Spectator competition winner: The poetry of cricket (plus: can you see a rainbow?)

In Competition No. 2903 you were invited to supply a poem incorporating a dozen cricketing terms. English poets love cricket: Housman, Betjeman, Chesterton and Sassoon all wrote about the game. And then, of course, there is Harold Pinter, who encapsulated it so beautifully in two lines:

I saw Len Hutton in his prime, Another time, another time.

I admired P.C. Parrish’s clever poem in the opaque modernist style of Edith Sitwell. Tim Raikes, Peter Goulding, Nick Hodgson and Rosemary Kirk also stood out in a large and impressive field. The winners earn £25 apiece. Brian Allgar takes £30.

Brian Allgar My wife reminds me of a game of cricket: A splendid sport, but hard to comprehend. I often feel I’m on a sticky wicket — Caught out, or stumped, or driven round the bend.

And when she starts to eye the heavy roller, Or pads towards the dreaded daisy-cutter, I know it’s time to grab my coat and bowler; ‘Must just run out to buy some fags,’ I mutter.

The day we met, she truly bowled me over, Eyelashes batting, tempting me to sin.