Oct. 19, 2019
Ah shure a small trip
around the forest tracks
with the borry of a bike
wouldn’t that be great
Ah shure wasn’t the swim a day in the fine bright sea
for a whole two months enough of an exercise
to take a ride up around the gentle hills
But shure be-jaysus it wasn’t
the legs wobbled jammed
the chest hammered
lungs a wheezing bagpipes
Then shure didn’t gettin on and off
feel very dodgy
the head spun it didn’t seem good at all
Feck shure didn’t the saddle
decide to drop without notice
and refuse to be fixed
Shit shure didn’t the cyclist
crouched and cramped
have to push himself
the rest of the way back
Well shure he got there
in the end dragged himself home
panting and red
Peter Clarke
6th September 2019
Leo Smyth
23.10.2019 16:12
Great stuff, Peter! I love the bit about the saddle.
Around age 55 I bought a mountain bike
Took two weeks to admit I couldn't even push it on the flat.
Colm
19.10.2019 21:29
Christ on a bike! Shure your gas.
Thanks Peter, you painted a big smile on my face. Went back to read it again.
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
Echoes of the Old on the New Battlefields
Warrior chiefs of the GAA were early on the field to prepare:
Posts and cones positioned to mark territories
Very young novices came later by parents’ chariots
clad and shod for the ensuing battles
Firstly, paced for speed, resilience and flexibility,
then marked off into opposing teams
Each warrior chief led a young squad of hopefuls
in further exercises to bring them to fit levels
There followed a huddle, an exhortation rant,
responded with clamour of intent and enthusiasm
Skirmishes began, speed across the field, hunt for the ball,
to be delivered as the goal, or to be prevented at all costs
Warrior chiefs egged on, instructed, altered the field of play
the young ’uns complied with fighting spirit
For every fall and hurt spells were cast on the side line
till fitness returned and they were entered back into play
Scores mounted, roars enhanced, casualties grew,
novices flagged and regrouped across the fields
Between bouts came the talks of encouragement
Stay back, pass, pass, pass, keep the pace.
Old hands passing skill onto new palms with dedication,
a gift of generous wisdom gladly given
Peter Clarke
20th April 2024