Today's poet

[Hes]

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

Blooming great. I really hope that you'll blow your cover and come to Dufton. This thread has made me write poems for the first time too. All thanks to our Freckle!

[Hes]

Thanks for the link Woodlander. It looks great and I'll peruse it better when I am not supposed to be working! I loved 'The Song of the Ungirt Runners' and have been having a similar conversation about why we run with a very dear friend of mine. I think I'll send it to him.

Thanks forkind comments Stevie, Derby Tup, Harry Howgill and everyone on this forum. You are great!
By the way, my favourite poem about running is 'The Song of the Ungirt Runners'. I haven't checked but it MUST be on the blog and on this thread too!

[stevefoster]

Thanks for the link Woodlander. It looks great and I'll peruse it better when I am not supposed to be working! I loved 'The Song of the Ungirt Runners' and have been having a similar conversation about why we run with a very dear friend of mine. I think I'll send it to him.

Great link Woodlander, just found 'The Song of the Ungirt Runners', brilliant, some other great long stuff from Mossdog and MG.

[Stef F]

Oh tears!

Ok, I'm sorry. But for once fell running isn't the only thing dominating my thoughts........ Er....maybe we need a sub-section to this thread? 'Incurable Romantic Fell Running Poets Section'?????

INVISIBLE KISSES

by Lemn Sissay

If there was ever one
Whom when you were sleeping
Would wipe your tears
When in dreams you were weeping;
Who would offer you time
When others demand;
Whose love lay more infinite
Than grains of sand.

If there was ever one
To whom you could cry;
Who would gather each tear
And blow it dry;
Who would offer help
On the mountains of time;
Who would stop to let each sunset
Soothe the jaded mind.

If there was ever one
To whom when you run
Will push back the clouds
So you are bathed in sun;
Who would open arms
If you would fall;
Who would show you everything
If you lost it all.

If there was ever one
Who when you achieve
Was there before the dream
And even then believed;
Who would clear the air
When it's full of loss;
Who would count love
Before the cost.

If there was ever one
Who when you are cold
Will summon warm air
For your hands to hold;
Who would make peace
In pouring pain,
Make laughter fall
In falling rain.

If there was ever one
Who can offer you this and more;
Who in keyless rooms
Can open doors;
Who in open doors
Can see open fields
And in open fields
See harvests yield.

Then see only my face
In the reflection of these tides
Through the clear water
Beyond the river side.
All I can send is love
In all that this is
A poem and a necklace
Of invisible kisses.

[Mossdog]

[QUOTE=Derby Tup;328811]You soppy bugger Mossdog! Pull yourself together

Joking apart, great poem! [/QUOTE


Never let it be said that I can't do 'bloke' too and cater for all tastes

A Bloke Called Sid (Aggro-Man)


Because his day was rather dull
Sid kicked a tramp and broke his skull,
He liked to think that he was tough
And no-one dared to call his bluff
Except that day a guy called Geoff
Declared outright 'You're just a pouf! ! '
That ended in a bloody fight
But he felt really great that night,
He'd punched him hard and cracked his ribs
And put an end to his filthy fibs.
No-one was gonna call him 'gay',
Not if they wanted to walk away!
He quite liked girls but he left his wife
'Cos she always nagged him about his knife,
He'd got her pregnant anyway
And she needn't think he was gonna stay
And listen to some screaming kid
And a wife who hated whatever he did;
He'd got important things to do
Which wouldn't interest a c*nt like you,
(C*nts like you don't have a clue
And always go running to the Boys in Blue!)
One day when he was crossing the road
A car swerved past and left him dead
(He lay there in a pool of blood,
At least that's what the papers said.)
You may think he was a waste of space
But you wouldn't have said that to his face,
He led a life of petty crime
And now he's locked up in this rhyme.

John Thorkild Ellison

[Nathaniel Lee]

Love.

Love is like the colours reflected in your eyes,
Your gentle words, your moans and sighs,
The way you elevate me to more than a man,
For you i will be all that i can,
Together forever as stardust,
Through our eternal bond of trust.


By Herakles.

[Mossdog]

Love.

Love is like the colours reflected in your eyes,
Your gentle words, your moans and sighs,
The way you elevate me to more than a man,
For you i will be all that i can,
Together forever as stardust,
Through our eternal bond of trust.


By Herakles.

Now that, is truly inspired. Cheers Herakles.

[Mossdog]

“The Still Point”

If time is passing, she is unaware of it.
The daffodils are blooming and the blunt white buds
of the bloodroot have opened, still clasped in a hand of leaf.
She has planted poles in the garden in anticipation
of roses and clematis, and wicker cages for the peas
still dormant in the warming soil. She doesn’t hold
with abstractions or speculation. Things unfold, develop
and die. The earth turns on its axis, as it should.
Seasons change - the dog has lost his winter coat, the finches
have transformed themselves into small splashes of sunlight -
but her ears are stopped against the ticking of the clock.
In any event, the brash clash of forsythia -
a yellow jubilation - drowns all other sound.
Two young eagles circle above the lawn
Rising and falling on the lazy air.

MAIRI

[Alf]

Loved that one Herakles Well done

[Alf]

“The Still Point”

If time is passing, she is unaware of it.
The daffodils are blooming and the blunt white buds
of the bloodroot have opened, still clasped in a hand of leaf.
She has planted poles in the garden in anticipation
of roses and clematis, and wicker cages for the peas
still dormant in the warming soil. She doesn’t hold
with abstractions or speculation. Things unfold, develop
and die. The earth turns on its axis, as it should.
Seasons change - the dog has lost his winter coat, the finches
have transformed themselves into small splashes of sunlight -
but her ears are stopped against the ticking of the clock.
In any event, the brash clash of forsythia -
a yellow jubilation - drowns all other sound.
Two young eagles circle above the lawn
Rising and falling on the lazy air.

MAIRI

It took me a couple of reads and then I got it ... which added to my enjoyment of this poem...thanks for posting it Mossy