For some the pursuit of pleasure
Is the purpose of their life.
Others must have meaning
Their hopes to realise.
Pleasures can be fleeting
Pleasures do not last.
Pleasures can not satisfy
They disappear too fast.
Set your cap for happiness
And sometimes you will fail.
Search instead for meaning;
For that’s a wiser trail.
A notification once came through
Said, “The Grim Reaper is following you.”
I suspected but now I know it’s true.
He’s behind.
So what should an elderly poet do?
It’s hard when you hear he’s following you.
I’m not quitting yet. There’s so much to do.
‘Out my mind!’
I’m running hard; my toughest race yet.
Death’s on my tail; won’t let me forget.
I’ve built a good lead. He won’t catch me yet.
Grim Reaper.
I can’t run for ever; my pace has to drop;
I know he’ll be on me the moment I stop.
I’ll stay fit and healthy, ahead and on top.
Dig deeper.
Forget it Grim Reaper stay well behind
Stay out of my head, don’t mess with my mind.
You may be behind me; I won’t despair.
You can try hard to catch me;
You’ll be clutching at air.
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.
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.
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.
Andrew Green's Poems 