Quotes about rowing, page 8
Mimimus Creaks Oar
I pose you you're question:
shall you uncover honey / where maggots are?
- Charles Olson
myself
the intruder, as he was not - Creeley
1
I, Minimus, tongue in cheek, creak oar, row out, too,
into the Homeric sea, not old Greek singer, long of breath,
but as Winslow, local seer, his paints, straw hat consigned
to mistook heroics, pure accident, radio maritime, ask
captain if row boat worthy of even an American sea,
projected too, to go a-row row rowing,
claw oar into wave tipped whitecap safe perimeters,
smell of earth nasal-yet to keep oriented to dirt.
Have, instead, reaped I redundant whirlwind
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poem by Warren Falcon
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Park Life
Situated in a city, where life is all race, race, race,
Hyde Park is a sea of calm, with a much slower pace.
Acres of parkland are shrouded in bright sunlight,
And it has to be said, it really is a wonderful sight.
A skater skilfully negotiates a long line of cones.
People sit texting and chatting on mobile phones.
A couple cool off in the waters of the Serpentine:
Oblivious to bystanders, their two bodies entwine.
Watching a grey squirrel, some folk stand and stare,
But for these cute creatures, some do not much care.
Upon the bandstand, students rehearse Shakespeare,
Adding a touch of culture to this lovely atmosphere.
At the ticket office, for the boats, there is a long queue:
The rowing boats and pedalos, folk are all dying to use.
A large flock of seagulls, so very skilful in their flight,
Are eager for food, and, over it, they very viciously fight.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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A To Z Of All I Hate
Artists indiscriminate,
Billionaire bulls bears berate,
Careless kids insatiate,
Domination by dread State,
Effete fools effeminate
Frogs, slimy snails fat Frenchman ate,
Growing old, ungrateful state -
Hypocrites who soon deflate,
Intellectuals irate,
Jobbing backwards when too late,
Kits and cattens mewling mate,
Litigation, legislate.
Matrimonial stale_mate,
Neglecting rendez-vous, birthdate,
Overacting, things ornate,
Pastry spilt from pattern plate.
Queues, where late folks always wait,
Refusing poor, unfortunate,
Straying outside narrow, straight,
Trust betrayed. Unfortunate
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Guru
Teachers are always a venerable sort,
Happy that I belong to that ‘special' lot,
Instilling in young ones -
newer insights gleaned,
Enriching their lives -
with atoms of knowledge pooled,
Brightening their paths -
with millions of lanterns lit,
Rowing them away -
from the perilous shoals of life,
And leading them to be anchored
on safer shores!
A teacher sure stands taller above,
Every other mortal who serves! !
She has to play all at once, myriad roles,
More of a mentor and not just a tutor,
A physician who heals, a nurse who tends,
A parent who cares or a pal who shares,
A patron who supports or a lawyer who argues,
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poem by Valsa George
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Team G.B. You Have Made Us All Proud
The Olympic games two thousand and twelve,
All our athletes have filled us with pride,
Into their achievements we will now delve,
We have cast all our differences aside.
We have won a magnificent twenty nine gold,
Although it has been a long wait,
This is our best games it has to be told,
Since the year nineteen hundred and eight.
Andy Murray won the final at tennis,
Bradley Wiggins won his at a speed,
Then came heptathlete Jess Ennis,
Mo Farah showed them all how to lead.
Victoria Pendleton got it right on her bike,
Baillie and Stott showed them how to canoe,
Glover and Stanning for Gold they did strike,
Hoy, Hindes and Kenny saw their rides through.
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poem by Bri Mar
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Leudeman's-on-the-River
Toward even when the day leans down,
To kiss the upturned face of night,
Out just beyond the loud-voiced town
I know a spot of calm delight.
Like crimson arrows from a quiver
The red rays pierce the water flowing,
While we go dreaming, singing, rowing,
To Leudeman's-on-the-River.
The hills, like some glad mocking-bird,
Send back our laughter and our singing,
While faint--and yet more faint is heard
The steeple bells all sweetly ringing.
Some message did the winds deliver
To each glad heart that August night,
All heard, but all heard not aright;
By Leudeman's-on-the-River.
Night falls as in some foreign clime,
Between the hills that slope and rise.
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poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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A Portland Canal Fogbank
From the islands gathered like lambs in the shelter of the wind
the water ripples with a million concave mirrors for time
seeming like the breath of the dawn
laps on the aluminum hull brought down round Cape Fox
the night before; past the gold cross facing the orient
marking the spot where the fisherman had drowned
kelp rising to the surface a friendly, tenacious life holding fast
the sweet smell of cool salt water and fish beyond day...
Walking until the land has no more promise
the sea becomes the place of hope to stroll
many hours more to go rowing to Port Simpson
in this area I watched for the shoals
Prince Rupert and the road for bicycling lay beyond
Portland Canal
seems like the end of a journey and the beginning of their world
broken occupations and riding on bike handles backwards
peddling stories and ideas apposite
to Hollywood's immense power
of propaganda and global megalomaniac sales networks
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poem by Gary C. Gibson
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Idyll XII
Art come, dear youth? two days and nights away!
(Who burn with love, grow aged in a day.)
As much as apples sweet the damson crude
Excel; the blooming spring the winter rude;
In fleece the sheep her lamb; the maiden in sweetness
The thrice-wed dame; the fawn the calf in fleetness;
The nightingale in song all feathered kind-
So much thy longed-for presence cheers my mind.
To thee I hasten, as to shady beech,
The traveller, when from the heaven's reach
The sun fierce blazes. May our love be strong,
To all hereafter times the theme of song!
'Two men each other loved to that degree,
That either friend did in the other see
A dearer than himself. They loved of old
Both golden natures in an age of gold.
O father Zeus! ageless immortals all!
Two hundred ages hence may one recall,
Down-coming to the irremeable river,
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poem by Theocritus
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Tortoise Shell
The Cross, the Cross
Goes deeper in than we know,
Deeper into life;
Right into the marrow
And through the bone.
Along the back of the baby tortoise
The scales are locked in an arch like a bridge,
Scale-lapping, like a lobster's sections
Or a bee's.
Then crossways down his sides
Tiger-stripes and wasp-bands.
Five, and five again, and five again,
And round the edges twenty-five little ones,
The sections of the baby tortoise shell.
Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
Four, and a keystone;
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poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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On hindsight
No one believes: in that well worn saying
It'll be all right on the night
Mention the five rings
or that the Olympics are coming to London
this much is absolutely certain
considerable panic and loads of hand wringing
Predictions of unfinished venues
Spiraling costs
Log jam
Gridlock
Pandemonium
Watch out
Ticket touts about
Journalists whipping up panic
over the threat of terrorists
Fiddlesticks!
99% of the Olympics
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poem by Nayyar Shabbir Ahmad
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