Today's poet

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Stef F

Packing in progress
nerves shot adrenaline rush
BGR bekons

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Stef F trained hard
For the Love of the Lake's fells
Go Girl Power Go!

Just been outside in the peacefull tranquilty of the night,
They're all up there, the loved ones who have passed away,
Smiling down on us through twinkling stars,
Wishing us all the best, and urging us on when times are tough,
We'll join them one day, when we've worked as hard as they did to get up there,
Till then we must crack on and make them proud,
And know that we are loved and watched from above.

Just come back to the thread after a few days away and love the comedy 'haiku'. Brilliant!:thumbup:

There's been some great posts and original work from Steve and Mossy.

Stef - all the very best of luck for your BG, I hope you triumph!

chittering chatter
silhouettes against cobalt
the resting swallows

Good luck Stef

Thanks guys and girls :)

Setting off now.

Stef

I'm supporting another round going at the same time. Will say hello if I see you at dunmail or beyond. The best of luck.

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Originally Posted by Stef F

Thanks guys and girls :)

Setting off now.

Stef

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good luck stef inspiring stuff!

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Originally Posted by stevefoster

Calm your mind
Feed your face
Enjoy your day

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brilliant advice! some lovely work on here at the minute, my laptops been down so just catching up x

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Alf

Miles left in her wake
hills collapsed under her feet
Stef's dream realized


heres rooting for you kid :thumbup:

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sweet!

here is a mesage from kipling /hopper stef....do it for the girls!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ySRA0cNICuY

A deceit of lapwings

‘the false lapwynge, ful of trecherye’ Geoffrey Chaucer

Consider the shame of that name
even as they roller-coast over open skies,
over the secrets of ploughed fields,
keening and whooping to draw the farmhand on
away from their own open secret
nestled in its dark furrow.
See how she drags her uninjured wing
luring him from her little ones
as the boy with his bag counts his eggs,
and hatches in his mind
the money that will nestle in his purse.

Yet all over the down lands the skies are still thick
with the rush of their crossing, the thrum of their passing.

I know them by their secret names,
peewit, pie-wipe, chewit, tuefit,
the language of eggers and washmen and netters,
toppyup, peasiewheep, teewhuppo, thievnick,
telling their stories to tillers and ploughmen,
plivver, ticks-nicket, thievnig, peeweet.

And even now when a few come from nowhere
they are the sound of spring
a pied handful thrown against heaven,
the sky’s calligraphy.
They swoop and tumble for the madness of it,
and cry, wheezy and slurred,
soft and wild, joyful and grieving.

To lean on my spade
and open my heart to their wing music
and watch their looping sky-dance
and how they play with the wind,
is to want for nothing.

David Underdown

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

A deceit of lapwings

‘the false lapwynge, ful of trecherye’ Geoffrey Chaucer

Consider the shame of that name
even as they roller-coast over open skies,
over the secrets of ploughed fields,
keening and whooping to draw the farmhand on
away from their own open secret
nestled in its dark furrow.
See how she drags her uninjured wing
luring him from her little ones
as the boy with his bag counts his eggs,
and hatches in his mind
the money that will nestle in his purse.

Yet all over the down lands the skies are still thick
with the rush of their crossing, the thrum of their passing.

I know them by their secret names,
peewit, pie-wipe, chewit, tuefit,
the language of eggers and washmen and netters,
toppyup, peasiewheep, teewhuppo, thievnick,
telling their stories to tillers and ploughmen,
plivver, ticks-nicket, thievnig, peeweet.

And even now when a few come from nowhere
they are the sound of spring
a pied handful thrown against heaven,
the sky’s calligraphy.
They swoop and tumble for the madness of it,
and cry, wheezy and slurred,
soft and wild, joyful and grieving.

To lean on my spade
and open my heart to their wing music
and watch their looping sky-dance
and how they play with the wind,
is to want for nothing.

David Underdown

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Great choice Mossy, really enjoyed reading that. :cool:

I'm off up the lakes tomorrow for a long weekend of walking and running and maybe getting wet :rolleyes:.


What the Mountain Saw

They arrive by night, travel-stunned, and see nothing.
They sleep wrapped in pine-tang and the rush of waters.
The father is first awake. He clacks the shutters back
and a mountain squats square in the window, looking in.

It never leaves them, though it changes hour by hour,
twisting a scarf of cloud, or turning a hard profile
to the morning sun, or dissembling a sugar-pink haze.
However far they walk – and they walk, walk every day –

it's above them, a bit of beyond. Some snow hangs on
in shreds. This is a famous north face, and a killer.
Each day the father scans it with his old binoculars
for any hint of tracks, and never finds them.

So the holiday proceeds, in a series of snapshots.
Here, in mid-stride, he crests a rise, wife and child
at his boot-heels, tranced by their thud and the heat
and the insect hum. But the snow-face is no nearer.

Here, through veils of spruce, he breaks into a glade
possessed by pallid green-veined hellebores.
Or here, he brings the family, breathless, to its knees
before one icicle-white wild crocus. Here is the lake

he finds them, like a souvenir, round and still
enough to hold the mountain, till a fish jumps.
In between, there are the hours he drives them on
for health. Stop too long, the sweat begins to chill.

'Breathe deep!' he cries, and strikes out higher
up a wide white stony stream-bed, tumbled and scoured
by the spring-melt, strewn with tree-trunks, torn
and bleached, and a few tiny tough mauve flowers

he can't name. He grips the child's hand as she teeters
on a plank beneath a waterfall. Its ice-breath touches them.
Their hair goes white with spray. Afterwards he will say
'This was our furthest point,' and sigh. As they drag home

footsore, the mountain shows itself again behind them,
in its pure dream of itself, untouched … Just as now
it looks in through the breakfast-room window when the child,
as if the strings that controlled her had fouled

and were jerked tight, has one of her turns. An egg
tips from its silver cup, a glass pirouettes to the edge
but has not yet smashed, the other guests have not
yet turned to stare, the father reaches for her but

is frozen. He will never reach her. Any moment now
the yolk will burst on crisply laundered linen. Soon
there will be splinters and tears. Behind it all he sees
the mountain at the window. If one could stand there

looking down, he thinks, this would all be very small.

Philip Gross

I love it Mossy! Thanks.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Mossdog

A deceit of lapwings

‘the false lapwynge, ful of trecherye’ Geoffrey Chaucer

Consider the shame of that name
even as they roller-coast over open skies,
over the secrets of ploughed fields,
keening and whooping to draw the farmhand on
away from their own open secret
nestled in its dark furrow.
See how she drags her uninjured wing
luring him from her little ones
as the boy with his bag counts his eggs,
and hatches in his mind
the money that will nestle in his purse.

Yet all over the down lands the skies are still thick
with the rush of their crossing, the thrum of their passing.

I know them by their secret names,
peewit, pie-wipe, chewit, tuefit,
the language of eggers and washmen and netters,
toppyup, peasiewheep, teewhuppo, thievnick,
telling their stories to tillers and ploughmen,
plivver, ticks-nicket, thievnig, peeweet.

And even now when a few come from nowhere
they are the sound of spring
a pied handful thrown against heaven,
the sky’s calligraphy.
They swoop and tumble for the madness of it,
and cry, wheezy and slurred,
soft and wild, joyful and grieving.

To lean on my spade
and open my heart to their wing music
and watch their looping sky-dance
and how they play with the wind,
is to want for nothing.

David Underdown

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I really liked Alf's choice too and hope you have a great time in the lakes. I've just got back from the Fairfield Horseshoe and had a lovely time.

I really like this poem:

I'll Explain

It’s something you say at your peril.
It’s something you shouldn’t contain.
It’s a truth for the dark and a pillow.
Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

It’s the obvious truth of the morning
Bitten back as the sun turns to rain,
To the rain, to the dark, to the pillow.
Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

It’s what I was hoping to tell you.
It’s what I was hoping you’d guess.
It’s what I was hoping you wouldn’t guess
Or you wouldn’t mind.
It’s a kind
Of hopelessness.

It’s the hope that you hope at your peril.
It’s the hope that you fear to attain.
It’s the obvious truth of the evening.
Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

James Fenton

Here is a poem for those who were doing the Bob Graham round:-

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of victory

As he defeated -- dying --
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

(Emily DickInson)

Quote:

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Originally Posted by XRunner

Here is a poem for those who were doing the Bob Graham round:-

Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.

Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag today
Can tell the definition
So clear of victory

As he defeated -- dying --
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Burst agonized and clear!

(Emily DickInson)

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Stunning poem that XRunner and one I had not read before so thanks for posting it :cool: Very apt for DTs personal achievement and Stef's very bad luck.

Congrats to DT and Linda who i saw during leg 3 as i nav'd an attempt ten mins ahead. The sight of you all descending off Rossett Pike as we climbed Bowfell was remarkable and fantastic. In tribute to you, a repost of my first ever poem which i hope resonates that bit more.

Well done

OOP

PS - Stef, just a temporary setback, that's all. Hard luck and look forward to nailing it next time


GETTING ROUND

Thoughts of why have long since gone
Nine hours gone, fifteen to come
That early talk of pace and plans
Has given way to destiny's hands
As autopilot lifts a leg
Our hero is cajouled and fed
Whilst one by one the peaks slip past
Each heavier than the last

Wishes and hopes have never left
The others that won't see their beds
Guesswork and sustenance are made
Is he well up, or rain-delayed?
Cars are parked and necks are craned
Food on, chair out, mood up, tea made
Is that a rock, or is that him?
Today the two are kin

That time ago, this just a seed
Exploring which advice to heed
The first of many a slipperly slope
That faces all who dare to hope...
...and plan, and train and organise,
Obsess of bearings, schedule times
To study every inch of ground
And dream of getting round

Always worth a re-post OOP, love it.
I was with Andy (DT) on leg 3. Were you with Clive?

Yup, i was the lanky one in the blue OMM jacket. Not so much nav as knowing the way really, visibility was pretty good for the most part. Gutted for clive :-(

Quote:

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Originally Posted by OneOffPoet

Yup, i was the lanky one in the blue OMM jacket. Not so much nav as knowing the way really, visibility was pretty good for the most part. Gutted for clive :-(

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I was the short one in grey montane jacket, blue OMM rucksack, Clive looked to be going well on Leg 3, heard he stopped eating, when did he call it a day?

He ate ok on leg 3 and moved well. I think things unravelled on 4, not sure why. i think pillar was the end :-(

Quote:

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Originally Posted by OneOffPoet

He ate ok on leg 3 and moved well. I think things unravelled on 4, not sure why. i think pillar was the end :-(

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Shame that, but on a positve note, 3rd time lucky for Andy, hope Clive cracks it if he has another go:)

Yes, very pleased for DT, he looked very chilled when i saw him trotting into Wasdale.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by OneOffPoet

Yes, very pleased for DT, he looked very chilled when i saw him trotting into Wasdale.

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Me too, didn't know he was going till friday night, felt for Stef when i heard she'd had to pull out, but onwards on leg 3 anyway with Andy, got round to Honister to see him come in there, then an agonising wait after Mrs. Stagger came in at Moot Hall. Was over the moon when he appeared. Looking forward to his report, hope it's longer than his Haiku's:)

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

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Loving it Harry:wink:

Not Much News...

How nice of you to ring. So unexpected.
No. I’m not busy. Yes, I’m on my own.
I wasn’t doing anything important.
Just happened to be sitting by the phone.
You don’t have to apologise. As always
You got the benefit of any doubt.
I didn’t feel neglected in the slightest,
I just assumed you’d rung while I was out.
Odd that you should have caught me at this moment,
First time in ages that I’ve thought of you.
Oh, blue-arsed fly, love, if you get my meaning,
It’s been a very busy week or two.
I’ve read a lot of proofs for other people.
I’ve drafted several chapters of the book.
It didn’t register you hadn’t written;
I haven’t hovered long enough to look.
I’ve caught up with a load of correspondence
And over half of it has been to you.
I tore it up and told myself I’d sent it
Because that’s what unhappy people do.
Gave myself toothache biting on a bullet.
Was not much taken with the taste of lead
So spat it out and wrapped it in a hanky.
Opted for doing something else instead.
Decided to apply the skills God gave me
To doing something that I do quite well;
Made an asbestos jacket for a snowball
So as to give it half a chance in hell...

Ann Drysdale

Brilliant!! I really love it and wonder how many of us haven't been there...:o

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Alf

Not Much News...

How nice of you to ring. So unexpected.
No. I’m not busy. Yes, I’m on my own.
I wasn’t doing anything important.
Just happened to be sitting by the phone.
You don’t have to apologise. As always
You got the benefit of any doubt.
I didn’t feel neglected in the slightest,
I just assumed you’d rung while I was out.
Odd that you should have caught me at this moment,
First time in ages that I’ve thought of you.
Oh, blue-arsed fly, love, if you get my meaning,
It’s been a very busy week or two.
I’ve read a lot of proofs for other people.
I’ve drafted several chapters of the book.
It didn’t register you hadn’t written;
I haven’t hovered long enough to look.
I’ve caught up with a load of correspondence
And over half of it has been to you.
I tore it up and told myself I’d sent it
Because that’s what unhappy people do.
Gave myself toothache biting on a bullet.
Was not much taken with the taste of lead
So spat it out and wrapped it in a hanky.
Opted for doing something else instead.
Decided to apply the skills God gave me
To doing something that I do quite well;
Made an asbestos jacket for a snowball
So as to give it half a chance in hell...

Ann Drysdale

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That's inspired!

Very, very well done DT, hope you are going to give us the epic story in the style of Basho. :thumbup:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

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Quote:

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Originally Posted by OneOffPoet

Congrats to DT and Linda who i saw during leg 3 as i nav'd an attempt ten mins ahead. The sight of you all descending off Rossett Pike as we climbed Bowfell was remarkable and fantastic. In tribute to you, a repost of my first ever poem which i hope resonates that bit more.

Well done

OOP

PS - Stef, just a temporary setback, that's all. Hard luck and look forward to nailing it next time


GETTING ROUND

Thoughts of why have long since gone
Nine hours gone, fifteen to come
That early talk of pace and plans
Has given way to destiny's hands
As autopilot lifts a leg
Our hero is cajouled and fed
Whilst one by one the peaks slip past
Each heavier than the last

Wishes and hopes have never left
The others that won't see their beds
Guesswork and sustenance are made
Is he well up, or rain-delayed?
Cars are parked and necks are craned
Food on, chair out, mood up, tea made
Is that a rock, or is that him?
Today the two are kin

That time ago, this just a seed
Exploring which advice to heed
The first of many a slipperly slope
That faces all who dare to hope...
...and plan, and train and organise,
Obsess of bearings, schedule times
To study every inch of ground
And dream of getting round

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That's excellent oneoffpoet I must have missed it first time around. And well done to all those you had to guts even to attempt the BG - successful or not, this time.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Harry H Howgill

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:thumbup::thumbup::thumbup:

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

I really like this poem:

I'll Explain

It’s something you say at your peril.
It’s something you shouldn’t contain.
It’s a truth for the dark and a pillow.
Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

It’s the obvious truth of the morning
Bitten back as the sun turns to rain,
To the rain, to the dark, to the pillow.
Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

It’s what I was hoping to tell you.
It’s what I was hoping you’d guess.
It’s what I was hoping you wouldn’t guess
Or you wouldn’t mind.
It’s a kind
Of hopelessness.

It’s the hope that you hope at your peril.
It’s the hope that you fear to attain.
It’s the obvious truth of the evening.
Turn out the light and I’ll explain.

James Fenton

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Never read this one before and it must surely become a true classic. It's unadorned yet brimmed full of profound insight. Thanks Hes.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Hes

That's inspired!

Very, very well done DT, hope you are going to give us the epic story in the style of Basho. :thumbup:

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Too kind. :-)

Skiddaw, Great Calva,
Dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot
Hindscarth, Robinson.

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Alf

Not Much News...

How nice of you to ring. So unexpected.
No. I’m not busy. Yes, I’m on my own.
I wasn’t doing anything important.
Just happened to be sitting by the phone.
You don’t have to apologise. As always
You got the benefit of any doubt.
I didn’t feel neglected in the slightest,
I just assumed you’d rung while I was out.
Odd that you should have caught me at this moment,
First time in ages that I’ve thought of you.
Oh, blue-arsed fly, love, if you get my meaning,
It’s been a very busy week or two.
I’ve read a lot of proofs for other people.
I’ve drafted several chapters of the book.
It didn’t register you hadn’t written;
I haven’t hovered long enough to look.
I’ve caught up with a load of correspondence
And over half of it has been to you.
I tore it up and told myself I’d sent it
Because that’s what unhappy people do.
Gave myself toothache biting on a bullet.
Was not much taken with the taste of lead
So spat it out and wrapped it in a hanky.
Opted for doing something else instead.
Decided to apply the skills God gave me
To doing something that I do quite well;
Made an asbestos jacket for a snowball
So as to give it half a chance in hell...

Ann Drysdale

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I love this alf and harry your haiku was brilliant...i have been mega busy lately so have been dipping in and out of the thread and enjoying the many postings without feeling that i have much to contribute :-( ....well done all those who took the bgr journey at the weekend wonderful stuff. best of luck with your next attempt stef, I am iin awe! and well done DT!

I fear that my brain has turned to mush...must be the lack of running and circulation of blood to the brain! come to think of it don't think pam ayres did much running....:-(


Goals
Nowt sexy about having no time to run
Or an ever expanding bum
School runs and brownie excursions
Replace poetry immersion
Pack lunches and spelling rockets
Grey circles frame peeping sockets
But when all is said and done
These flowers are shooting up fast
better grab these moments
while they last
and in my minds eye
the comfort of that beautiful sight
two contented little uns
tucked up in bed at night!

Selfish am i
Only think of myself
Hope your all ok

Goodnight and Best Wishes Folks:)

Awww Freckle, sorry to hear that you aren't getting any time to yourself but this is a lovely poem and the little Freckles are very lucky to have such a wonderful mum.xx

Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

I fear that my brain has turned to mush...must be the lack of running and circulation of blood to the brain! come to think of it don't think pam ayres did much running....:-(


Goals
Nowt sexy about having no time to run
Or an ever expanding bum
School runs and brownie excursions
Replace poetry immersion
Pack lunches and spelling rockets
Grey circles frame peeping sockets
But when all is said and done
These flowers are shooting up fast
better grab these moments
while they last
and in my minds eye
the comfort of that beautiful sight
two contented little uns
tucked up in bed at night!

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Quote:

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Originally Posted by freckle

I fear that my brain has turned to mush...must be the lack of running and circulation of blood to the brain! come to think of it don't think pam ayres did much running....:-(


Goals
Nowt sexy about having no time to run
Or an ever expanding bum
School runs and brownie excursions
Replace poetry immersion
Pack lunches and spelling rockets
Grey circles frame peeping sockets
But when all is said and done
These flowers are shooting up fast
better grab these moments
while they last
and in my minds eye
the comfort of that beautiful sight
two contented little uns
tucked up in bed at night!

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Great poem freckle :cool:. Grab those fleeting moments and hang onto them http://i592.photobucket.com/albums/t...gebit/sad2.gif