twilight game the city’s groan circles the Dome from wing to wing we try to make the ball go forward Dogs on another fast break paint peeling from the rafters leisurely Leon spears a pass to his opponent getting jumpy Wellingham crumbs and goals his own fumble twilight our hopes slowly fade but fade they [Read more]

Sunday football – players emerge head-bowed from their sermons     blowing a gale – trees and forwards stripped of life     for some the ball goes only where the wind wants it to     two fumbles and suddenly Dick in the clear     late winter squall – smooth passing gone with [Read more]

early resistance over before my first beer    shaking off winter Swan loses another tag     late winter squall spot fires stretch across half-forward   dust settles… magpies go back to feeding on remains   fragmented sky Didak holding it all together   kick out – passing clouds bunch up   empty paper bag [Read more]

mid-August returning on cue dreaded hope TV game in prime position the sleeping dog night begins to cool players not yet hardened to their task deceived by the bounce clouds leave behind the moon moonlight mixes with wine the game starts to open up time-on game in the balance dog snores at my feet magnolias [Read more]

  murky stars the air heavy with Presti’s absence     deep winter the mating season for misdirected kicks     moon glint a daisy among the weeds of our forward line     night mist Leon turns expressionist     another behind – a seagull sails between the big sticks     slow moving [Read more]

Friday Night Football florescent ump waits for TV cue I slurp plastic beer

hot start the coolness in our play Leon’s blind turn I top up the wine glass without looking surrounded by winter O’Bree works the ball loose unnoticed rolling thunder the ball tumbles from end to end dwindling lead I take everything back in winter’s hold driven only by the goal we need less than a [Read more]

first bounce the calm of dusk disperses   green shoots spear through charred remains Cloke finding form   no breeze to speak of the moon at the scoring end   artificial light Daisy’s goal fanciful   Presti repels another attack moths bash into floodlights   wondering what it is that makes Jack kick so straight [Read more]