England v South Africa

The mighty Springbok, the wildebeest;
Transvaal troops are here to feast!
Cotezee burned by heat of braai
Kiwi roasting has gone by!

Seek shelter now on British shores,
Hoping now to settle scores.
Recoup, rebuild to mount assault
On Twickenhams famous fortress vault.

Tables mountain challenge tops,
Squeeze English lifeblood of its last drops.
But English fare have built their wall,
And now together they're standing tall!

But Jones still feels under pressure,
Despite Grand Slam it shows the measure,
Of will and drive of General Jones,
To achieve success such pride he owns.

Not satisfied by 3-0 white wash,
Autumn Internationals new path to cross.
Challenge of a year's clean sweep;
The leaves of last year buried deep!

Intensity of the training camps,
Preparation authority they try and stamp;
Broken legs and broken jaws,
England honour opens doors:

Key members of the squad depleted,
Strength in depth, players replaced repeated.
For those from cold, this is your chance,
To lead them with the merry dance.

South Africa, Australia and Fiji,
England take your chance to be;
Cock's of the North, and Southern too,
Means All Black's will come into view!

So first the Springbok must be tamed,
Wrestled strong, a forwards game,
Be brutal in defence,
Give nothing and send them whence?

With backs on hand to snipe and race,
To finish with an heir of grace.
Bring on this challenge your chance to take,
And earn the title of English greats!

Shirt of Legends

Eighteen victories on the bounce,
Matches close, matches trounced.
World Cups back to back,
Welcome of mighty All Black's!

Dominant in this great game:
Kiwi Fern this silver slither,
Others bow and wither.
Haka's sight is no forgiver,
Ruthless streak not for the meek;
Relish the tourist's visit.

But might, for Lions too.
The very best of Northern lights!
See chink of light against the Black
They've earned the right
To wear the shirt of legends.

Summon up every ounce of spirit,
Honour housed inside the badge:
Cameraderie held within it!
The chosen few, to join the pride,
Who wear the shirt of legends!

So as Young Lions, you take the field;
For everyone on British Isles,
You wear the shirt for us.
Hand picked few, go join the pride
You've earned the right,
Bright leading lights
To wear the shirt of legends!

Numquam im GOBO cacate

Remember the one and only rule,
The law of touring's golden jewel:
Play your rugby please think smartly
Above all else Numquam im GOBO cacate!

Whatever happens, whatever japes,
Remember together we are mates;
On the field, or in the Sun,
We know the rule that's number one:
Numquam im GOBO cacate!

Dougal obeyed law laid in stone,
Team comes first, you're never alone;
And when you've heard the final whistle,
Remember President's prime epistle:
Numquam im GOBO cacate

Rules and boundaries, over stepped marks.
Some are pushed by cunning larks,
But there's a line that never be crossed,
Or we'll cast away, your soul be lost:
Numquam im GOBO cacate!

Bow down low to Buffalo rules,
Accept the fine, right stupid fools!
Keep left and down them hard,
But don't forget the motto's card:
Numquam im GOBO cacate!

Some rules for bending, some you break,
But there is one you never piss take:
The golden rule, you may annoy,
BUT never shit on a Good Old Boy!
Numquam im GOBO cacate!

Rugby Boots

I remember my first pair of metal studded boots.
How they played the Pied Pipers most mesmeric of flutes
That magic and memories the sound stirs around
Footsteps on tarmac on my old school playground
A magnificent feeling with joy I abound
Matched mud on my knee caps with a resonating sound

Was I watched at all by a Twickenham crowd?
Each metallic step would they cheer out loud?
Alas not for me it's my imagination that matters
Each step was a symbol a symphonic clatter
Accompanied of course by some small school boy chatter!

Transforming those small steps now each mighty stride
Oh first rugby boots how they'd be my guide
From moulded boot boy to the moulding of men
To shape me to guide me, oh yes and then
It gave me the hope of playing  U10

Those metal studs, bolt-like, seeming so small
But screwed in my boots made me ten feet tall
There were six metal studs screwed into each boot.
Dreaming that magic make me fleet of foot
Giving me confidence I started to strut

Like iron hammer stud striking church bell
With the sound of each footstep my chest it did swell
Protecting cajoling symphonic brotherhood.
This choral caste, that made each step good
Ensured I blossomed from this yearling bud!

The peeling of each ringing star studded stride
Each concrete footstep it filled me with pride
Something immense I now do belong
Collective protection in this happy throng
The church bell rang loudly I joined in its song

That simple sound of metal studded boots
The echoes from corridors like fine armoured suits
The moulding of me from forbidden fruit
Team bonding together they showed me the route
The thoughts that it triggers of my playing days
We should all have played rugby is the sound that it says!

U13 Rugby

I may have never played for the Lions
Or pulled on my countrys shirt
I've played some games of rugby though
Had my face rubbed in the dirt

I've trained down in a mud bowl
On a cold wet Thursday eve
I've cantered out on a perfect pitch
And rolled up rugby sleeves

When the rain sheets down and playing up hill
And the wind blows in your face
You know there'll be a second half
The score line is no disgrace

Been battered raked and bruised a bit
Suffered the odd bloody nose
But with these little incidents
Confidence comes and grows

Batten down the hatches
Get on and give your all
Believe in yourself believe in your team
The bigger, the harder they fall

Been soundly thrashed had glorious wins
Its time now to believe
That playing through those hard times
You have to give to receive

The Lions play for the jersey
They play for the honour and crest
I play for all of my team mates
And as long as I try my best 

According to Sir Ian McGeechan
In an eloquent speech
I'm part of the Lions team make up
Oh what Rugby heights I've reached!

Autumn

Leaving is such sweet sorrow!
As they tumble from their branch hold;
Once firm, now free.
Released, relinquished to the will of Autumn's breeze;
This frieze; the green, golden, amber, browns,
Waiting in their departure lounge;
Once heraldic crowns now drowned.
The yellows of the setting sun, this last hurrah their loud fanfare.
The crunch of crispness underfoot.
Relief their job's been done. Enjoy your brief retirement.
Fondest farewell, shades signaling deciduous departure
To return in Spring, refreshed, renewed
The time for new belief!
But Autumn colours, such richness and inspiring views stretch out beneath!

Kicking leaves

There's golds, there's rusts, there's light brown hues.
Olive green mixes, there's dark tans too.
Warm Autumn colours make wonderful views,
It's time to get out there in fine sturdy shoes!

Will you walk amongst the fresh falling leaves,
That crisp and curl beneath our feet,
Or come to life with the breath of a breeze
And dance and greet us when together we meet?

We give them help, sending them on their way
When striding, a kick in our high ankle boots.
They tip toe and tap dance in the wind they all sway,
Hiding in hedges amongst the tree roots!

Blown hither and thither before they whither to waste,
Tumbling and turning a compost it makes.
In the Spring time we'll give thanks
When the new buds awake
Remembering fondly those leaf kicking pranks!

The colours of fall the warmth you instill,
Loving the Autumn fine vistas and views.
Like hot broth of soup warming memories fill,
A time to hold close our time to renew.
But what I love most at this time of year
Is kicking those leaves and holding you near!