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Snooker Poems

Poet John Mole is an avid snooker fan and has written two poems about the sport….

From The Snooker Commentator’s Handbook

John Mole

The balls never forgive you,
The pockets stay where they are
Whether you’ve only just qualified
Or however much you’re a star.

When it comes to the mid-session interval
What’s going through your mind
If you’ve managed to win the last two frames
Is ‘I’m now very close behind.’

So the spring in your step will refresh you,
You’ll come to the table on song,
But it only takes a single missed pot
For everything to go wrong.

Where is the cue ball going?!!!
That screwback was a mistake.
Snooker’s so often the cruellest of games.
Believe us, it’s no piece of cake.

A quick glance at the scoreboard
Then return to your lonely seat.
There’s nothing now but to watch and wait
As you stare at the jaws of defeat.

Out there you can hear a pin drop,
Just the occasional cough
To break the rapt concentration.
Can this underdog bring it off?

Fear not, we’ll be on the red button,
For more, much more, of the same
Because we know that our banter
Is one of the joys of the game!


Eight Portraits

The housewives’ choice.
They go weak-knee’d
When they hear his voice.

Virgo’s balls
Are right on cue
And always go
Where he tells them to.

Ball-run Bingham’s
Skill is stunning.
His points on the scoreboard
Just keep coming.

Solemn Hawkins
Will only grin
When the winning ball
Is safely in.

The Leicester Jester
Is still great.
As yet he has
No Sell-by date.

Bent over the table
Like a bird of prey
Neil Robertson
Makes opponents pay!

When Murphy the Magician
Hits top form
The baize for him
Lies smooth as a lawn.

And finally
There’s Marco Fu
Whose gaze is calm,
Whose aim is true.