Today's poet

There's a guy who calls himself Whippet,
Old too but maybe fit with it?
He runs in the hills
for his thrills and his spills
but careful now, who knows, he may just flip it!!

:D

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

ooo did you say encore?

Old Whippet - a fell running Hound
Goes out with a leap and a bound
O'er streams and ghylls
Mountains and hills
And some day the Bob Graham round.



Ok Ok that's all.
I think today, we've had domestic violence, dessicated love unfulfilled, pastoral delights, other stuff i can't remember as well as a flurry of limericks.
What a place this poetry corner is. Just wished that more words rhymed with whippet.

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Brilliant...a really great effort to round off the limericks (that's a challenge to everyone else!). I suggest pipit & snippet.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

Brilliant...a really great effort to round off the limericks (that's a challenge to everyone else!). I suggest pipit & snippet.

---

oh god! enough.
And HHH - i now see how you cheat!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

oh god! enough.
And HHH - i now see how you cheat!

---

I didn't cheat....didn't dare!! :D

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

oh god! enough.
And HHH - i now see how you cheat!

---

Cheat! :eek: I posted the link for you all at the start of all this! :D:D

Yours are all the better for not stooping to my wiley ways!

The question is 'cheat or not cheat?'
Writing limericks is no easy feat.
Harmless generator,
Or lies from a faker?
The result is always a treat.

Fell Runner

I’ve had my share of the Pennine air,
On mountain and moorland and fell.
I’ve seen groughs of peat, all covered in sleet,
And they looked like the ash tips of Hell.

I’ve run through the bogs, where you wouldn’t send dogs,
In places a man cannot forget.
I’ve sunk to my belly, in peat like black jelly,
And never a moment to regret.

I’ve traversed terrain till my legs have gone lame,
I know about pain and persistence.
I’ve gone the wrong way on a fifteen mile day,
And had to run double the distance.

Though folk here may grin, as they ask where I’ve been,
Not runners, just talkers and boozers.
I’ve seen the white hare, and felt freedom there,
And I know that they are the losers.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by XRunner

Fell Runner

I’ve had my share of the Pennine air,
On mountain and moorland and fell.
I’ve seen groughs of peat, all covered in sleet,
And they looked like the ash tips of Hell.

I’ve run through the bogs, where you wouldn’t send dogs,
In places a man cannot forget.
I’ve sunk to my belly, in peat like black jelly,
And never a moment to regret.

I’ve traversed terrain till my legs have gone lame,
I know about pain and persistence.
I’ve gone the wrong way on a fifteen mile day,
And had to run double the distance.

Though folk here may grin, as they ask where I’ve been,
Not runners, just talkers and boozers.
I’ve seen the white hare, and felt freedom there,
And I know that they are the losers.

---

That's brilliant X Runner - a great poem for me to sign off to. Good night all.:)

Making the Bed
by Burt Kimmelman

for D.



Summer country. In the morning the leaves
bend

to the window and fold
the house in. Mountains and sun. I fold

the blankets, hand smooth. When
you’re here

I know it. The sun crosses

the hand’s breadth—

and in your face

the unenterable
image. Under

your eyelids
night unfolds. Pull

the blanket over you
and with it

the darkened air.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by XRunner

Fell Runner

I’ve had my share of the Pennine air,
On mountain and moorland and fell.
I’ve seen groughs of peat, all covered in sleet,
And they looked like the ash tips of Hell.

I’ve run through the bogs, where you wouldn’t send dogs,
In places a man cannot forget.
I’ve sunk to my belly, in peat like black jelly,
And never a moment to regret.

I’ve traversed terrain till my legs have gone lame,
I know about pain and persistence.
I’ve gone the wrong way on a fifteen mile day,
And had to run double the distance.

Though folk here may grin, as they ask where I’ve been,
Not runners, just talkers and boozers.
I’ve seen the white hare, and felt freedom there,
And I know that they are the losers.

---

That is class. Normal quality of service on this thread has returned. This is another quality one for the 'spirit of fell running' chapter

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by southernsoftie

The question is 'cheat or not cheat?'
Writing limericks is no easy feat.
Harmless generator,
Or lies from a faker?
The result is always a treat.

---

genius softie!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

genius softie!

---

was mine rubbish :o he's just showing off! :rolleyes:

okay...that's me done then, perhaps the limericks are as bad as the singing?! at least you lot can't hear that!!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

That's brilliant X Runner - a great poem for me to sign off to. Good night all.:)

Making the Bed
by Burt Kimmelman

for D.



Summer country. In the morning the leaves
bend

to the window and fold
the house in. Mountains and sun. I fold

the blankets, hand smooth. When
you’re here

I know it. The sun crosses

the hand’s breadth—

and in your face

the unenterable
image. Under

your eyelids
night unfolds. Pull

the blanket over you
and with it

the darkened air.

---

I'm now afflicted by having to read everything in a Limerick style. :eek: I'll come back to this in the morning with a clear head.

X-runner - describes mey experiences in the pennines to a tee. Wonderful stuff. and I've never seen the word 'grough' before.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by emmilou

was mine rubbish :o he's just showing off! :rolleyes:

okay...that's me done then, perhaps the limericks are as bad as the singing?! at least you lot can't hear that!!

---

yours was a work of self-evident beauty!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by emmilou

was mine rubbish :o he's just showing off! :rolleyes:

okay...that's me done then, perhaps the limericks are as bad as the singing?! at least you lot can't hear that!!

---

Your Whippet one beat mine.;)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

That is class. Normal quality of service on this thread has returned. This is another quality one for the 'spirit of fell running' chapter

---

I second that which is about all I am capable of and apologies for being a poetry thread voyeur tonight...I peaked this afternoon and now I am spent. My bike ride was probably a bit too exciting for one who lives in splendid isolation...:D

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by XRunner

Fell Runner

I’ve had my share of the Pennine air,
On mountain and moorland and fell.
I’ve seen groughs of peat, all covered in sleet,
And they looked like the ash tips of Hell.

I’ve run through the bogs, where you wouldn’t send dogs,
In places a man cannot forget.
I’ve sunk to my belly, in peat like black jelly,
And never a moment to regret.

I’ve traversed terrain till my legs have gone lame,
I know about pain and persistence.
I’ve gone the wrong way on a fifteen mile day,
And had to run double the distance.

Though folk here may grin, as they ask where I’ve been,
Not runners, just talkers and boozers.
I’ve seen the white hare, and felt freedom there,
And I know that they are the losers.

---

this is wonderful x runner....thank you , all your own work too? :) suitably impressed

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Mossdog

That's brilliant X Runner - a great poem for me to sign off to. Good night all.:)

Making the Bed
by Burt Kimmelman

for D.



Summer country. In the morning the leaves
bend

to the window and fold
the house in. Mountains and sun. I fold

the blankets, hand smooth. When
you’re here

I know it. The sun crosses

the hand’s breadth—

and in your face

the unenterable
image. Under

your eyelids
night unfolds. Pull

the blanket over you
and with it

the darkened air.

---

Aaaaaaah this is so lovely, wish I had the opportunity to read it myself before turning in last night...thanks mossdog :)

By the river
Hu Shih
(1915)

Screened by the trees the sound of the brook is a soft jingle;
To welcome us the birds sing in a chatter.
Together we have penetrated the quiet path along the winding stream;
I for you collect berries,
You bedeck my hair with blossoms.

Anon we sit together on the water -brink,
With a tree to shade the haughty sun.
Deep in talk we reck naught of the evening rooks:
At this hour there is only you and I,
And what room is there for them?

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

From the Princess
A L Tennyson

Good Morning

I woke up early this morning,
the earth lay cool and still,
when suddenly a tiny bird,
perched on my window sill,
it sang a song so lovely,
so carefree and so gay,
that slowly all my troubles,
began to slip away,
it sang of far off places,
of laughter and of fun,
it seemed his very song,
brought out the morning sun.

By Anonymous

And here's some I prepared earlier:

The Haiku Limericks (couldn't choose between the two)

H ave some fun and try a haiku,
A fter all, you've got nothing to lose.
I *f at first you're not hooked
K ill some time with a book
U ntil inspiration wafts into view.

Having fun with these wonderous haikus,
Try! You've got nothing to lose.
Though short (judged in meters)
There is nothing sweeter
Than these drops of poetic dew.

The Limerick Haiku

Light hearted verse
Invites contributions.
Highly addictive.

The Lonely Aardvark

There once was a tiny aardvark,
Who when talked did talk with a bark.
Other creatures were wary,
And thought her contrary,
So she played alone in the park.

Looks like I started something with the limericks...


There were some brave runners from Bath
Who went out at night for a laugh
By the light of head torches
They certainly scared the horses
And a few dogwalkers they found on their path..

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

I've never seen the word 'grough' before.

---

When you run over Kinder and Bleaklow, groughs are the most significant feature:
http://www.grough.co.uk/images/stories/kinder28.jpg

Groughs make wonderful paths to run on the plateau and provide shelter from the wind.
Beware the hags on Kinder however!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

I second that which is about all I am capable of and apologies for being a poetry thread voyeur tonight...I peaked this afternoon and now I am spent. My bike ride was probably a bit too exciting for one who lives in splendid isolation...:D

---

Ha ha. I know exactly what you mean. That's why I liked that Wendy Cope poem on being boring (that's me, not you :)) as the highlight of my week is quite often a quick run out in the dark and rain.

Apart from this week of course when I was two contractions away from delivering a baby at home. :eek:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

ss this is brilliant! what a star!:):D

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Cheers!:) I like the aardvark one best.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

Ha ha. I know exactly what you mean. That's why I liked that Wendy Cope poem on being boring (that's me, not you :)) as the highlight of my week is quite often a quick run out in the dark and rain.

Apart from this week of course when I was two contractions away from delivering a baby at home. :eek:

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:)...that must have been excitement overload! I once delivered five small puppies and it was one of the most moving and incredibly exciting times ever so I am imagining that tenfold and probably don't even come close! Quiet day in my studio today and a little Neruda, a man after my own heart that gets excited about everday things:

Ode to a Pair of Socks

Maru Mori brought me
a pair
of socks
that she knit with her
shepherd's hands.
Two socks as soft
as rabbit fur.
I thrust my feet
inside them
as if they were
two
little boxes
knit
from threads
of sunset
and sheepskin.

My feet were
two woolen
fish
in those outrageous socks,
two gangly,
navy-blue sharks
impaled
on a golden thread,
two giant blackbirds,
two cannons:
thus
were my feet
honored
by
those
heavenly
socks.
They were
so beautiful
I found my feet
unlovable
for the very first time,
like two crusty old
firemen, firemen
unworthy
of that embroidered
fire,
those incandescent
socks.

Nevertheless
I fought
the sharp temptation
to put them away
the way schoolboys
put
fireflies in a bottle,
the way scholars
hoard
holy writ.
I fought
the mad urge
to lock them
in a golden
cage
and feed them birdseed
and morsels of pink melon
every day.
Like jungle
explorers
who deliver a young deer
of the rarest species
to the roasting spit
then wolf it down
in shame,
I stretched
my feet forward
and pulled on
those
gorgeous
socks,
and over them
my shoes.

So this is
the moral of my ode:
beauty is beauty
twice over
and good things are doubly
good
when you're talking about a pair of wool
socks
in the dead of winter.

Still on the limericks I see.
Just as well - you wouldn't believe it, but I was in the attic earlier and found this unpublished Limerick by Sylvia Plath hand written on a beer mat.
What's the chances of that?

Today's a good day for dying
For sobbing and moaning and crying
If you tell me tomorrow
Wont bring as much sorrow
I'll know that you're obviously lying.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by XRunner

When you run over Kinder and Bleaklow groughs are the most significant feature:
http://www.grough.co.uk/images/stories/kinder28.jpg

Groughs make wonderful paths to run on the plateau and provide shelter from the wind.
Beware the hags on Kinder however!

---

Thanks for that XR - with an example too. Looking at that picture has brought back traumatic memories of the middle third of the Allendale Challenge. Shudder.
Now I know my hags from my groughs.

your not going to believe this...in an attempt to recycle a tuna can i just cut my thumb and it won't stop bleeding...made me think of this bit of plath..,. hope she isn't using me as a conduit...not sure i'm up the task!!!!

Cut
by Sylvia Plath

For Susan O'Neill Roe

What a thrill--
My thumb instead of an onion,
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of a hinge

Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.

Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls

Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz.

A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one.

Whose side are they on?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill

The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man --

The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when

The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence

How you jump --
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.

there may be blood on the lap top
but i fear not
still running this sunny afternoon

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

there may be blood on the lap top
but i fear not
still running this sunny afternoon

---

Ohhh noo...I hope it stops bleeding soon. I loved the Plath. You have inspired me to seek out more of her poetry. I am ashamed to say that I haven't read any for years until this thread so thanks for rekindling my interest.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by freckle

there may be blood on the lap top
but i fear not
still running this sunny afternoon

---

that's pretty hardcore Freckle - poetry whilst still dripping blood.
Anyone here beat that?
Only joking folks! Lets not have a literary bloodbath.

Mudclaws ready and off to the hills for me. Where who knows, there may be scraps of parchment floating around with hitherto unknown works by Sassoon, Hopkins and co.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Still on the limericks I see.
Just as well - you wouldn't believe it, but I was in the attic earlier and found this unpublished Limerick by Sylvia Plath hand written on a beer mat.
What's the chances of that?

Today's a good day for dying
For sobbing and moaning and crying
If you tell me tomorrow
Wont bring as much sorrow
I'll know that you're obviously lying.

---

Old Whippet...you never cease to amaze me. Can I have a root around in your attic? If you had written this, I'd be so impressed as it is pretty much perfect in rhyme and rhythm but as Plath did it, I'd expect nothing less. ;)

Wow...this is amazing, I just found this at the back of my potting shed written on the back of an envelope addressed to someone called W. H. Auden:

There was a mechanic named Bud
who seemed like a bit of a stud
on a spring day of leisure
we shared immense pleasure
and ended up rolling in mud.

I'm guessing the two friends went for a nice wholesome fell run.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

:)...that must have been excitement overload! I once delivered five small puppies and it was one of the most moving and incredibly exciting times ever so I am imagining that tenfold and probably don't even come close! Quiet day in my studio today and a little Neruda, a man after my own heart that gets excited about everday things:

Ode to a Pair of Socks

Maru Mori brought me
a pair
of socks
that she knit with her
shepherd's hands....

---

I love that. My Gran knits socks that are so unfashionable that they must border on the fashionable again.

I think it was Eddie Izzard who said fashion was circular. I can't remember it perfectly, and I can't write in circles, but it went something like this...

Fashionable
Stylish
Nice
Plain
Practical
Gross
Rediculous
Fashionable (repeat ad finitum)

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

Wow...this is amazing, I just found this at the back of my potting shed written on the back of an envelope addressed to someone called W. H. Auden:

There was a mechanic named Bud
who seemed like a bit of a stud
on a spring day of leisure
we shared immense pleasure
and ended up rolling in mud.

I'm guessing the two friends went for a nice wholesome fell run.

---

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Old Whippet

Today's a good day for dying
For sobbing and moaning and crying
If you tell me tomorrow
Wont bring as much sorrow
I'll know that you're obviously lying.

---

What fantastic luck to find them. They are brilliant :D

p.s. I'm sure you're right about the fell running / mud scenario. Just what I thought too ;):)

I think it is the lack of sleep, but I'm already feeling weary about going back to work after the paternity leave....

I can't decide whether a run or a sleep would make me feel better. :)

Leaving Today

So suddenly awake.
No light from yonder window breaks, no crowing cock,
Just my old clock, please make it stop.
I try to wrestle free,
But like the dew she clings to me,
"No way Jose, you don't get away that easily".

Leaving today, leaving today, leaving today.

"Release me let me go.
I love you more that you could know.
All I can do is promise to come home to you".
I tip-toe from the bed
And put my head around the nursery door to say good-bye.
It breaks my heart every single time.

I'm leaving today, I'm leaving today, I'm leaving today.

I would stay if you asked me, so for God's sake don't ask me to stay.
My taxi has arrived. Good-bye sweet simple life, good-bye.

The city's waking up.
Dreams fizzle out like raindrops racing down the glass.
They blur the street-lamps as we pass.

N Hannon

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

I think it is the lack of sleep, but I'm already feeling weary about going back to work after the paternity leave....

I can't decide whether a run or a sleep would make me feel better. :)

Leaving Today

So suddenly awake.
No light from yonder window breaks, no crowing cock,
Just my old clock, please make it stop.
I try to wrestle free,
But like the dew she clings to me,
"No way Jose, you don't get away that easily".

Leaving today, leaving today, leaving today.

"Release me let me go.
I love you more that you could know.
All I can do is promise to come home to you".
I tip-toe from the bed
And put my head around the nursery door to say good-bye.
It breaks my heart every single time.

I'm leaving today, I'm leaving today, I'm leaving today.

I would stay if you asked me, so for God's sake don't ask me to stay.
My taxi has arrived. Good-bye sweet simple life, good-bye.

The city's waking up.
Dreams fizzle out like raindrops racing down the glass.
They blur the street-lamps as we pass.

N Hannon

---

That's a lovely poem HHH.

I reckon a run is on the agenda. You'll get all energised and then when you do sleep it will be a good sleep (until the little one wakes up!)...

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Hes

That's a lovely poem HHH.

I reckon a run is on the agenda. You'll get all energised and then when you do sleep it will be a good sleep (until the little one wakes up!)...

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Its actually a Divine Comedy lyric which I adore. Poetic enough to post I thought. I've been hunting out my favourites and will post more later.

You've convinced me. I'll get my kit on. Back in ten mile. :)