You must partake in life’s pleasures
Experience all of its joys.
Throw yourself in
Let real life begin
Don’t just spectate
From the side.
Partake of all life’s pleasures
They’re only on offer once.
No use being half hearted
No point not joining in.
Take all life has to offer
Be careful you don’t miss out.
Partake of all life’s pleasures
It’s never too late to begin.
via Partake
When Pheidippides
Took the news to distant Athens.
A mighty battle had been won
Along the road at Marathon.
But poor Pheidippides he dropped dead.
No great ad for the race as happens.
But then in eighteen ninety six
It was reinvented for modern Olympics.
They raced for round twenty five miles.
Roughly the distance back to Athens.
It stayed that distance more or less
Quite far enough I must confess.
But then in nineteen hundred eight
Something slightly iffy happens
They change the distance for the Queen
To the length it’s ever since been.
From Windsor Castle to White City
Made the route just twenty six miles.
But Queen Victoria would be there,
Ought to finish in front of her.
So they fixed it twenty six point two;
And after twenty six hard miles,
Added three hundred eighty five yards.
To make the race that bit more hard.
Poor Pheidippides he dropped down dead
After running all of those miles.
Would he have got the message out
If he had to run the extra yards?
And runners coming to the line
Curse with scant breath the Empress Queen.
The finish not where it should have been.
It makes the race a bit more hard
To have to run the extra yards.
The hardest stone
Can be cracked with a mallet.
If you take a chisel
And carefully bang it.
It has to be tapped
In just the right place.
There’s one chance to shape it
It can’t be replaced.
Life and it’s problems
Can be just the same.
You mustn’t swing wildly
But carefully take aim.
First see things clearly
Get them straight in your mind;
Know where you are going
And how to begin.
Then strike with your mallet
And aim straight and true
Chisel the future that
Was meant for you.
via Mallet
A response to the Daily Prompt
Wibble Wobble Legs was inspired by a story from last year’s London Marathon and is dedicated to everyone running tomorrow.
When you’re wibble wobble legged with the finish line in sight
And you’ve only got to get from here to there.
If your legs won’t stand the test, though you really do your best
That’s when you need another runner there.
I could not leave you there, there was not too far to go
And the effort that you’d put in really showed.
You were wibble wobble legged but you did not want to rest
So determined you would get there; make that line.
I told you to go on, for the time was marching on
You were on for sub three hours and losing time.
But you wouldn’t leave me there, took my arm and gave a steer
Stopped to help me, damn the time, let’s make the line.
You were wibble wobble legged and could barely do a step
But I wasn’t going to leave you, not so near.
Spectators looked appalled but when I stopped
They’d all applaud.
We’ll do this thing together, make that line.
When a runner hits the wall, then there’s nothing there at all
But I didn’t mean to stop I would press on.
I said to leave me there; just carry on.
There were rival runners passing
You were losing time and placing
To sacrifice your own run really wasn’t fair.
But my legs were just like jelly
And although I’d got there nearly
Those last few yards were just too far to go.
I knew what you’d put in,
All the hours and miles you’d done
And I couldn’t leave you there, that near the line.
The race already won, one victor and one crown
But there’s still a human race that must be run.
There are medics with a chair,
They’ll haul you off if you’re left there
So I’ll help you carry on and get you to the line.
For now that’s the only thing on my mind.
Even when a Marshall came and took my other arm
You wouldn’t go but stuck there just the same.
Though I didn’t know your name, you helped me all the same
You took my arm and got me to the line.
You forgot about the clock, you just took my arm and stopped
But we both beat three hours and there’s no shame.
With the race already won, one victor and one crown.
There’s still a human race that must be run.
He was truly authentic , unique and himself.
You wouldn’t mistake him for anyone else.
He said what he meant and meant what he said.
He’d not mask his feelings, his face told a tale
This wasn’t play acting the emotions were real.
He knew what he thought and what he believed.
He’d act out of principle not just for ease.
He took no half measures and seldom reined back
He was truly himself and lived life like that.
Authentic, unique and truly himself
If only our own lives could be true as his.
via Authentic
The men at the front of the race
Set off at a generous pace
They don’t see what happens behind.
But if you go to the back
The thing you must know
Is some runner’s are really slow.
And if you’re are right at the back
It’s the tail runner’s job
To make sure you’re not alone.
In his bright yellow coat
The tail runner’s job
Is to make sure you all get home.
How ever far back you get
The tail runner’s always there.
He’ll run at the pace
Of the ones at the back
And make sure they all get home.
You may run really slow,
Even drop to a walk
But the tail runner’s job
Is to stay at the back.
He’ll go as slow as you.
He’ll stay at the back
Where the slow runners are
And make sure we all get home.
Now I don’t know much about heaven
Or the other place they call hell
But I’m sure there must be an angel
Who does this very same thing.
They stay with every last sinner
And jog along at our side
And they won’t drop the latch
On those mythical gates till
The last of our race is inside.
Like the shepherd who searched
For the very last sheep
Or the woman who’d lost her coin
I’m sure God must send an angel
To make sure we all get home.
Here’s a post without parallel
Like none seen before
Its got rhyme, it’s got rhythm
You’ll be pleading for more.
I just need some time
For this dread Daily Prompt
In a parallel life
It’s a task I’d have romped.
It’s hard when you see them
To know what to write.
In a parallel world
I’d have cracked it on sight!
A post without parallel
But what can I write?
In a parallel world
I’d have cracked it on sight.
via Parallel
A response to the Daily Prompt
Bournemouth Bay Run; up, off early
Round the bay in Dorset sun.
Soon shake off the chill of morning
Warm up jog beside the pier.
Tightly gathered in the start pen
All the runners, all their gear.
Who are athletes, who are jokers?
Whose not sure they should be here?
Hooter sounds, meant to start us
Shuffle forward to the line.
Feel familiar start frustration.
Crush can’t run, get into stride.
Happy smiling girls in tutus
Oblivious to the crush of runners
Bursting to run but stuck behind.
Picks up slowly, gaps to nip through.
Mustn’t now panic go too fast.
Promenade run, past the beach huts
Field of runners fanning out.
Room to pass and pick up stride now
Pick up stride you can get past.
Numbers on the watch look better
Not too fast the proper pace.
Sea and shore stretch out before us
Beach beside us, cliffs above.
Set the sights on distant Boscombe
First stage run from pier to pier.
Up the zig, zag slightly later
Must save something for the climb.
Coming now. We can’t let up here.
Take it easy, make the top.
Breath comes hard, legs won’t go here
Briefly fall into a walk.
Curse ourselves and stumble onward
Gasping when we reach the top.
Take deep breaths, get some air in
Move those legs now getting stiff.
Coming back, the shore below us
Running on the overcliff
Half the race is now behind us
Found a pace, don’t let it drop.
Wish you’d done a few more long runs
You’ll slow down, your pace tail off.
Along the top, bright Dorset sunshine
Negotiate the parking bays.
Says to run along the pavement
We don’t want no extra yards.
Look out for our friends, relations
Extra cheers, a special wave.
Soon enough the route is downhill.
Run loose, try to use the gradient
Pick it up and pass a few.
Was the effort much too early?
Still a decent way to go.
More deep breaths, keep it going.
Legs are heavy, pace feels slow.
Now it’s Bournemouth’s pier we head for.
Still a mile or two to go.
Just hang in there, keep it going.
You’ve got the distance, know you’ll finish,
Must make this respectable.
Where exactly is the finish?
Just how far is still to go?
Have to make one final effort
Though the legs are heavy, stiff.
One last push towards the finish.
There it is, that must be it.
One last bit and all be over.
No point holding anything back.
Push yourself that last bit harder
Find there’s really not much there.
Push yourself across the finish.
Check the watch. I guess OK.
Have to train that wee bit harder
For a smile to cross my face.
Through the funnel with the others
Shuffle forward, old routine.
Timing chips and then the medals
Another for the back of drawer.
Goodie bag, another T Shirt.
Head for home, sun still shining
Shower, then more of Dorset day.
Marvellous….. even native English speakers get dragged into Americanisms. I have reblogged on my site.
As a former British colony
But besotted with those darn Americans
We are just so very confused
Us poor contemporary English-speaking Indians
Is it an exercise in collusion
To add doubt and Bollywood vernacular
To a language widely spoken
Making it quite uniquely peculiar
When “realise” with an “s”
Is now perfectly acceptable with a “z”
View original post 388 more words
The Genie’s out his bottle
And no-one can’t get him back in.
I heard you made your wishes
But they didn’t work out as planned.
Were you careful what you wished for?
Did you think the matter through?
Its awful making wrong choices
They backfire and can bite you.
Who pulled the cork out the bottle?
Who let the genie out?
You rubbed the wrong lamp
Let the wrong genie out
There’s no-one to blame but you.
via Genie
A response to the Daily Post
Andrew Green's Poems 