Come away with the raggle taggle gypsy-o
My Dartmoor series continues with some contented locals.
Shelter beside rocks
grazing in peace without fear
Scotch black-faced ram sheep
shaggy fleece hangs soft and pale
soon they’ll fetch you for the shear.
The lazy poet is as much about words as photography, hence the image is small. You can click to see a larger version if you want. 🙂
The Dartmoor series continues with a distant view of Brentor and I’ve posted a larger image then usual so that you can zoom in to the horizon and see the church.
Brentor
St Michael’s tower atop volcanic cone
presiding over broad sweep of moor
with expanse of green pasture and hedge
and with barren peat soil to the fore
built on solid granite eight centuries past
you perch on sacred pagan land
with unconcerned remains of thirty nine
lying north to south beneath Christian floor
traces remain of what once was so fine
crafted Before Christ by sturdy hands
no longer standing the ancient hill fort
but in perpetuam it’s ghosts will hold fast
My Dartmoor series continues.
Meldon Dam
West Okement River
you ran through granite incision
you splashed your path
through blanket bog
already rendered barren
its nutrients washed away
by the rainfall of millennia
Neolithic sapien arrived
when ice age departed
devoided trees to hunt out
forest animals
Industrial Revolution
reached your western land
rock was quarried
iron path hammered
you were dammed
to quench the thirst of Devon
The second of my Dartmoor lazies.
Bennett’s Cross
Boundary marker
ancient wayside granite cross
standing defiant
Wounded in her youth
she stands in grace and splendour
limbs raised to heaven
I was inspired by a TV program, A Poet’s Guide to Britain, and so think I might do a Dartmoor series. Of course this depends on how lazy I am . . .
On Houndtor
The glistening granite of millennia
clings like the crest of a dragon
on the horizon beneath a thunder cloud sky
scramble a pathway between and look east
to where a habitation of stone once lay
but now sprinkled like so many marbles
on soil trampled and bovine nibbled
leaving only echoes of medieval voices
causing ears to question when mist descends
to infuse ancient hearth where fire burns no longer
and generations that huddled have migrated
to pleasant valleys far from nature’s scorn
replaced by fair weather wanderers
unaware of those who stepped before
Tiny galaxies
brim full of dazzling starlight
infinite beauty
dashing blue sail boat
once loved you’ll soon be driftwood
reclaimed by nature
You sweet Williams
bowl me over with fragrance
heady sweet like cloves
This is a scheduled post, be back soon!
Sitting on shingle
dreaming of far distant shores
as the tide rolls out
This is a scheduled post, be back soon!
Lucid Gypsy 