Best Devon Poems

Crisp winter red rose; moistened by snowflake; 
The frosted grass on a winter morning; 
A moonlit sky with sweet stars adorning;
And Autumn trees, held alive by the rake.
Two sweet, old lovers, sat on a park bench; 
Sat hand in hand for sixty-something years; 
Loving still,...

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A Devon lass was Mary Read,
Raised as a lad the pirate queen,
All for her mother’s wish to succeed,
To the world a boy was she seen,
Elizabethan trews were her screen,
So male in dress, in thought and deed.
A Devon lass was Mary Read,
Raised as a lad the...

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Weighted calls drift across the morning 
sky and cats begin to stretch their licking legs.

The milkman's horse sloths its way 
up Prospect Lane. 

And birds turn off their alarms and tune up 
their vocals whilst getting breakfast on for the kids.

Distant dogs shout out 'What's...

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Rape-seed inhaled with every 
inward breath,
Gold dust radiates telling of 
springtime’s untimely death,
Branches twist in the suns 
silhouette,
Perfectly framed in the blazing 
nectarine sunset.
 
A pastoral turquoise and teal 
cloak 
Disturbed as foals escapade, 
racing for the shore. 
Radiant sea diamonds 
encrusted in their eyes....

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Devon or Derby


There is something firm about nobility

You will hardly ever find any mobility

Unless they have a change of heart

It is still unto death when we do part.


All of their honor is highly displayed

Do anything against it would be afraid

They all appear to be mighty...

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It’s early and the small town has thrown back it’s duvet of darkness and it is light.
It is slowly and with the quiet of morning beginning to stir.

Morning! Morning!
Cheery greetings from unknown passers-by.
As warm as kisses on my cheeks greet me on each street.

My trainered...

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East Devon Beacon
by Michael R. Burch
 
Evening darkens upon the moors,
Forgiveness?a hairless thing
skirting the headlamps, fugitive.
 
Why have we come,
traversing the long miles
and extremities of solitude,
worriedly crisscrossing the wrong maps
with directions
obtained from passing strangers?
 
Why do we sit,
frantically retracing
love’s long-forgotten signal points
with cramping, ink-stained fingers?
...

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when autumn’s last but long exhale
left mists of winter in its trail
her thoughts turned to the past to look
at greenway and the paths she took
where reading signs inside her skies
she'd dream up deaths and alibis
along the short cuts through the wood
with thoughts of stabbings and...

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Andrew Cooper farmer of the land, of Croyde Devon; in old
England decided he'd plough some fields again? as the sun was shining through the English rain, yet some eco-loonies including a judge? hit him with fines and orders and they don't want to
Want to budge.'...

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