Peter Rees Poet Free verse

Wistman's Wood

From deep within the misty heath they come,
To this ancestral home of twisted trees
And granite boulders, dripping verdant moss,
To cant and cackle 'neath a midnight moon.
This place transports into another world,
Unreal, imagined, fantasy,
In which grey mystic wraiths make play
And phosphorescent trails to each reveal
Their unmapped journeys from an unknown place.
Travellers make haste across this windswept moor,
Aware of perils once the sun goes down,
Dire whispered warnings fully understood -
Beware the mysterious Wistman's Wood.

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Patricia Cresswell November 6, 2017 at 5:55 PM I am smiling I see you beside a roaring fireplace a glass of sherry or something close to hand. All the children gathered at your feet as you begin this tale. What a great picture and if you happen to look up, in the far corner, stands a small wraith waiting too. Peter Rees November 7, 2017 at 3:19 AM That's an interesting image, Patricia. I'v been told I am avuncular by nature, so perhaps that's something that shows in my verses. Lovely comment, thank you.

Barry Stebbings November 4, 2017 at 2:23 PM Very good, Peter. Nicely written story. // Barry Peter Rees November 4, 2017 at 5:28 PM Thank you Barry. Glad you enjoyed.

Silent One November 1, 2017 at 4:12 PM I only know about them, never been there.. I believe it is a national park with three woods..

Silent One November 1, 2017 at 3:08 PM You are from England? Yes Dartmoor is spooky! Peter Rees November 1, 2017 at 3:19 PM Yes I am from England.If you also know Dartmoor, then you'll know what this poem is all about.

Silent One November 1, 2017 at 1:41 PM Spooky write, fitting for the season.. Your poem has vivid imagery... Peter Rees November 1, 2017 at 2:05 PM Spooky write for a spooky place, on Dartmoor. A place of myth and legend. Thanks for your comment.