Poetry - July 2013

Seventy Seven Years of Hurt, Ended

It's been a very very long wait
As each year hope turns to despair
The crowds turn up at SW19
Hoping that for once things change
We've been oh so close in recent times
To get someone to win the event
Semi finalists and a final last year
But just can't seem to get over the line
Something this year was different
A new focus, a new determination
And with the mind of a warrior
And the hearts of a nation
That one man fought and battled
All the way to the Sunday afternoon
On a hot and dry Summer's day
The world number one stood opposite
A titanic struggle would ensue
No quarter asked, nor given
But as each set passed with drama
A new champion was arisen
So we salute you Andy Murray
For ending all those years of hurt
Giving the nation that sense of pride
And tennis that history it so deserved.

(Andy Murray's win at Wimbledon still gives me goosebumps now - to see it finally done was special and the way he did it showed that he was not going to be beaten this time around. A real fillip for British sport in general.)

Wanting the Maillot Jaune

Through the Alps and Pyrenees
The mountain stages, so brutal
Are decided men from just boys
The gears always high, never neutral
As across France the crowds gather
To watch the peloton pass them by
From down by the river bank
To the slopes of Mont Ventoux up high
Hoping not to be in the arriere of the field
As you ride along with the team
Knowing that one breakway could happen
Where a stage winner lives their dream
Ultimately the quest is for those
Who've dreamt of winning since they were born
Being the general classification leader
And pulling on the sacret maillot jaune.

(The Tour de France has fascinated me much more in the last few years, just to see how much of a real endurance test both physically and mentally it is. Even doing one stage I'd be pretty chuffed, to be honest.)

Sticky Heat

The closeness of the air is here
And it's a sticky feeling inside
As the air doesn't circulate whatsoever
Meaning you want to go and hide
In the most shaded part of the park
To try and avoid the glare
Of all that sunlight and humidity
That makes you uncomfortable there
You long for the air conditioning
To be fitted inside your office
So that you can keep your cool
When working, which should suffice
But as the air turns more muggy
You just want to head to somewhere cool
So as not to feel all the sticky heat
That just makes your shirt look uncool.

(If the humidity wasn't so bad, it'd be much more bearable at the moment...)

Anonymous on the Tube

Everyone sometimes sits and stares
Or stands and stares most of the time
Not knowing where to look or turn
With their earphones on the go
Or gazing into the screen of their phone
As the next station comes into view
More people try to get on the carriage
That's already full to bursting with people
It feels all so monotonous day by day
As everyone heads their own way to and from
But yet there's that aloneness at the same time
As there's just being so anonymous
Another person who sits there silent
Just not wanting to talk to anyone at all
Their personal space just crammed in
And their small section of the world
Where nothing passes by their mind
Except the station stop they need to get off
As darkness turns to light on the Northern Line
Another anonymous journey is ended.

(Each time I've been on the Tube as of late in London, there's a really anonymous feel to the whole travel experience. Hard to explain unless you've been on it and experienced it really)

Bublé Haiku

Singing the old songs
With a twist where women swoon
They want him, alone.

(Seeing first hand how many females want Michael Bublé was quite a weird thing, let me tell you..)