Skeleton Bob

A winter Olympiad poem, inspired by the Gb team

I watched in awe as off they flew

Down the run of ice clear blue

On a craft to generate speed

Carving through ice quickfast was the need

As excited crowds they passed on by

They cheered them on as athletes did fly

And they did this more than once or twice

Navigating track all covered in ice

Aiming to make the fastest time drop

Running through finish line before they did stop

And repeating the task to achieve bronze thru to gold

To beating the clock in the ice and the cold


Edge of your seat stuff


Old Trafford, Manchester

3rd December 2017


They’ve been doing this for years

Sat in the arena watching the gladiators

Facing off against one another

Spectators nails chewed to the quick

as the clock ticks down to the 90th minute

cheering every tackle

calling every decision

applauding every header

and jumping for joy if their team wins



As the competition began to place

The audience and judges shivered in their space

As a young guard, who’d never done the job before

Created a draft inside on the competition floor

Now this might not be bad for contestants so bold,

But judges observing were getting a cold

Said head judge to colleagues, as he spoke to all

I think next year, it’s summer not fall

And sending out messages to stewards away from floor

I know it’s an open…but someone please…shut that door 🚪




force of nature

turning tides

moving sails

of mighty mariners


coming from all directions

moving.ears of corn from left to right

making musical sounds in the reeds

heard by animals in the fields


Force harnessed by the sportsman

taking the tide as a challenge

riding the wind with colourful silks

and cutting through water on board with sails


Ode to a Kite

Northerly and westerly

Olympia Landed

Some place, Some where

It began on a field of green

on a soggy spring day


And as the rain fell

muddy puddles splashed

as damp feet advanced


The grey soon disappeared

as speeds increased and

coaches unleashed new hurdles


Soon young minds engaged

beating Ra to the punch

and clock times were smashed


Leading to a moment

a time in the sun

where medals were gained, by leading from the front



A poem by Brian F Kirkham



Perhaps it was fate intervening

Under the lights of the one – on – one run off

New champion releases a breath – as old one curses release from a tyre

Cut by something sharp on the road

Taking the title away from him

Until then, the pressure to succeed was all on him

Reflections of what could have been – expected

Even now. he’s giving a cursing glare down the tarmac road