rivers (Remove filter)
Exile
My dear homeland, with fields so wide
And rivers that carve through vast, silent tide
On green hills where the calm winds flow
I left my heart in your soil below
Where wheat grows tall, and autumn turns gold
I, far from you, in the cold snow unfold
The distant peaks, where bears are hunted still
Sing in the breeze, a sweet, wistful thrill
Oh, my homeland, why did I leave thee?
With fo...
Thursday 21st November 2024 4:06 am
Floating out on Windermere
Floating out on Windermere
Below the towering fells
Enveloped by the beauty here
And hosts of daffodils
Over the side of the little boat
Oars churn the placid lake
Where unexpected items float
To the Leven and the Crake
They meander through the baby trout
And clog their little gills
Of their origin there can be no doubt
Septic tanks and sewage spills
...
Sunday 3rd March 2024 5:56 pm
The River Fleet
I think I only walked down Fleet Street once,
my grubwork year in London. Not much wowed,
not like I’d heard - most rags no more ensconced
but fled to Docklands - the street name but a label
for billionaire media magnates trumpeting loud
reactionary taunts and celebrity libel.
I had an inkling then: there was a proud
historic river, sadly much polluted,
...Sunday 28th May 2023 8:50 am
Llyfnant 2
version without the Welsh folklore
Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech
between banks of bluebells' hazy blue
where supple crosiers of new fern reach
over verdant moss still damp with dew
a grassy lane runs beside the river
In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome
of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak
a far cuckoo calls all walkers home
but we pass u...
Wednesday 6th June 2018 3:14 pm
Llyfnant
Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech
between banks of bluebells' hazy blue
where supple crosiers of new fern reach
over verdant moss still damp with dew
a grassy lane runs beside the river
In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome
of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak
a far cuckoo calls the dryads home
but we pass unseen by woodland folk
'til tylwyth teg w...
Monday 4th June 2018 9:31 am
A Step Towards Winter
A STEP TOWARDS WINTER.
I look into the mirror’s depthless space
and note the wrinkles that, somehow have grown
into something I wish I didn’t own.
The knife of age has cut into my face.
The greys within my hair have moved apace
from where the bird of youth had lightly flown
to make a nest of life that it could own.
I wish it hadn’t sprinted in that race.
...
Friday 1st March 2013 3:08 pm
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