SJC Ultimate

Welcome to St John's College Ultimate Frisbee Team!

Frisbee (and other) Poetry

A collection of match reports in poetic form by our great (past) Captain and poet Ashwin.
If you have in interest in both Frisbee and poetry, and would like to add to this collection, please do contact the Captain!

25.05.2013: Disclaimers vs. ChrEmBroke

Another Shakespearean Sonet:

You mocking fool, unruly Sun, why do
You only call on us to then expose
Our woe; our team was too manly, too few.
Still, Thundercatz to fight, we faced our foes.

We few, we happy few, each man a brother –
I could not seek a nobler team. Besides,
The fewer men the greater share of honour;
I would not wish one more to flank my sides.

A mighty effort mighty souls provide;
I gloried in our force, our zeal, our skill –
Is there a man but me who feels such pride?
Not one of us did care we fought uphill.

6-5 we won. What feats we did that day,
No other match will all time hence outweigh.

And as an extra treat, a poem by William Cory: Heraclitus:

They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead,
They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed.
I wept as I remember'd how often you and I
Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky.

And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest,
A handful of grey ashes, long, long ago at rest,
Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake;
For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take.

05.05.2013: Disclaimers vs. ChrEmBroke

'Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May';
The bard spoke true - the rain though, he forgot.
Our nine assembled caring not a jot.
When ChrEmBroke came the game got underway.

Our own Blitzkrieg did come without delay,
Our front four's zeal did make their handling rot;
When half-time came the score had not a blot.
I to our shining team must homage pay;

In Kratos Chris in spirit has a peer,
AJ, Woody, Naughty, Long Leung, Netball,
Numberwang and Jenny Red - all premier.

The sun did shine to mark our record haul,
And though my poor speech showed I'm no Shakespeare,
At thirteen-nil I care not what my drawl.

And the extra bit of poetic goodness for this time comes from Walt Whitman (1819–1892):

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won;
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

28.04.2013: Disclaimers vs. Penguins

A Shakespearean Sonet:

Our nine brave souls did come to Jesus Green,
Though did the rain the masses keep away.
The Penguins too did slothfully convene;
And thus it was, we entered in the fray.

A sudden Blitzkrieg from the foe ensued;
They stole two points before we chanced to blink.
Though by mid-game we had three points accrued,
Their seven left us traipsing on the brink.

Though tactics none had our captain relayed,
His oranges at half-time worked a treat,
And with the restart we well sexy played,
Their handling skill could not our zeal compete.

Alas too late the mighty charge did come,
And though nine-six we fell 'twas far from glum.

For the extra poem this week we have Marlowe's Translation of Ovid's Elegia 5: Corinnae concubitus

In summers heate and mid-time of the day
To rest my limbes upon a bed I lay,
One window shut, the other open stood,
Which gave such light as twinkles in a wood,
Like twilight glimpse at setting of the Sunne,
Or night being past, and yet not day begunne.
Such light to shamefast maidens must be showne,
Where they may sport, and seeme to be unknowne.
Then came Corinna in a long loose gowne,
Her white neck hid with tresses hanging downe,
Resembling fayre Semiramis going to bed,
Or Layis of a thousand lovers sped.
I snatcht her gowne: being thin, the harme was small,
Yet strived she to be covered therewithall.
And striving thus as one that would be cast,
Betrayde her selfe, and yeelded at the last.
Starke naked as she stood before mine eye,
Not one wen in her body could I spie.
What armes and shoulders did I touch and see,
How apt her breasts were to be prest by me.
How smooth a belly under her wast saw I,
How large a legge, and what a lustie thigh?
To leave the rest, all liked me passing well,
I clinged her naked body, downe she fell,
Judge you the rest, being tirde she bad me kisse;
Jove send me more such after-noones as this.