Quote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
How cute and how utterly cool :cool: in awe :cool:
Printable View
Quote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
How cute and how utterly cool :cool: in awe :cool:
Well, what can I say...your too kindQuote:
Originally Posted by Herakles
Oh...and don't be fooled by my cuteness and smallness...i am really a deugar in disguise!...Raaaaaaaaaaaaaar!
Bottomless Pit
Here i cling for dear life,
The pit beckons, welcoming,
Hang on, things left to do.
OK i'll bring an extra bag of 'em...Quote:
Originally Posted by emmilou
Looking forward to supporting you Emma on those two first legs
Perhaps your round will inspire some more BGR poetry?
a fell runner trueQuote:
Originally Posted by merrylegs
you can scramble up those slopes
just head for the light
Hang in there Merry.
...now i know that can't be true....:)Quote:
Originally Posted by freckle
determination
Tuesday's fell race at Ilkley
or foolhardiness!
Just blasted to Dick Hudson's and back at a BOFRA race. Knee held up till the last descent...Fairfield could be tricky but really enjoyed the evening.
Funny how you see places differently when you're mid-way round the BGR?! Time to add Dunmail to Martcrag, Broad Stand and Yewbarrow to the list of BGR poems written in Costa watching the world go by... Hope it resonates with people because this is how I now see this pivotal spot. It's written from the point of view of the contender and the road supporters, all of which see Dunmail with fresh eyes after a round.
Dunmail
A pass to most
A halt to us
A raise to most
A depth to us
North-south to most
East-west to us
Remote to most
Hubbub to us
Passed by to most
Absorbed by us
A verge to most
Parking to us
Unknown to most
Dear to us
A road to most
Dunmail to us
Thanks Hes, all the very best to you and your knee.Quote:
Originally Posted by Hes
Sometimes I get the urge to just transport myself somewhere else....somewhere a bit dreamy.....and otherwordly.....
following on the Thomas Hardy theme...this is long but stick with it....!
Under the Waterfall
'Whenever I plunge my arm, like this,
In a basin of water, I never miss
The sweet sharp sense of a fugitive day
Fetched back from its thickening shroud of gray.
Hence the only prime
And real love-rhyme
That I know by heart,
And that leaves no smart,
Is the purl of a little valley fall
About three spans wide and two spans tall
Over a table of solid rock,
And into a scoop of the self-same block;
The purl of a runlet that never ceases
In stir of kingdoms, in wars, in peaces;
With a hollow boiling voice it speaks
And has spoken since hills were turfless peaks.'
'And why gives this the only prime
Idea to you of a real love-rhyme?
And why does plunging your arm in a bowl
Full of spring water, bring throbs to your soul?'
'Well, under the fall, in a crease of the stone,
Though where precisely none ever has known,
Jammed darkly, nothing to show how prized,
And by now with its smoothness opalized,
Is a drinking-glass:
For, down that pass
My lover and I
Walked under a sky
Of blue with a leaf-wove awning of green,
In the burn of August, to paint the scene,
And we placed our basket of fruit and winethe runlet's rim, where we sat to dine;
And when we had drunk from the glass together,
Arched by the oak-copse from the weather,
I held the vessel to rinse in the fall,
Where it slipped, and sank, and was past recall,
Though we stooped and plumbed the little abyss
With long bared arms. There the glass still is.
And, as said, if I thrust my arm below
Cold water in basin or bowl, a throe
From the past awakens a sense of that time,
And the glass both used, and the cascade's rhyme.
The basin seems the pool, and its edge
The hard smooth face of the brook-side ledge,
And the leafy pattern of china-ware
The hanging plants that were bathing there.
'By night, by day, when it shines or lours,
There lies intact that chalice of ours,
And its presence adds to the rhyme of love
Persistently sung by the fall above.
No lip has touched it since his and mine
In turns therefrom sipped lovers' wine.'