<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The Games are Over for The Day<\/strong><\/p>\n I find myself a guest, Here in the clubhouse <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Bob Rogers<\/strong> has published poems in \u00a0Poetry Review, Bananas, Jo Soap’s Canoe, Tuba, Magma\u00a0<\/em>and\u00a0Grand Piano\u00a0<\/em>in the 80s and early 90s. Returning to poetry after a break to complete academic work. He has poems recently in\u00a0Coffee House, The Journal, Nightingale, Neon Highway, The Ugly Tree, Sentinel, Aesthetica, Monkey Kettle, Envoi, \u00a0Whiteleaf Review, Poetry Monthly, Nth Position <\/em>and Ariadne\u2019s Thread<\/em>.\u00a0A pamphlet of poems was published Dodman Press in 1985. \u00a0He has also published a number of educational books on creative writing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Games are Over for The Day I find myself a guest, where daily as a child, during summer\u2019s long heat, I peeped in. A small knothole in the wooden fence my vantage point. I saw the affluent limbs of young men and women chase the scudding ball across the court. I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-15041","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15041","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=15041"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15041\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":15043,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/15041\/revisions\/15043"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=15041"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=15041"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=15041"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nwhere daily as a child,
\nduring summer\u2019s long heat, I peeped in.
\nA small knothole in the wooden fence
\nmy vantage point.
\nI saw the affluent limbs of young men and women
\nchase the scudding ball across the court.
\nI watched those loose limbs bronze,
\nI watched breasts held taut against cotton.
\nI laughed and
\nfed on their energy,
\nsnaking through me like fire.
\nSeeing the future through this hole
\nMy expectation grew wild in the sun.<\/p>\n
\nreturning after years;
\nnot the colossus I expected to be
\nfrom the other side of the fence;
\nI find it strangely cold
\nas though the sun has gone in
\nand the games are over for the day.
\nI yearn to be small,
\nopen-eyed, glued to that knothole
\nmy senses full, creosote burning
\nin my nostrils,
\nthe future before me.<\/p>\n