Early in the week I was thrilled to be invited to participate in the annual AFL grand final haiku event run by fellow Footy Almanacker Rob Scott from his Melbourne bunker.

Haiku is the Japanese poetry from which, translated into English, consists of three lines of five syllables, then seven and finishing with five. Traditionally, it centres on natural imagery often involving seasonal change.

As such it lends itself well to the theatre and agony of footy.

Across the week and then on Saturday dozens of poets contributed. It was fun to read and also write and offered structure and interest in what was otherwise a game devoid of appeal for me.

So, we had lunch during which I ran out of barbeque gas part way through cooking it. I love when people say, ‘I was part way through cooking the barbie and I ran outta gas.’ How else would this happen? Do folks turn on their barbeques, forget to pop some chops on the hotplate and just let it run until the gas splutters out?

first bounce kept this year

broadcaster craves for twilight

fans soon in the dark

footy’s biggest week

Family Club cruelty broke

icy winds inward

morning rituals

butcher doing a brisk trade

time to mow the lawn

excited for lunch

pain as gas bottle’s empty

and B Taylor speaks

how many times will

BT say ‘here’ with a spare

syllable? Awful.

avian blunders

Hawk’s a massive lurking Cat

Joel Selwood’s a duck

Cats are flying

Swans are flightless, earthbound, cut

restore nature now!

Swans must hear music

They’ve torn up all their hymn sheets

tuneless as Meatloaf

Cats pouncing on Swans

Port fans suddenly hoping

120 points

Red and white bleeding

onto William Barak Bridge

empty seats and hearts

channel 7 scrambling

Norm Smith narrative lacks fizz

But on they still bleat