Sussex Interclub Alma Maters.

Buxted.


The Bluebell Wood.


In the shire, there is a wood,
A leafy dell, where Hobbits shoot,
When all about is wild and wet,
The Buxted wood is better kept,





A magic place, serene, sublime,

The hallowed haunt of fifty-nine,
One by one, step up the best,
Yet none so far, have passed the test,





A spell long cast in days of old,

To thwart the brave, the strong, the bold,
Words abound and deeds are few,
The three score waits, a champion true,





Will it be me?

Perchance 'tis you.






AGM.2008

Swallows


Swallows



In a field amongst the poop,

You'll find the place where Swallows shoot,
Where nettles grow without restraint,
And Swallows shoot without complaint.




A dreadful place, should there be rain,
Yet one and all, came back again,
One by one, all stop to shoot,
Amid the nettles and piles of poop,




Guard yourself against the rain,
Against the nettles, they're such a pain,
Enjoy the day and shoot 'til lunch,
Courtesy of, the Swallows Bunch.




By Beth, edited by TBM.

Ford

Ford by Richard.
Come to land of concrete and ball
Where the rats are obscure and the crows mighty tall

Come to the land where the wind blows and tumbles
Your shots oft land wide - we are used to the grumbles

Come to the land where the blocks mark the distance
But alter the angle? They'll all need assistance

Come to the land of concrete and ball
Come with a grin, we'll welcome you all
Mileoak.


Eau de Spongey.



No Bluebells blue, to cheer the view,


Just toxic air and wind so keen,


And the queerest folk that ere were seen.
To clear their wood and start anew,


The work they’ve done would make you weep,


It will not burn, they tried all week.



Bull and bluff and other pooh,


Targets lost and hidden in thistle,


They lost a man but found his whistle.



Buxted have "A Champion true"


'The Oaks' just cannot see the joke,


Their eyes are blind by smog & smoke,



Further West is Kathmandu,


Another place just like Mile Oak,


The natives smell and don’t use soap!



Adapted from an original work by Aunty Spongerina.



Horsham
My spirit has risen far above the land and I look down as my wings slowly ride the updrafts as I watch the creatures the hobbits and the swallows so very high above the mighty oak's far below, moving slowly across the land
Knowing that I watch them perhaps they wonder who is this hawk that flies far above looking down on them and wondering when he will come down to land upon their hand




I have flown my spirit to many sites and looked down upon many people and wondered if they knew of my presence and found out from time to time that they did in fact know
Sharing a moment with them, perhaps in a dream, they have watched the hawk flying far above and thought of my visits to them as the hawk circles far above so very slow




So if you feel the soft rustle of a wing in your dreams one night. In your dream perhaps it will be me sharing a shooting moment with you to take you for a ride so very high
Do not be afraid but ride with the hawks high above the rest to look down on the land and perhaps you shall learn something of yourself that you did not know

by derek