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Contents

The Ballad of Bosigran Ridge

The Fire Inside

Repair

The Contest

A Climbers Challenge

Rainfall

The Evening Rally

Cleg Obituary

God rest y merry climbers

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The Ballad of Bosigran Ridge

The night was dark, the sky was clear,
10 climbers set out, they had no fear.
Commando ridge was the order of the day,
Commando ridge? Or was it Bosigran bay.
The group was fearless, the group was strong,
Did I say fearless, I could be wrong.
The leader shouts, ``an overhang next'',
Hand me the guide book, it's not in the text!
Penzance to Scotland, Bosigran to Dover,
Did I say overhang, I meant hung over!
Weary and slow, the shout that I hear,
``On to the hut, lets get back to the
BEER ''

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The Fire Inside!

Warm air,
Gentle touch of the sun,
Warms my muscles to action.

Freedom.
So much space to move,
Yet so much forbidden.
The steely grip of my fingers,
Guarantees my safety.

So much safer, I feel,
Than my tentative reaches,
Into the female mind,
So much greater,
The fear of rejection,
Than the airy attraction,
Of exposure.

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Repair

Wind in my hair,
Tears, stream down my face,
Not from sorrow, but joy and exhilaration,
I wish this game, the game of life,
Could go on for ever.

I hit an edge,
All becomes tangled and confused,
Then pain, not transient,
But sharp, and penetrating,
Enters my skull, and holds me in its grasp.
Followed by blackness, total and entire,
Filling the whole universe.

I see a point of light,
Which expands, gradually to fill my whole vision.
I see,
Rows of beds,
Nurses,
Other broken down people,
Hung up, awaiting repair.

The pain is still there,
Now dull and aching,
But still there,
Forming a background to my very existence.
I ponder, will it ever go?

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The Contest

The rock face, proud and majestic, shining granite,
Looks down on the small insect at its base.

The climber, dons his boots,
Prepares himself to start the game,
This futile contest,
Simultaneously so threatening,
Yet so essential to his existence.

He commences the climb,
The sun glints on his muscles,
As they flow, with apparent ease,
From one game to the next.
The crystalline bite of the rock,
His only safety,
Against the airy flight,
And its painful end below.

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A Climbers Challenge

Myriad petals of dark speckle the surface,
Spoiling the shine like a pox.
The heal comes quickly, in raging torrents,
Rivulets cascade the mountain,
Regaining its beauty, in a different form

The climber pauses, his original dismay,
Replaced by a newly found wonder,
Fresh challenges,
Challenges of friction and poise,
Overcome by ballance and determination,

The sunshine returns, renewing the mountain,
To its original splendour.

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Rainfall

I stand motionless, Face upturned,
I feel the rain,
Thousands of droplets,
Each one, a perfect tear,
Shed by the boughs overhead,
Mourning the absence of the sun,
And forgetting, for a while,
How essential, this other element,
Whose gentle pitter-patter,
Quietly delivers it's due.
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The Evening Rally

The evening rally,
A billion 50 milli c.c. cyclo roto bladers rise above the eth,
The tall majestic beams, fall, crushed,
Crushing the tiny micro choppers,
Waiting to take the place of their elders.

The war cry sound, in anger
They turn, blades drawn and attack,
The colossus staggers to his feet and lumbers off.
Defeated.

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Cleg Obituary

Cleg Zzt, Hate Zzt, Blood Zzt, Bite Zzt, Splat Black Nothing...
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God rest ye merry climbers

To be sung to the tune of the carol 'God rest ye merry gentlemen'

God rest ye merry climbers, let no rout you dismay,
For Gary D. our chairman 'l get pissed till christmas day,
Wee'll find some keen young fresher to take his place we prey,
Good climbing on limestone and on grit,
                              limestone and grit,
Good climbing on limestone and on grit.

Now Beardy Mike we all know well, on iceclimbing was tops,
He'd find his gear on mountain routes, in Begschrunds and in shops,
He says that he would be the best if it wasn't for the hops,
Good climbing on limestone and on grit,
                              limestone and grit,
Good climbing on limestone and on grit.

Loco the mad mexican, solos rock routes all the time,
If he placed a nut or drilled a bolt he says it'd be a crime,
About him I would say much more, but I couldn't find a rhyme,
Good climbing on limestone and on grit,
                              limestone and grit,
Good climbing on limestone and on grit.

Well Robo Rob we can't omit,what is it that he's found,
Just in the Plug or on the rug, it's really rather round,
A small and shiny piece of brass, none other than a 'pound',
Good climbing on limestone and on grit,
                              limestone and grit,
Good climbing on limestone and on grit.

Dedicated to

Gary The Chairman (Hail G., Hail G., ...!) ,
Mike, member of the Beards only club,
Loco, "Ropes, Que esta",
and
Robo Rob, "only southerners need wings to fly".

              all dedicated members of the Bath University Mountaineering Club.
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