The Dopers Lament

Doping in sport has been around for a long time. In cycling the first death attributable to doping was back in Arthur Linton back in 1896. He was trained by Chopper Warburton from Haslingden (just up the road from here) who trained three champion cyclists all of whom died before 40. The use of performance enhancing drugs wasn't banned until 1965!

At a time we are looking at the cheating side of drugs in sport I find myself thinking of the harm it has done to some many over the years. It's not just unfair it is genuinely tragic.


To be legends of dream, heroes
No way to win without the dope
They fuel the myth, recruit the young
The only way, the only hope

From strychnine to amphetamine
EPO, steroids, cortisone
Blood transfusions, needles and pills
HGH human growth hormone

The end of innocence came
Eighteen Ninety Six Linton died
Nineteen seventy’s new rules fell
Too late to turn this drug-fueled tide

As Tommy passed on Ventoux’ slopes
The pirate taken by cocaine
And fit young men died in their sleep
The knew the risks, we saw the pain

Fallen Heroes, battered beaten
Nowhere to go, nowhere to hide
Reputations gone, lives destroyed
The cost of greed the cost of pride

National Poetry Day 2012

Today is National Poetry Day and that serves as a good prompt to get back to my blogs which have been sadly neglected for quite a time. Although not blogging I've still been writing so for my first post back I'm posting a group of 5 recent poems.

I was one of seven poets commissioned to write poems inspired by Rochdale's Connect2 network as part of the Connect2 project. You'll be able to read more about the project on the Connect2Rochdale blog soon. So for my post tonight here are my five commissioned poems. They relate to the area around Milnrow, Kingsway Business Park through to Broad lane with a reference to Rochdale town centre in the last poem.

Bulrushes

Water lily pads fringe dark deep water

The heron stands

By the tall bulrushes

Statue still

Strikes

A knife blade splash

Languid ripples radiate

Slow wing-beats loft high

And the motorway rumbles

The long grass rustles

And the songbirds break through

Between

High hedges hide the secret places

Between nature and men’s meddling

Quiet places beside

Ivy clad cottages

Leading to

Victorian terraces and

Batch-built estates

And a present-day traveller

Traces history’s footsteps

Subway

Weavers’ cottages and

Ellenroad’s tall smoking stack

Overlook the hidden entrance

As walkers, cyclists and horses

Pass under fast traffic

Frequent frustrated queues

Heading North, South, East and West

The motorway rumbles

The long grass rustles

And the songbirds break through

The Larks

Skylarks soar their vertical columns

Echoing chimneys long gone

Yellow machines move earth

Tall cranes lower preformed concrete

And industry is reborn

In a northern town

Seat of a co-operative revolution

And the motorway rumbles

The long grass rustles

And the songbirds always break through

Seven Guardians

White turbines churning, lazy

On dark Peninne hills

While seven sisters guard the valley

Where weavers in 1844

Pioneered equity

Now East and West bound

Traffic doesn’t see

The motorway rumbles

The long grass still rustles

And the songbirds break through