Re: Accrington Poets.
 

That sure enough takes the biscuit.

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Mayhem
or ‘**** Happens!’
© 2007

I was cycling along in my lycra,
Oblivious to all, but FM,
When a daft dog announced it’s objections,
And caused me no end of mayhem.

Snarling and barking, the animal charged,
With much lunging and snapping of teeth,
And caught unawares, I took to the air,
To land in a desperate heap.

With skinned knees and a gravel-rashed elbow,
A sprained wrist and jarred shoulder to boot,
I watched the dog vanish from whence it appeared,
It plainly did not give a hoot!

Quite embarrassed, and shaken up badly,
I reflected a while on my plight,
Exploring my bumps and my bruises,
Which at first glance seemed ever so slight.

When you get to the plus side of sixty,
And you feel like a teenager, still,
Your aches and pains tell you your past it,
Whilst your ego lends grist to the mill.

As the tow path at Rishton was empty,
Save crestfallen me and my bike,
I took a deep breath and remounted,
Still cursing my woes and such like.

Then my efforts to pedal were blighted,
Forestalled by each turn of the crank,
Yet stubbornness helped my endeavours,
And helped put some grit in my tank.

Drained by the effort I made it back home,
Once there, I examined my scars,
The bruises and bumps I had suffered,
When I went arse o’er tit o’er the bars.

The missus tut-tutted as stiffness set in,
She ran me a steaming hot bath,
And broiled like a turkey I wallowed,
As she stood by and stifled a laugh.

So there I was stuck in the bathtub,
Rendered helpless by wrenches and sprains,
Unable to raise myself upright,
Whence my pride took a tumble again.

Try as I did, my sprained wrists prevailed,
Hence the wife launched a shrewd master plan,
‘Throw your legs o’er the side and I’ll lift you,’
She said. And I said, ‘I don’t think you can!’

Imagine the comical drama,
What a picture to tickle the mind,
My bits o’er the side of the bathtub,
The wife’s giggling a trifle unkind.

The count, ‘one - two -three,’ was the trigger,
That hurled me once more through the air,
To land in a heap with the missus,
And end my dilemma four square.

On reflection, I cannot be blameless,
For the ludicrous state of affairs,
And Classic FM contributed,
By filling my head with it's airs.

End

This incident actually happened on Tuesday, 15th May 2007, on the canal towpath at Rishton, Lancashire, where it crosses the M65 Motorway. The black & white sheepdog involved was unattended and may well have come from a nearby farm.

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Nice one that is, you are lucky you didn't end up in the canal also as well as coming off the bike.

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Cheers Kestrelx. I reckon I would have done were it not for the wooden palisade erected canalside where it passes over the M65. Maybe I should take a shotgun with me when I cycle that way now!

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Hi Stumped, I havn't been to Accy for a good few years now. But I always recall there were some mad farm dogs when I lived there that would always come out down a field and start barking. Probably because you were on a bike they are more likely to chase you. Perhaps you should report it to the police as if there are kids cycling along it could turn out much nastier than what happened to you.

Cheers,

Kestrel X

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Thanks for your concern, kestrelx. The incident, however occured in May, 2007, so it's a bit late to bother now.

Regards, etc.

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Not much of a poet, not much of anything really. I kinda write songs and hmm here is on about suicide(one that of course(thankfully?) never happened)

He is always by the seaside
Overcasting a storm
A storem to wash him away
The waves they crash
They promise him a painless death
Underneath the stars and the laughing moon
The horizon stretches out for miles
Marking his thirty years
Those years that just fell like tears
The undertow dares him to let go
That in her he can confide
If he gives to the tide
Submerged and fathoms down
She dares him to breath
Whispers to him the knoledge
There is nothing more to achieve

Re: Accrington Poets.
 

Mel Yates is my dad!!!!!!!lol nice poem