Guisecliff Crag, August

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Where the fragrant heather moorland borders

wildwood, by the crags above the river,

the harebells and last fading heads of clover

nod themselves to sleep in drowsy August.

The ling is now full-on and tightly ordered

spikes of tiny flowers blanket over

the landscape like an Emperor’s purple toga

swathed across the heights, but thrice more gorgeous.

The fated grouse may look up and half-notice

rowan berries reddening on the trees.

We sip the bilberry’s blood, consume the bloated

drone of pollen-laden honeybees.

This track can be a tramp but we are floating,

lofted by the nectar on the breeze.



◄ 100 Reasons to Plant a Tree

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Tim Ellis

Sun 19th Aug 2018 21:56

Thanks for the comments everyone. I’ve been writing a sonnet for every month of the year and I’m going to try to produce a “poetry calendar” as an experiment. Watch this space...

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Taylor Crowshaw

Sat 18th Aug 2018 16:05

Often visited the Scottish Highlands.. this poem was so evocative of those times. Wonderful thank you. ?

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Sat 18th Aug 2018 11:29

Absolutely lovely, a thrill to read and savour.

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Peter Taylor

Sat 18th Aug 2018 11:07

I really like the authenticity of the naming and describing -and the absolute devotion to the piece of the wonders around us. So much so, in fact, you can smell the air and feel its electricity due to the capture of so much live beauty in the enveloping space.
Peter T

<Deleted User> (19913)

Sat 18th Aug 2018 10:33

Superbly evocative Tim

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