Easter Meaning

A recent exchange in the changing room of Littlehampton Swimming and Sport Centre after the usual 38 x 100 metres set, is what started the ball rolling in the direction of the responses left here.
Hope everybody had a wonderful Easter celebration.

Easter Meaning 

Times have changed and memory clearly faded

Gone is every shred of the lessons that were taught

One friend asked why the day is called GOOD Friday

To tell his children as chocolate eggs they sought

Because Christ died for us, say people who still pray

Why isn’t it Bad Friday, the retort came sounding jaded

So what are Bunnies all about? What’s that to do with Jesus?

Without parental teaching belief is all for naught

The scriptures won’t stay clear unaided

And Easter story will not feature in a solemn high day

For folk living their lives this way it very well will please us

The simple connection with rebirth will remain this way

That we are born again in Christ and in a bright light caught

After He dragged that rugged cross in humiliation shaded

 

 

 

The Shingle Bank

Presented by mother nature as a gradually increasing change in the off shore sea scape, is the spectacular new shingle bank off Littlehampton. The winter series of storms were responsible for depositing this quite startling change in the low tide scenery. I can't believe that the local papers have not yet as much as shown a photograph of it. Surfers should love it I would imagine.

Shingle Bank 

Startling in the novelty of natures newest creation

An island like shingle bank, materialised off the beach

Born of an endless series of storms that hit this nation. 

Winter weather breathing out hell and damnation

Took its toll, the poor sea defences to breach

Sea road savaged, shingle strewn each tidal rotation. 

Repeated stormy seas became visual fascination

With gale upon gale wicked winds would screech

Plotting to mark this year in sorrowful negation. 

The river flooded ceaselessly in endless duration

Waters rising on two fronts as tempests preach

Of permanent change now in base foundation. 

As spring days changed winters tedious narration

Off our shore nature gave an announcing speech

The gift of an amazing shingle bank, new in formation. 

Should we think of this phenomenon as salvation?

Or fear an encore another year as history does teach

Is this misreading or is the meaning lost in translation?

His Serene Highness Pu Yi

Facebook friends are always posting photos and bits of video of their pets and much as I enjoy seeing them I still cannot bring home a new pet because when the last one died it just hurt so much that I am still not ready, years later to risk that pain again. This poem is about the last pet I had.

His Serene Highness 

My fabulous little cat Pu-yi

Was such a charming character and he

Would talk all the time you talked to him

My lap staying empty; chances thin

Named after the last Emperor of China

Personality the size of an ocean liner

He was the colour of desert sand

Minute stature but of presence grand

When he first joined our family life

Standing no bigger than a fist in strife

He was a Devon Rex kitten; so tiny

A huge voice got just a little bit winey

His name choice since, he looked oriental

Demanding sometimes, and decidedly mental

He trained us both to a life that pleased

Favour, affection and advantage seized

We often wonder if he knew he was small

With his bold behaviour on beds to sprawl

He would face off to a dog ten times his size

They would back down too, feeling it wise.

A teeny chap with a powerful aura

His coat was velvet rather than angora

The shortest of shorthaired cats

With bulldog stance and ears like bats

His Serene Highness the Emperor Pu Yi

Lived not in a palace but curled up on my knee.

Giving Thanks Not Abuse

Still a little chilly early this morning and we wore bike shorts instead of tights so it was a little cold for the knees and fingers.  I don't wear gloves because my hands are still painful even almost a year since I had that nasty fall but instead I find the neoprene wrist supports far better for me.  The wind however was non-existent so that made a pleasant change. It is 50 days until I start my big 75 min tri challenge but I would like you to know that training is going well and I am feeling confident. This mornings poem is about an encounter whilst riding around Kingston Gorse where there was not another car in sight, totally empty road. No reason at all for such rudeness.

 

Giving Thanks Instead of Abuse 

Whilst riding our bikes sedately

We were taken by surprise,

A scene we’ve seen more of lately

Causing a widening of our eyes. 

We are a pair of ageing old codgers

Out for a quiet morning spin

We became two swift car dodgers

Of a motor making lots of din. 

Riding along a quiet road we use

Since main road traffic is too scary,

We suffered a helping of verbal abuse

And some signs of which we were wary. 

A smart man was driving the car

With an attractive woman by his side

We realised its not a ‘lady’ you are!

Such nastiness you should try to hide.

It saddened me to see this occur;

If you are wealthy you should be happy

To be better off than once you were,

Not to poorer folk be so snappy. 

Give thanks for what you have in live,

But be tolerant of others ways as well,

Thank God for your car, you house, your wife

Don’t tell old bikers to F-off and go to hell!

 

Säter, Sweden 1999

The travel involved in yesterday's blog piece reminded me of another more bizarre sports trip.
This one was with the GB triathlon squad for the World Triathlon Championships in Sweden in 1999
Although the problem there was not nice, accommodation wise, the race itself was lovely starting in a beautiful lake there. There was also a delightful ceremony in a natural park that was as wonderful as the team base was awful. The huge institution has now been allowed to fall into ruin as shown in my research to see if it was still in use. It was a collection of buildings with massive escape proof asylum walls. It stood in a fabulous location though and an ideal spot for a true sports village.

Säter, Sweden 

It was somewhere that we had never been

And so it was to us of instant interest

Many folk go to the same place every year

But that is not for us to matter what

We like to go somewhere we’ve never seen   

We both keep fit with the same sport

And have done triathlon for many a year

Combining sport and holiday seems the best

We take these sport vacations quite a lot

So somewhere more unique we would court  

The World Championships would be here

At Säter, in Sweden proved to be the queen

Of weird locations, being something of a test

The race information showed us that not

‘Accommodation in a sport village’ so less clear   

Yet the site was one our heart would detest

On the UK team arrival too late to abort

A place where distraught once lived in fear

Charging us to stay there seemed obscene

Largest asylum in Sweden for our sport fest 

Clanging corridors in an institution is what

They gave us, curtain-less rooms beyond drear

Simple cot beds and cold tap sink was nought

But insult to visiting teams and not clean                         

Team manager said to forget what it was not

 

This wise mans advice; focus on the job in hand                                                              

Think only of sport whilst in this foreign land

Be determined to do well that would be grand

Forget anger and rise to do what we had planned

Show strength and in sport we would proudly stand  

 

1999  Age Group  Female 55-59 1st

 

Folsom, CaliforniaMan Iron distance race

I was reminded of this race whilst looking through an old box of photos. Since this year we have our 35th wedding anniversary coming up next month, and have big plans in hand for the rest of the summer to celebrate that and my 75th birthday in August, and to round the celebrations off this will also be my 25th season in the sport of triathlon. This poem is about a race we did to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary. It was very different and a brilliant challenge and my husband went home with the biggest most water filled blisters you have ever seen!

Folsom…. Blues and Trainer Shoes

 

It was an event to burn into the mind

Organised in savvy and exemplary style

Strange location was an interesting find

Somewhere to celebrate a trip down the aisle 

Years since we married and we didn’t mind

A plane and car with our bikes in to pile

A long distance race of our usual kind

Racing in Folsom made us both smile 

California Man the race to which we signed

The event swim in a lake that was in close file

To the famous place where prisoners pined

And Johnny Cash did a new song compile 

Our long bike ride was a desolate grind

Buzzards circled overhead my gaze to beguile

A wild turkey madly my downfall designed

Rushing out in my path and gobbling a while 

I fiercely wiggled my bike not to get entwined

Then the park run was a double circle of 13 mile

With signs about bobcats and snakes were lined

An adventurous race in an area quite hostile 

We were slow and in the dark left far behind

Our anniversary celebration in brand new style

Back together running where gold was once mined

In the end the whole race took us quite a while 

The old town Folsom finish was well designed

The scenery changes surprisingly versatile

We enjoyed the challenge on a holiday unwind

Like early prisoners we suffered quite a trial 

Thankfully we have never been in prison detained

And as our memories of that day fondly compile

With our finish run on Sutter Street, Folsom remained

Exhausted and blistered with crimson sunburnt smile 

California Man, Folsom, California USA

Swim 3800 metres- Bike 115 miles- Run 26.2 miles

This Plane has Landed

This Plane Has Landed 

A child’s imagination is a thing of wonder

But this one example is the tops

Breaking any dull persons mind clean asunder. 

We strolled through a Harrods hall of late

Walking to another one of our stops

A child stood involved in his imaginative state. 

‘This plane has landed’ he announced into his hand

Then made creditable directions to airport shops

His hands flew around in his minds flight stand. 

His parents were at the desk for theatre booking

As their son direction planes on short hops

Taking off as in his hands he stayed looking. 

My husband flew his own plane past the boy

The child’s eyes widened as his plane drops

Be careful! You will crash and your plane destroy! 

“Where is the runway”? My husband quietly said

“It’s here” the boy said, with little with hand pops

“Your plane will crash, they will all be dead”. 

His dad looked back at the child with a smile

Better show the man where he stops!

More imagination had he than us by a mile. 

Looking back upon that eye opening day

Seeing kiddies hands waving when we’re in the shops

“This plane has landed” We often smile and say.