Today's poet

[emmilou]

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!!

[Hes]

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.

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

[Old Whippet]

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!

[emmilou]

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

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

[Harry H Howgill]

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

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

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

[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.

[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.

[Mossdog]

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.

[Harry H Howgill]

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

[Old Whippet]

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!