Today's poet

[OneOffPoet]

Ha ha don't worry about it! I just like that you like it.

[Mossdog]

Dedicated to all of you that have a race this weekend

Start Line

United in tension and watching the clock
Some slip into mantra, some jog on the spot
Old hands (and old legs) exude enviable calm
The newbies aren't sure there's no cause for alarm

The ambitious and fast place their toes on the line
A self-grading ritual fills the rows behind
As we size up the field, settle into our place
The most nerve-racking aspect of every race

The club runners chatter, excuses abound
"I've still got that niggle, I'm just jogging round"
Such one-downmanship ceremonies add to the nerves
Deep down we know we get the race we deserve

Our fingers and thumbs either side of a watch
The gun pointing skywards, the noise level drops
Some last minute warnings that nobody hears
The mayor fires the gun and we're off with a cheer

Fantastic OOP - really made me smile - you've caught it exactly.

[OneOffPoet]

Fantastic OOP - really made me smile - you've caught it exactly.

Thanks! It's been half done for ages and i finally managed to finish it off. I'd write one for the finish line, but that would just be a short, inarticulate wreck!

[Mountain Goatess]

To Solitude


O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep, --
Nature's observatory -- whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

John Keats

[freckle]

Dedicated to all of you that have a race this weekend

Start Line

United in tension and watching the clock
Some slip into mantra, some jog on the spot
Old hands (and old legs) exude enviable calm
The newbies aren't sure there's no cause for alarm

The ambitious and fast place their toes on the line
A self-grading ritual fills the rows behind
As we size up the field, settle into our place
The most nerve-racking aspect of every race

The club runners chatter, excuses abound
"I've still got that niggle, I'm just jogging round"
Such one-downmanship ceremonies add to the nerves
Deep down we know we get the race we deserve

Our fingers and thumbs either side of a watch
The gun pointing skywards, the noise level drops
Some last minute warnings that nobody hears
The mayor fires the gun and we're off with a cheer

What a fantastic piece of poetry, i love the observation about niggles made me laugh, which one of us hasn't remarked pre race about a particular injury which is giving us jip?, excellent stuff OOP, hope Mrs OOP is doing ok, not long now!

Alf I really liked the ambition bird choice especially the lines "I would like a simple life, yet all night I am laying, poems away in a long box"

MG- I loved the Rain poem, there is (sometimes) something really soft and beautiful about the rain

[freckle]

Nuthatch

Something in the line of you
That long black eyeline
Framing the BLUE
Is like the meaning of longing.

The strength of those feet
Which helped you creep
HEADFIRST.
All pristine supercilium
and survival writ large
in the meticulous excavation
of your very own, necessary
cavity.

I wonder, at times
If the gods painted your being
Gently and with loving attention
To each and every detail.
Each one of the twelve feathered tails
The flush of ochre on your stomach
Which has travelled many a mile.

You, a gift,
all the more persuasive
in its impermanence.

I know that it is folly to wish
The same gods would stop
The hands of our clock.
Allowing me to breathe
Allowing me to know
It is isn’t (yet)
TIME
for you to go.

[OneOffPoet]

What a fantastic piece of poetry, i love the observation about niggles made me laugh, which one of us hasn't remarked pre race about a particular injury which is giving us jip?, excellent stuff OOP, hope Mrs OOP is doing ok, not long now!

She's doing great thanks, no sign of action yet, due date arrives in 90 mins but who knows when junior will! She's very calm and together (so I had better be!).

I'm glad the poem rings a bell - i'm a bugger for start-line excuses and so the poem is, in part at least, a form of confession really!

[freckle]

She's doing great thanks, no sign of action yet, due date arrives in 90 mins but who knows when junior will! She's very calm and together (so I had better be!).

I'm glad the poem rings a bell - i'm a bugger for start-line excuses and so the poem is, in part at least, a form of confession really!

Wishing you both well, take care

[Alf]

To Solitude


O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
Let it not be among the jumbled heap
Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep, --
Nature's observatory -- whence the dell,
Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
'Mongst boughs pavilion'd, where the deer's swift leap
Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

John Keats

Excellent choice MG

[Alf]

Nuthatch

Something in the line of you
That long black eyeline
Framing the BLUE
Is like the meaning of longing.

The strength of those feet
Which helped you creep
HEADFIRST.
All pristine supercilium
and survival writ large
in the meticulous excavation
of your very own, necessary
cavity.

I wonder, at times
If the gods painted your being
Gently and with loving attention
To each and every detail.
Each one of the twelve feathered tails
The flush of ochre on your stomach
Which has travelled many a mile.

You, a gift,
all the more persuasive
in its impermanence.

I know that it is folly to wish
The same gods would stop
The hands of our clock.
Allowing me to breathe
Allowing me to know
It is isn’t (yet)
TIME
for you to go.

Lovely poem that freckle :thumbup: