I joined a bowls club last year and found myself enjoying the pastime.  I wrote the following 'poem' at the end of the season.   One of my first endeavours.

Autumn meant the end of the bowls season,
 A pastime, which, for many, has no reason.
 With it’s competitions, friendlies, and roll-ups.
 No! not a ciggie, opportunities for tune ups,
 Greens upon which friends, each try to outplay
 By releasing a wood on it’s curving way

Sometimes sun baked, occasionally soaked,
 Other times romantically, mistily, cloaked,
 Cromer Marrams enviously elevated above the sea
 Members hoping for weather so balmy
 But, whatever the weather joy can be found
 Especially when the words ‘a toucher’ resound

Remember last Spring, with it’s early promise
 All leagues and challenges sorted and, no bias,
 A look to the season forthcoming
 Notices pinned up for names to be adding
 Smiles all around, with just the occasional scowl,
 A hope that there will be no need to call foul

The clubhouse buzzes with earnest intent
 Then out to the tourney let’s make it a splendid event
 The captains’ words, he or she does expound
 Then split into teams, handshakes all around
 Newbies rubbing shoulders with those so well versed
 But all are now equal, in the sport, deeply immersed

Sadly, time moves on, to the final day
 The verve that filled many a step, no longer gay
 Shoulder to shoulder, members all stand, only one game to finish
 Please let it end with a wonderful flourish
 Rink number one from road to sea for that tourney
 Soon, a final drink, leaving only, the homeward journey

The evening draws on, a slight chill in the air
 The last wood to be bowled, Oh! let it be fair,
 That sensuous curve, it’s on the right track,
 Closer, yet closer, nearing the jack,
 This one final effort please don’t let it miss
 Then slowly, slowly, they touch.    A last fond kiss.

Photo is of my wife bowling

© Jack Purvis  OOPs