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of Christopher Whitby |
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| Scafell Pike Half way, we questioned whether to go on And then again, ten minutes from the top, Much less in doubt than to reaffirm the need Within was stronger than the hurtling sleet That sliced our cheeks, froze lips and closed our eyes. Bent double, old beggars under sacks indeed, We pivoted our coming and our going On outstretched fingers brushing ice-rimed cairn. When steaming gently in the heated car We asked once more why on earth we did this, We knew our answers would not be the same. For me, remembering turning back from other goals, I know no better spur to my intent Than because I am here. |
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| 2nd prize in 1991 UK Radio 4 Kaleidosocope Poetry competition. | ||
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| Breaking Silence There was a time you'd climb a mountain top And find yourself alone to contemplate Whatever promptings God, your inner soul, Or nature's trenchant silence might evoke. To do that now, you have to beat the dawn Or settle for arrival with the dusk, Having doggedly threaded through the Goretex exodus To curious looks and snippets of sharp advice. Now mountains keep their counsel through the day, But met at the right hour will whisper still The old familiar charm: "All this I give To you, as far as eye can see, and more, If you will but bow down and worship me." Enveloped in the mist, I bend my knee. |
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| Written for Festival of Mountaineering Literature (can't remember which year). | ||
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| This site is ordered chronologically, so for most recent work, click on 'latest sonnet' below and work backwards. If you go forward from the latest sonnet, you reach the short items I call 'sentiments'. | ||
| Note on author | ||
| Copyright | ||