A Snooker Poem



In a room of silence, dimly lit,
Where cues collide and balls commit,
There lies a game of skill and might,
Where snooker’s dance unfolds each night.


Upon the green, a table vast,
Where ivory spheres roll steadfast,
A tapestry of colors bright,
In a game that tests one’s inner sight.


The break begins, a gentle stroke,
As white ball dances, gentle cloak,
A MASTER’S hand, a poet’s grace,
Guiding balls in rhythmic chase.

Reds and yellows, pinks and blues,
A symphony of hues imbues,
With each careful shot, a story told,
Of triumph, defeat, and stories old.

The cue in hand, a steady gaze,
Aiming true through glassy balls,
Precision reigns, a player’s creed,
As balls find pockets with utmost speed.

Strategy weaves its intricate thread,
As players calculate, minds widespread,
Safeties played, defenses strong,
A battle fought, both short and long. 

The crowd in hush, eyes firmly fixed,
As players weave their snooker tricks,
A whispered gasp, a cheer of delight,
As centuries are reached in the dead of night.

Snooker, the game that tests the soul,
Where patience and skill take their toll,
A dance of strategy, finesse, and flair,
A testament to those who dare.

So, let us celebrate this noble game,
Where champions rise and etch their name,
In the annals of snooker’s grand design,
A game of brilliance, truly divine.

VICTORY belongs to the most TENNACIOUS.


Subscribe to the weekly newsletter

Get news and articles delivered to your inbox

  • This field is for validation purposes and should be left unchanged.

Have a question or a comment

We want to hear from you