Gone to new cricket fields!—God bless them all,
The batsmen and the fielders, the bowlers and the ball.

10 thoughts to “Cricket on the Village Green [*POEM*]”

  1. Mais où sont les neiges d’antan ? I like the effect of the extra foot in the final line. My compliments, Xanadu.

    1. Many thanks, Traducteur. The extra foot in the final line would be frowned upon by purists expecting the usual pentameter of the Shakespearean sonnet. However, a hexameter was used instead. Possibly Spenser would have nodded his approval!

      I’m delighted to see you posting here, by the way. I remember you well from Xymphora. How time flies! Mais où sont les neiges de Xymphora? 🙂

      1. Those were the days! Glad to find you as active and creative as ever. <Bon courage et bonne continuation !

  2. Well, at least this Xanadu poem isn’t about stormy seas and ships going to the bottom with all hands lost. It’s actually a SUNNY day in this poem.
    And the only water in the poem is a calm fishing pond. We’re not out at sea, we’re on land. Not out at sea … a stormy sea of course.

    Is Lasha feeling okay? Because this poem is most unusual for Lasha. We’re on land here, there’s NO storm, the only water is a small fishing pond and it’s very calm. Though somehow the poem is ultimately as depressing as Xanadu’s “stormy seas the ship sunk all hands were lost” genre. In that sense, the poem is typical Lasha.

    Leave it to Lasha to make a glorious SUNNY spring or summer day on land, with the flowers blooming and the children playing and a boy fishing with his beloved dog beside him, as depressing and as devoid of hope as a day out at sea where our ship sinks in a YUGE STORM and we all wind up at the bottom of the cold dark murky ocean depths.

    Monte needs to make an appointment with the local veterinarian to have Xanadu put down. That wouldn’t be cruelty. That would be doing Xanadu a big favor. LOL.

    1. Oh boo hoo hoo hoo hoo all beauty has been lost to us there’s NO more beauty in the world Our daughter of JEW ka-BAAL-ah JEW night vampiress “goddess” lilith JEW ruth !Our beloved notorious ruth! ((( She))) has passed away and the JEW COMMIE is gone from us forever more and never more will we ever know beauty ever again oh boo hoo hoo hoo hoo…. all beauty was extinguished upon this earth the second the old COMMUNIST JEWESS passed away the roses will never bloom again in this fallen world, this vale of tears so grey…. Oh boo hoo hoo hoo hoo…..

      1. Further cruel and hateful comments on Lasha’s poetry are welcome. They are published here with Lasha’s full knowledge and consent. I have seen fit, however, to delete dozens of bitter, twisted, psychotic, and obscenely pornographic comments from “TheRealOriginalJoe” involving bestiality and other sexual perversions too sickening to mention. This man, I am convinced, is more than just mentally deranged — he seems to be also demonically possessed. We need to pray for him.

  3. Xanadu is of the very last generation to whom (which?) this imagery links to experiential reality however interred in memory … there might be tiny pockets of holdouts, Tasmania? St. Barts? like those critically endangered locales in Middle Earth sheltering elves and fairies cooped up before the onslaught of Sauron—all doomed unless QAnon international band of brothers pulls off the mother of all upsets.

    The succeeding generations will experience the village green vicariously at best like some reverse science fiction of promised past, description of the taste of Kashmir peaches to a resident of Monsanto GMO hellhole, ode to inadequacy.

    Count yourself lucky, X.

    Aside: I for one am grateful that you ditched that spirit-writing “therapy”, leave that poison cure to Dr. Marina Abramovic—and be very careful of succumbing to ptsd, nothing romantic about that.
    Study Shows How Ptsd Can Lead To Alzheimers.
    Build your own village green founded on faith, make it inviolable.

    Double aside: Corey’s Sword of Christ arrived a week or two ago and I am making my slow way through, very informative and impressive (not that I agree with EVERYTHING said, this is why I proceed slowly or not at all, apart from being a laborious reader by nature). Quite a few references to Lasha Darkmoon …

  4. Saw I not the light of yesterday
    become the darkness of our times
    whence the joy of life is born
    above so high in Dover skies
    upon a peaceful sunny morn .

    They saw the enemy aloft
    with the sorcerer’s’ eyes
    and with the gay
    and fearless confidence of callow youth
    prepared to met them in the skies

    There rolled along the summer grass
    Spitfires to climb high above the earth
    to meet the enemy unseen
    their voices rang with song and mirth

    Then came unknown and still unseen
    above the peaceful village green
    with blazing fire and morbid shout
    resounded Tallyho throughout .

    ANd as the sparrow falls not unseen
    and as the Lord God shows the way
    as every Englander should know and mean
    was not our England saved that day?

    Who was our enemy forsworn
    that mercy and grace alone shall mend our land
    an enemy from the same race was born
    to which our king himself should give his hand

    WHo writes the long and mundane screed
    the great things only great men see ?
    and with credulous eyes we smugly read
    the merchants’ tale of history.

    Was not an offer the chalice of peace
    that nations from this war should cease
    the pride that comes before the fall
    may be the greatest sin of all.

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