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The 1oo BT Olympic Storytellers were invited to submit a piece entitled ‘Anticipation. The entries were judged by Caitlin Moran. I’m proud to say my poem was judged as winner!
Many others’ work was commended and included prose, photos and sculpture.
I can recommend a visit to the website at http://www.btlondon2012.co.uk/storytellers/index.php
It is well worth it…don’t forget to vote for your favourite piece by clicking ‘like’! The more votes storytellers get, the more ‘points’ they earn…I have my fingers crossed to come near the top of the list.

My poem, below, was designed to embrace olympic hopefuls from all over the globe, through a wide spectrum of sports as well as the myriad other people with a great investment in the success of the games in London 2012.

Anticipation

From misted dawn, cold, unforgiving
slap of trainers on damp tarmac.
Training. Again. Always.

Through desert haze, dusty, choking,
crunch of foot in sand.
Again. Training. Always.

In chill, grey, open water, churning
splash of ankle-kick in waves.
Always. Training. Again.

From sweat–stinking late night gym,
clack of weights lowered, controlled.
Training. Again. Always.

Along thin aired, cloudy mountain trail,
whir of wheels, locked into descent.
Training. Always. Again.

Horses whicker, stabled, waiting; yachts
chatter at anchor; pistols, cold, boxed,
safety on; bows unbent, relaxed;

Racquets, balls, parallel bars; stilled rings, chalk
for sticky hands; crash mats; dhojo; boots – all
still, empty, at rest – for now.

Mayor and minister, coach and trainer;
groom and ref and umpire. Taxi driver;
train driver; bus driver; landscaper scattering

seed for field of gold – all waiting, wondering
watching progress as brick on brick, window
by window, stair by stair, the dream is made real.

Pools filled, surfaces laid, lines marked, walkways
paved. Village built, rails joined, velodrome
stands bright and proud. Routes tested, details

fine tuned. Competitors dream, coaches scheme
politicians rub sweaty palmed hands. Will it work,
can it work, how good will it be…

… and the clock in the
square counts down, down
and down to London – 2012.