Recall those stroppy scary sheep? (which was a previous rhyme)
With rain due later, longer morning walk today whilst fine:-

I knew exactly where I was, 'cos it's a driving route,
but cricket club and pub were quite surprising reached by foot.

Knowing 'where I am', though, doesn't help with 'which way home',
but that's exploring for you, as sweatily we roam.

Quarry Carpark? up the road, then gazing vaguely round
in hope of landmarks/signposts - here's a path that's going down

to Compstall! Close enough, I think, and set off with relief
to - lamby field - oh dear.  Short lead, dog close, I grit my teeth;

the sheepies move out of the way, they're really rather sweet,
despite the dog's excitement at every little bleat.

We stride on, a lovely path, and then more than 'oh dear';
I see THAT FARM, I see THOSE SHEEP. Language is worse, I fear.

One hour twenty if I turn around to retrace track;
Haven't time or energy to walk all the way back!

By the stile, I hope to find another path to go -
the sheep approach and stare. No choice, I simply have to - so,

to his surprise, the dog's picked up and in my armpit clenched,
hand through collar too, deep breath, and climb over the fence.

Stare ahead! Just walk! At least the dog stays still with shock -
They're flippin' huge! and run at us, each member of the flock.

They push and buffet, shove and bump, 'baa' fit to raise the dead,
I'm jostled off the path; walk, walk! ignore the mounting dread.

Please God don't let them knock me down, please God keep Badger calm,
Help me across this field! and then a window at the farm

opens - a hand waves 'Over there'. (I'd feared an angry shout)
I turn with gratitude to gate and finally get out.

Drop the dog from aching arm and, trembling, get home.
Cup of tea, then, shaking still, express in stupid poem.

a joining-in-poem about the Widow of Nain's son; for the kids' God slot

ok, so the idea is they guess the rhyming word for each second line and shout it out to you; but be prepared to ad lib in response to some, er, interesting suggestions!

Last week the story that we read

Was the soldier’s servant, sick in bed.

The soldier said ‘Jesus, I’ve heard tell

that you’re the one who can make him well.

Don’t come to my house, ‘cos I’ve also heard

You only have to say the word.’

Jesus said ‘What great faith he’s got!

He’s got more faith than any of you lot.’

The servant got better, and Jesus walked on.

Today it’s the story of the widow’s son.

She only has one son, and he’s died.

She was very sad; she cried and cried.

(This next bit doesn’t exactly rhyme –

It might have been better if I’d had more time!) *

Jesus saw the funeral procession

and how sad she was, and he had compassion.

He stopped the crowd, said ‘Don’t keep on crying,’

Touched the stretcher where the boy was lying,

Said ‘Get up!’ The boy did just that,

He came back to life, started having a chat.

Faith isn’t mentioned here, is it though?

Jesus did it because he loves us so.

Then Jesus sent the boy home with his mother,

Because it’s important to love each other.

Everyone watching was just amazed.

Said ‘A prophet is with us, God be praised!’

*or if I was better at writing poetry

Why is a high bit of land called a low?

It just is, that's all. From an old word hlaw or similar, which means mound or hill. We moved in December, quite near to Werneth Low. Hence getting lost walking poems, like this one.

29^th January 2016

This morning lost on Werneth Low, just couldn’t find which way to go.
Tweaked my knee on awkward stile, still I had to walk for miles.
Why’s it called a ‘low’? It’s steep! And covered with aggressive sheep
Which ran straight at us. Bloody hell! And suddenly my knee was well.
I reckon there were almost fifty; we exited their field damn nifty. 
The arrows led me there and then the footpath disappeared again.
So out of farmyard gate we go’ed and had to walk along the road.
Blimey, don’t those cars go fast, we hid in hedge as each went past.
A footpath with a sign, hooray! To Stockport – no, that’s the wrong way.
Had to stay on tarmac black and hope the road would take us back.
Yes, we made it home again, but not before caught in the rain.
Breakfast for the dog; and me? of course, I’ve got a cup of tea.
Sermon to write – naa, there’s a laugh. I’m going to run myself a bath.

old walking poems!

Having inflicted poems - okay, then, doggerel - on fb friends in the past, it's been suggested I go back over what I've put on fb and turn them into blog posts.

Cringe.

However, look at what I found from two years ago!

20^th March 2014

Poeb for the firsd day ob sprig

Spring is springing,
Birds are singing,
Trees are pinging pollen wide.
Blossom blooming,
Mis’ry looming,
Noseblows booming, walk red-eyed.
Sneezing, spluttering,
Hanky fluttering,
Swearwords uttering, home I rolled.
Walk forsaken,
Tablets taken,
Sense awakens – it’s a cold.

Not a blog virgin

No, not a blog virgin. I managed two posts about eighteen months ago before I forgot how. I wonder if they're still around somewhere? There was something about a hat, I remember.

Starting again because longer dog walks means extra stupid poems rattling around in my head, and needing somewhere to put them. (Is that extra poems, or extra stupid? We'll see. And whilst we're at it, the terrier hasn't turned into a dachshund; it's the walks that are longer not the dog.)

Yet more doggy expeditions, guided just by snap decisions -
Another path? Come, on, let's try it!  (More miles means less need to diet)

etc etc.

More to follow. Perhaps.