Home » Poems » Shadow Hamilton » Moors of Winscombe Face

Moors of Winscombe Face

It was on the night of midsummer's eve, there was a pregnant pause. Not even a leaf was moving,
the sky so starry bright and the moon benevolently shining lighting up the moors.
It was the kind of night that anything was possible, up here far from the maddening crowd
Kept company by horses and sheep I climb to the top of the tor to be met by a vision of
utter perfection. Under the full moon it was almost as light as day with no urban lights
just a sky with a meridian of comets and a shooting star canvassing the landscape.

moon so silvery
back lighting all in warm glow
yet keeps it secrets

In the distance down near Timbercombe the harsh cough of a stag softly calling to his
doe's gathering them up to climb to the top of Winscombe Face. There they will browse
until the dawn starts to streak the sky as night turns to day. Hush now, see that? A pair of
hares sparing and chasing each the movements so fast as to be just a blur. But I
transgress, led astray by the magic of this ancient place that in times of old was a beacon
where a large fire would be lit to warn of maundering fleets of Vikings and later the Romans
both coming to plunder and enslave.

harsh cries ringing out
as metal swords strike in rage
blood spilt on the ground

In the distance a moving shadow streaks across the moor rather catlike but too big
for any domesticated cat, was I seeing the beast of Exmoor setting out to hunt
wanting a closer look I set forth on an intersecting course. I managed to come
within 300 yards when it turned and hissed at me warning me to back off. I did not
Argue but stepped back to give it space with a last snarl it vanished from sight
and search as much I could no further sight of it I saw just a couple of paw prints
by the stream bank left in its soft muddy soil.

on the wind swept moor
a large cat stalking its prey
it leaps and then kills

Many are the rumours that abound up here, sheep taken and eaten not dog mauled
but a clean suffocating kill. Do they really exist? these beasts of the moor? This has
the experts in uproar, some saying yes, others no yet if you talk to farmers like
Fred Bell he will tell you of his many sightings as he works his sheep farm a couple
of miles from the face. He will tell you of seeing it stalk and kill with never a sound
uttered and the sheep barely lifting their heads pay it scant attention. Up here with
houses and farms far apart could it really roam freely yet leave so little proof of its
existence?

myths and mystery
blend into the moors fabric
whilst the night masks

Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.