A rivulet of sweat
Ran down the author’s brow
Had to write a poem
But wasn’t sure just how.
The sweat trickled down his forehead
The sweat trickled off his nose
Where would he find a poem?
Heaven only knows!
The sweat gathered in a puddle
It gathered on the floor
He found his inspiration was
Not stuck any more.
By the sweat of his brow
He found it, found a new idea
When inspiration’s needed
You’ll often find it near.
Via Rivulet
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.
Elaborate, complicated or opaque!
That’s not the stuff I celebrate.
Keep it plain and simple me
Like to boast simplicity.
Over complicated, deep
Learning curve
That’s much to deep?
Some can do it
But not me.
Won’t expand, elaborate
For emphasis
I’ll just repeat.
via Elaborate
The past is past, it’s gone it’s flown.
No point dwelling on regret;
It won’t come back. The chance’s blown.
For all we sit and sigh and groan.
However much we sit and fret.
The past is past, it’s gone it’s flown.
The things back then we wished we’d known
Lessons we learned we won’t forget.
It won’t come back the chance’s blown.
There may be chances to atone
A different option, better bet.
The past is past, it’s gone, its flown.
We learned the lessons we have grown
The future hasn’t happened yet
There’ll be new chances not yet blown.
Let go the past, though don’t forget
We’ll grasp the future not yet met.
The past is past, it’s gone it’s flown
The future we will make our own.
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.
This is my tale of a chai wallah
Met on an Indian train
If you’ve heard it before forgive me for
You are going to hear it again.
We are travelling on an Indian train
The only non Indians there.
A chai wallah’s moving down the train
And I guess you know the score.
He’s calling out to sell his wares
So this is what we heard,
“Chai, chai, chai, chai.”
Moving down the train.
“Chai, chai, chai, chai.”
Closer all the time.
“Chai, chai, chai, chai”,
Until he got to me.
Without the slightest hint of pause
Or any break in rhythm
He changed his call
As he went by me
And this is what we heard.
“Chai, chai, chai, chai,
Chai, chai, Tea, chai, chai”.
He changed his call from chai to tea
Just as he went by me.
Two nations tied together
By so much history
I hope we share our humour
And it’s funny to him
As to me.
Who put the fog in forgetful
Who put the blank in my mind?
Thoughts that were in there one time
Are so much harder to find.
Who tied the knot in my hankie?
What was it there to remind?
Something I can’t remember
Need help with jogging my mind.
Somehow it slipped my memory
Was painfully pushed to one side
Some things are better forgotten
There’s times I can’t bring to mind.
My mind is gently slipping
And taking sad memories away
Somewhere and somehow you’re in there
But you’re gone and there’s nothing to say.
The sea went out. I missed the tide.
I’m stranded, abandoned, left on shore.
My dreams, ambitions all denied.
The sea went out I missed the tide
Like flotsam, jetsam cast aside;
My hopes are dashed, I’m feeling sore.
The sea went out. I missed the tide.
Stranded, abandoned, left on shore.
The tide goes out but will come in
The waves will touch my feet again.
I’ll feel their splash against my skin.
The tide goes out but will come in.
Chances return though odds seem slim.
I’ll be prepared; be ready then.
The tide goes out but will come in.
The waves will touch my feet again.
My song’s not an air, not a chant or a ditty
Not an: aria, canticle, ballad or hymn.
It’s simply these lines that keep running in my head,
Make me hum, tap my fingers, before long have to sing.
It’s nothing too grand, it might not make you cry.
Not a poem, not a hymn, not a psalm or lullaby
It doesn’t have great lyrics; it barely has a tune
But it’s a song to sing along to so just give it a try.
Songs can raise the spirits, songs can bring you down.
Here’s no rousing anthem, not much melody.
But once you start to sing it; it’ll carry you along
And your friends will all join in before too long.
And your friends will all join in before too long.
via Song
A response to the Daily Prompt
Andrew Green's Poems 