Today's poet

[freckle]

Illness.

My thread of my life,
Is chopped into many pieces,
By the slashing of the fates' knife,
Doing their best to make sure my life ceases.

These labours of my life i put myself under,
Living and feeling all to extreme,
It's suprising they have not split my head asunder,
All in all this can be hell never a dream.

I just want to be lithe and quick round the fell,
Trying to make this happen held back by my brain,
It seems to be a losing battle from what i can tell,
Another dream shattered by this god awful pain.

I need help someone i can run with on the hill,
But the problem is i am barely past a walk,
It's getting the better of me i don't want to be ill,
I need the company so that i can talk.

Everyone is so fit and to ask them to join me is unfair,
They would their fitness just by being with me,
It would make me feel guilty as i really care,
But being a Fellrunner is all i want to be.

By Matt.

I really like this Matt, it articulates some of my anxieties about not being up to scratch as a runner, if I were near you I would consider it a pleasure to accompany you, did you see the izzard doc? well worth a watch v inspiring, makes me think that i might be able to complete the Anniversary Waltz after all !!!!!

[stevefoster]

freckle and Herakles, don't bother yourselves about speed or being up to scratch, if your getting out there on the hills, running or walking, it's all good, dream it, plan it, do it.
My money is on freckle completing the waltz and Herakles completing the Round Rotheram.

Even the best have doubts
So they tell me
That spurs me on

Never give up on your dreams

[freckle]

freckle and Herakles, don't bother yourselves about speed or being up to scratch, if your getting out there on the hills, running or walking, it's all good, dream it, plan it, do it.
My money is on freckle completing the waltz and Herakles completing the Round Rotheram.

Even the best have doubts
So they tell me
That spurs me on

Never give up on your dreams

Merry you are a true gent! thank you

[OneOffPoet]

Hello Folks

Not sure why my BGR experiences have prompted this brand new urge to create poems on the matter. It's something I've never ever had an urge to do before this.

I love the idea that there are certain places on that round that are especially evocative, to me anyway. As per my previous poem, I always saw Broad Stand as the elephant in the room that no-one really mentioned much until we were there – everyone dreading it a bit… The fact that it’s big and grey helped turned that into a poem.

Martcrag Moor is relatively unremarkable and not an obvious place to write about, but it sits at roughly halfway and is a rare place of running ground between the mighty fells and it feels like a staging post and a place to check progress. I enjoyed writing that poem very much.

Yewbarrow is an obvious focal point, quite the opposite of Martcrag. It’s actually the third lowest peak on the round, but that flank facing you as you sit and drink your tea in Wasdale is a ‘popular’ point of dread amongst BGRers. It’s a remarkable looking mountain, like an upturned hull, and it has some great crags at either end which are best avoided when the need is for speed! It also comes at a time during the round (clockwise, about 15 hours in) when you can be well up on time and push too hard on Yewbarrow to your cost. That flank is 2000 feet straight up and is loose and stony and for me, the toughest single climb on the round because of what it is and when it is. You first see it miles below you as you descend from Scafell. It looks nothing, but you know differently. No wonder it’s so evocative!

I’m thinking of piecing various bits of the round together through a series of verses (not too many!) and photos to form a little book. Nothing that will set the world on fire but a unique form of guide perhaps? I was tempted to write a guidebook to the BGR, but I would hate to rob any aspirants of the joys of finding things out for themselves! Perhaps something like this would just act as a pleasant reminder of the day? I’m been round twice and have some terrific photos, to which no fancy words could do justice. Still, it’s turning out to be great fun trying!

Yewbarrow

Wastwater’s redundant ferry upturned upon its shore
Now offers a barrier, no longer hinting any passage
And what a barrier! Feared for hours before
The rocky keels at either end, fearsome but academic
For my concern is that fifty minute flank and what it has in store

At first sight it is lowly and foreshortened, side-on from such a height
Barely noticed, unsuccessfully competing for attention
Kirk Fell, roaring quads and imminent tea winning every time
The watch says well done, ahead of Bob’s prediction
As the long descent into confidence sets Yewbarrow’s trap

Rearing from the strath, its angle verging on unkind
No respecter of schedules, confidence unwinds
Faith leaks out through the feet, it’s just so bloody steep
This change of heart, so rapid. You couldn’t make it up
But you do make it up, and move onto bigger things.




PS - The Bob in this poem isn't Bob Graham. It's Bob Wightman, man of BGR website and schedules.

[freckle]

Hello Folks

Not sure why my BGR experiences have prompted this brand new urge to create poems on the matter. It's something I've never ever had an urge to do before this.

I love the idea that there are certain places on that round that are especially evocative, to me anyway. As per my previous poem, I always saw Broad Stand as the elephant in the room that no-one really mentioned much until we were there – everyone dreading it a bit… The fact that it’s big and grey helped turned that into a poem.

Martcrag Moor is relatively unremarkable and not an obvious place to write about, but it sits at roughly halfway and is a rare place of running ground between the mighty fells and it feels like a staging post and a place to check progress. I enjoyed writing that poem very much.

Yewbarrow is an obvious focal point, quite the opposite of Martcrag. It’s actually the third lowest peak on the round, but that flank facing you as you sit and drink your tea in Wasdale is a ‘popular’ point of dread amongst BGRers. It’s a remarkable looking mountain, like an upturned hull, and it has some great crags at either end which are best avoided when the need is for speed! It also comes at a time during the round (clockwise, about 15 hours in) when you can be well up on time and push too hard on Yewbarrow to your cost. That flank is 2000 feet straight up and is loose and stony and for me, the toughest single climb on the round because of what it is and when it is. You first see it miles below you as you descend from Scafell. It looks nothing, but you know differently. No wonder it’s so evocative!

I’m thinking of piecing various bits of the round together through a series of verses (not too many!) and photos to form a little book. Nothing that will set the world on fire but a unique form of guide perhaps? I was tempted to write a guidebook to the BGR, but I would hate to rob any aspirants of the joys of finding things out for themselves! Perhaps something like this would just act as a pleasant reminder of the day? I’m been round twice and have some terrific photos, to which no fancy words could do justice. Still, it’s turning out to be great fun trying!

Yewbarrow

Wastwater’s redundant ferry upturned upon its shore
Now offers a barrier, no longer hinting any passage
And what a barrier! Feared for hours before
The rocky keels at either end, fearsome but academic
For my concern is that fifty minute flank and what it has in store

At first sight it is lowly and foreshortened, side-on from such a height
Barely noticed, unsuccessfully competing for attention
Kirk Fell, roaring quads and imminent tea winning every time
The watch says well done, ahead of Bob’s prediction
As the long descent into confidence sets Yewbarrow’s trap

Rearing from the strath, its angle verging on unkind
No respecter of schedules, confidence unwinds
Faith leaks out through the feet, it’s just so bloody steep
This change of heart, so rapid. You couldn’t make it up
But you do make it up, and move onto bigger things.




PS - The Bob in this poem isn't Bob Graham. It's Bob Wightman, man of BGR website and schedules.

This is really lovely One Off Poet it is really nice of you to share your experiences in such a way and i think the idea of a book with verse and photos is a good one, as you say they act as nice reminders and memories of your thoughts,feelings and experience at the time. Great stuff!

[Nathaniel Lee]

I will not run fast on the fell.

I will not run fast on this fell,
I will not run it very well,
I will go slowly plod,plod,plod,
I will have a gait that's rather odd,
I will not drink orange gatorade,
I will not win the race i'm afraid,
I will eat a sandwich of marmite,
I will be sick when the ends in sight,
I will not feel good i want to vanish,
I will not be happy i'm last to finish.

By Herakles in the hat.

[Alf]

I will not run fast on the fell.

I will not run fast on this fell,
I will not run it very well,
I will go slowly plod,plod,plod,
I will have a gait that's rather odd,
I will not drink orange gatorade,
I will not win the race i'm afraid,
I will eat a sandwich of marmite,
I will be sick when the ends in sight,
I will not feel good i want to vanish,
I will not be happy i'm last to finish.

By Herakles in the hat.

Very good Herakles It reminds me of when I used to read Dr Seuss to my kids when they were young. I think I enjoyed reading them as much as they enjoyed listening to them.

His "Sleep Book" was one of my favourite.

"A yawn is quite catching, you see. Like a cough
Its just takes one yawn to start other yawns off"

[Harry H Howgill]

I think that is a fabulous idea OOP. I quite agree that a complete guide isn't really in the spirit of the BGR. You may as well provide a full GPS plot! It is so much part of the BGR to recce it well beforehand and discover the route that way. But a little book of your experiences in photos, verse and words would be a great reminder of your days.

That's a cracking image; seeing Yewbarrow as an upturned hull. Go for it!

Hello Folks

Not sure why my BGR experiences have prompted this brand new urge to create poems on the matter. It's something I've never ever had an urge to do before this.

I love the idea that there are certain places on that round that are especially evocative, to me anyway. As per my previous poem, I always saw Broad Stand as the elephant in the room that no-one really mentioned much until we were there – everyone dreading it a bit… The fact that it’s big and grey helped turned that into a poem.

Martcrag Moor is relatively unremarkable and not an obvious place to write about, but it sits at roughly halfway and is a rare place of running ground between the mighty fells and it feels like a staging post and a place to check progress. I enjoyed writing that poem very much.

Yewbarrow is an obvious focal point, quite the opposite of Martcrag. It’s actually the third lowest peak on the round, but that flank facing you as you sit and drink your tea in Wasdale is a ‘popular’ point of dread amongst BGRers. It’s a remarkable looking mountain, like an upturned hull, and it has some great crags at either end which are best avoided when the need is for speed! It also comes at a time during the round (clockwise, about 15 hours in) when you can be well up on time and push too hard on Yewbarrow to your cost. That flank is 2000 feet straight up and is loose and stony and for me, the toughest single climb on the round because of what it is and when it is. You first see it miles below you as you descend from Scafell. It looks nothing, but you know differently. No wonder it’s so evocative!

I’m thinking of piecing various bits of the round together through a series of verses (not too many!) and photos to form a little book. Nothing that will set the world on fire but a unique form of guide perhaps? I was tempted to write a guidebook to the BGR, but I would hate to rob any aspirants of the joys of finding things out for themselves! Perhaps something like this would just act as a pleasant reminder of the day? I’m been round twice and have some terrific photos, to which no fancy words could do justice. Still, it’s turning out to be great fun trying!

Yewbarrow

Wastwater’s redundant ferry upturned upon its shore
Now offers a barrier, no longer hinting any passage
And what a barrier! Feared for hours before
The rocky keels at either end, fearsome but academic
For my concern is that fifty minute flank and what it has in store

At first sight it is lowly and foreshortened, side-on from such a height
Barely noticed, unsuccessfully competing for attention
Kirk Fell, roaring quads and imminent tea winning every time
The watch says well done, ahead of Bob’s prediction
As the long descent into confidence sets Yewbarrow’s trap

Rearing from the strath, its angle verging on unkind
No respecter of schedules, confidence unwinds
Faith leaks out through the feet, it’s just so bloody steep
This change of heart, so rapid. You couldn’t make it up
But you do make it up, and move onto bigger things.




PS - The Bob in this poem isn't Bob Graham. It's Bob Wightman, man of BGR website and schedules.

[Harry H Howgill]

Here's two choices, inspired by tonight's sky. One for the south, and one for the north.

Every Day You Play

Pablo Neruda

Every day you play with the light of the universe.
Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water.
You are more than this white head that I hold tightly
as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands.

You are like nobody since I love you.
Let me spread you out among yellow garlands.
Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south?
Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed.

Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window.
The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish.
Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them.
The rain takes off her clothes.

The birds go by, fleeing.
The wind. The wind.
I can contend only against the power of men.
The storm whirls dark leaves
and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky.

You are here. Oh, you do not run away.
You will answer me to the last cry.
Cling to me as though you were frightened.
Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes.

Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle,
and even your breasts smell of it.
While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies
I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth.

How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me,
my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running.
So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes,
and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans.

My words rained over you, stroking you.
A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body.
I go so far as to think that you own the universe.
I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells,
dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses.
I want
to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.

Northern Sky

Nick Drake

I never felt magic crazy as this
I never saw moons knew the meaning of the sea
I never held emotion in the palm of my hand
Or felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree
But now you're here
Brighten my northern sky.

I've been a long time that I'm waiting
Been a long that I'm blown
I've been a long time that I've wandered
Through the people I have known
Oh, if you would and you could
Straighten my new mind's eye.

Would you love me for my money
Would you love me for my head
Would you love me through the winter
Would you love me 'til I'm dead
Oh, if you would and you could
Come blow your horn on high.

I never felt magic crazy as this
I never saw moons knew the meaning of the sea
I never held emotion in the palm of my hand
Or felt sweet breezes in the top of a tree
But now you're here
Brighten my northern sky.

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

[Nathaniel Lee]

Dream taker.

Another thing ruined by my own personal hell,
My dreams are gone of running on the fell,
It beats me every time this de habilitating disease,
Picks me up throws me around it does as it please,
The strength in me wains from the fight everyday,
I suppose i should be pleased that i'm here today,
But i'm not as everything i want it has to ruin,
Waking up once again to find the battle ensuing,
No one deserves this it's so much stronger than it seems,
It allows you to live but destroys all your dreams.

By Herakles.