Here are some random thoughts.  Primarily they surround cycling, but also life.

The initial poems are in the Haiku format (five syllables, then seven, then five again), and the later poems are in a more contemporary format…

Many new faces,
Keen to ride Taupo this year,
Great journeys ahead.

Maxi Enduro               
Longing for the day,
I eat breakfast on my bike,
Taupo awaits me.

K2 not for me,
Others race hills too far north,
One month too soon for me.

The 'Close Call'           
One foot to the right,
And I’d be heading to God,
Much to do for him.

The Lake
Embracing Taupo,
And riding it four times round,
Saying “I’m at Taupo”.

Taupo Extreme
Narrow path for some
Taupo 8 lapper then??  No way!!
Bum would get too sore.

What next??If my greatest ride.
Is now behind me and done.
Then it’s time to die.

The Moon
Where were you my friend??
The skies reveal your absence.
You missed a good ride.

The Ride
Everything perfect.
Planning, plotting, mapping out.
So this day echos.

Round and round this night.
No stopping until sunrise.
The new day will come.

The Serpents
To those who doubted.
What is that view like over there??
Wishing you had said 'Yes'.

Rest now - Mind and body.
Efforts behind me for now.
Just dreams - Past and present.

Winter 2012
Carrying onwards.
No goal.  No steps.  No tasks.  No.
Boredom fills my soul.

This Life
On and on – Always.
No retreat – no surrender.
Glory – To those few.

Self Belief
All around.
See it everywhere.
You wish.
Upon a star.
Or anything you wish.

Steve F.           
Steven Fitzgerald,
Did he know that time was up,
Riding home one day.
[Steven was killed while cycling home in 2008]

Knowing every corner,
Slope and rise.

Never the fastest,
Seldom the last.

And every single time,
Without exception,
Turning myself...

...inside out.

The perfect day,
today it is.

Is that day,
arriving home.

Asked, “What did you do??”.
You have no answer,
and no guilt.

you’ll do it again.

The number known,
Every hill urged on,
Every climb wished for,
And always knowing.

Long straights of emptiness yearned,
Laps ticked off,
One by one,
And always knowing.

Time becoming irrelevant,
Distant landmarks reached,
And always knowing.

Three phases to get through,
And always knowing.

Day and then night and then day.

And always knowing....that I will succeed.

No Looking Back (Taupo Enduro)

Ready to go,
Tactics known,
Legs fresh,
Mind alert,
Body at my service.

The day to be...
Looked back at.

Through the dark,
Through the light,
Through the barrier,
We call limits.

...hoping to find myself

Let Me Try
Roads ahead.
Too long for many,
Too short for some.

Pushing too hard.
Not hard enough,
to get results.

Health and fitness.
Incidentally reached,
as I push through to reach...

...the perfect ride.

On and on.
Boredom seen by some,
endless miles though turning into blurs of pain and glory.

Stories told.
Watching, listening, reading, training, eating, sleeping,
Until it is my day to dictate the pace.

My story is endless.
Looking now towards my next conquest,
But happy with my lot in life.

Roads to eternity.
Minds changing and watching all the others,
Speeding through places unseen and streets designed for idol ambling.

Next to me as I ride I am watched,
Always there and watching over me,
and never closer than when I ride.

Sweat through my eyes.
Blood and pain and cars too close,
Feet and hands, cold and aching, back hurting,
But most of all my head pounding once again.
My end will come soon enough and then to God.

Travelling by Bike
Wheels turning,
faster now,
occasional bumps,
on this dusty road.

Turning now,
people restless,
getting closer,
Brakes applied as we arrive.

So this is the place,
pointed to on a map so long ago.
All this travel.
We’re finally here.

Where to next??

Cluttered Thoughts
Standing here,
admiring the view.
Tiny insects living,
and leaves slowly growing.

Entire forests stand before me,
all I see is this tree,
that I stand too close to.

Never did the beach seem so warm,
as when I walked in the sea.

Never did the sand seem so pure,
as when I walked amongst the shells.

Always looking,
but never seeing.

All of us.

Bigg Market
Music, lights, and slappers dancing,
another night of drunken bliss.
Stagger to another bar,
11 O’clock the time to leave.

Drinking, dancing,
laughing, smoking.
Who cares about tomorrow,
who cares about tonight.

Stories told,
with lies mixed in, for good measures,
makes the tale,
come to life.

Late now.
evolution in reverse.
Stooped stagger and ignorant bliss,
as it would have been for some.

Evenings end, not as climax.
an acceptance that moneys gone,
or drinking more will make me sick.

Twisting, turning, scraping, yearning,
to climb out of this pit,
that we call,
self doubt.

Dreams Fulfilled
Season won on three fronts.
Never more.

Attentions turn to other things,
as chapters end.

Not facing what my life once was.
Backs not turned...merely living other dreams.

Cold wind in my face.
No sound yet, but it’s coming.
Standing back from the tracks.

Memories of stories of pushing and accidents.
I check the sign,
“This train for Monument”.

Time to leave Haymarket,
time to leave England.

New Season
Once again,
empty stands to fill,
and boredom to be exchanged,
with that fleeting moment...of victory.

Looking Within

I love you,
yet I despise you.

I call you my enemy,
or more so would do,
if it were not for the fact,
that you are me.

Football Grounds        


Listening for the crowd,
I hear nothing.
Looking for the spotlights glow,
none switched on.

Season over.
Fixtures finished.
Teams relegated and promoted,
to where they should and shouldn’t be.

Summer now.
Pitches bare except for mowing.
Terraces empty,
except when swept.

But standing here,
on the outside looking in.
I recall games and goals for this Club,
and still feel Football.

Often said.
People and places,
to be judged,
to be tested,
by their worst and not their best.

Sitting here.
Midwinter bliss,
with sunshine,
warming everything,
an everything looking just perfect.

One day now,
until we leave this place,
feeling like we’ve never gone,
and knowing that not all of me will ever leave.

Yes, often said.

Cold, bleak and dreary.
Breathing fumes from passing cars.
Holding in my hand a ticket for a match.

A match I never thought I'd be at.
A match I never thought would happen.

And being,
for the first time in a long time,

The Goal         
Weaving though defenders,
like they were carefully placed cones,
on the freshly mown pitch.

Looking to pass the ball.
Blood taking short cuts,
through my lungs,
to reach my heart.

I broke so soon that there’s no one to pass to.
No time for thoughts,
no time for remembering what to do.
‘Always shoot low against this keeper’, the manager said.
So I shoot high.

Sailing, curving, moving away from the keeper,
moving away from keeper further still.
Ball still sailing through the goal,
in my mind,
every time I blink.

Whitley Bay
Sand swept beaches,
cold and lonely.
Like ‘Chariots of Fire’,
only lined with drunken bars.

Wondering why we came here on this day,
surely must be something on the box.
“To be outside and enjoy the seaside”,
a gentle voice reminds me.

Time to go, get out money from the cash point,
heckling lads to one side,
waiting for a fight,
or at least reaction.

Will we return, probably,
can’t be worse,
but there isn’t better.
Not today.

Today I have stumbled.
Bleeding toe,
And dusty road ahead.

Ahead however,
My journey continues.
Onwards now.

May next hurdle,
Reward my work,
And allow respite.

But if it doesn’t,
I will carry one,
As fate awaits me

Somewhere a room full of my ancestors,
Await my return,
To share an open fire,
And a glass of scotch.

The Back Step
Ahh, peace at last.
Back ally my mountain view.
Impatient drivers using narrow lanes,
only reminder of the noise I am escaping.

Graffiti on the wall.
Reminded this view is only borrowed.
Passer-by looks at me,
as if to see if I have stolen what they look for.

What a refreshing change.
With nothing to see I am left to my thoughts.
Quietly I smoke my cigarette,
and drink.

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