Today's poet

OW. I have decided that we should all note down our ideal jobs. You can not say fellrunner. Based on some thing i was watching earlier i want to be a 'Professional Cardinal Richelieu Impersonator' . I think i can corner the market.

Nice one Herakles

I would very much like to be a 19th century aristocratic dandy, not a job as such more of a way of life:)

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Originally Posted by Herakles

OW. I have decided that we should all note down our ideal jobs. You can not say fellrunner. Based on some thing i was watching earlier i want to be a 'Professional Cardinal Richelieu Impersonator' . I think i can corner the market.

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I want to be a Binman, loads of running/walking in all weathers, not a rubbish job;)

Eternity.

Soft Guyana winds,
Follow us as we take leisure,
Your Dark lustrous eyes,
Caress me gently,
Your strong will as you,
Lead us to the sea,
Saltwater glistening on your,
Naked skin,
As we join together,
The sea breaks over us.
My sweet calypso.

By Herakles

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Herakles

OW. I have decided that we should all note down our ideal jobs. You can not say fellrunner. Based on some thing i was watching earlier i want to be a 'Professional Cardinal Richelieu Impersonator' . I think i can corner the market.

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There was once a job I applied for as a forest warden (Epping Forest) that came with a lodge to live in and a trail motorbike to get around on.... seemed about as good as it gets, but if I was greedy, then maybe a beer-tasting motorcycling forest poet.

Haven't been on for a few days basically laziness and I managed to actually see some mountains this weekend (Carneddau, I was defeated you won the war). dya like what i did there:rolleyes:

Poem I have written in response to an article in local paper

Garbage had gathered, spread from
the pedal bin into corners and cupboards
anywhere the house would accomodate.

She was used to him, her
Husband, taking out the bags to the bin.
Bags of scrapfood, glass and tins; the days
before recycling.

But he had left thirty five years ago
and she waited for him to return to
Take out the bags, the bags that have
heaped like memories then split and spilled
the hours of each day across the floor.

She kept the rubbish, she kept
the eggshells , breadcrusts and potato peelings
she kept the scraps of time.

Some really good stuff at the mo from herakles frecks stef f and oneoffpoet keep posting

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Originally Posted by OneOffPoet

Is there such a thing as a two-off-poet? The last line popped in my head as a memory from Martcrag and out came the notebook…

The idea is you're only halfway in distance/physical effort…


Martcrag Moor - a poem

Things are getting serious now that we're on the moor
The fells that lie ahead are even bigger than before
So far so good especially now that Steel Fell's given sway
And the sun has joined the party in a non-committal way

Things are getting interesting now we're on the moor
A hiatus in the jumbled peaks devoid of pitch and yaw
A place to measure progress made between the rise and fall
The map says that we're halfway but we're not halfway at all

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Gosh just getting caught up, there has been a flurry of lovely activity on this thread overnight and through today. I really like this One Off Poet, i think the first line has a sense of foreboding which is carried throughout the poem and slightly offset by the sun joining the party! please write some more!.....thank you to all for their kind comments about the poem I posted yesterday...:)

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Originally Posted by Hes

Freckle, I can only echo what everyone else has said but I would like to say that your poem 'Cadence' was brilliant. Totally sums up the battle a lot of us feel when running.

Yesterday I cracked both my little toe and my knuckle and both have gone black just to add to the bruises from the bike spill. If I was a child I'd be taken into care by now.

once familiar
my pale body resembles
a foreign pallette

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Aw Hes poor you, i think you have earned that week in a health farm somewhere! take care you!...stef i loved your toe/foot poem, i have often thought a true sign of undying affection would come via the kiss of a fell running toe!!!!!!!:eek:....herakles i see you have been as busy as ever, i have an image in my mind of you doing the Anniversary Waltz writing at the same time!

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Originally Posted by N-dubya

Haven't been on for a few days basically laziness and I managed to actually see some mountains this weekend (Carneddau, I was defeated you won the war). dya like what i did there:rolleyes:

Poem I have written in response to an article in local paper

Garbage had gathered, spread from
the pedal bin into corners and cupboards
anywhere the house would accomodate.

She was used to him, her
Husband, taking out the bags to the bin.
Bags of scrapfood, glass and tins; the days
before recycling.

But he had left thirty five years ago
and she waited for him to return to
Take out the bags, the bags that have
heaped like memories then split and spilled
the hours of each day across the floor.

She kept the rubbish, she kept
the eggshells , breadcrusts and potato peelings
she kept the scraps of time.

Some really good stuff at the mo from herakles frecks stef f and oneoffpoet keep posting

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This is awesome...a tale of unresolved loss manifested in a garbage crisis!....Freud himself would be proud of your poetic description of mourning and melancholia!...nice one NW

Where is Stevie these days?...i used to really enjoy your contribution to this thread Stevie, hope you are well...I seem to recall you liking a bit of Plath and Hughes? I read this one today and liked it very much...from birthday letters

The Owl

I saw my world again through your eyes
As I would see it again through your children's eyes.
Through your eyes it was foreign.
Plain hedge hawthorns were peculiar aliens,
A mystery of peculiar lore and doings.
Anything wild, on legs, in your eyes
Emerged at a point of exclamation
As if it had appeared to dinner guests
In the middle of the table.
Common mallards Were artefacts of some unearthliness,
Their wooings were a hypnagogic film
Unreeled by the river. Impossible
To comprehend the comfort of their feet
In the freezing water. You were a camera
Recording reflections you could not fathom.
I made my world perform its utmost for you.
You took it all in with an incredulous joy
Like a mother handed her new baby
By the midwife. Your frenzy made me giddy.
It woke up my dumb, ecstatic boyhood
Of fifteen years before. My masterpiece
Came that black night on the Grantchester road.
I sucked the throaty thin woe of a rabbit
Out of my wetted knuckle, by a copse
Where a tawny owl was enquiring.
Suddenly it swooped up, splaying its pinions
Into my face, taking me for a post.