Best Lake District Poems
O to be in England
in the early days of spring
when the golden daffodils
steal the heart and make it sing.
Roaming the Lake District
far away from urban noise,
by cascading waterfalls
enamoured of nature’s voice.
Up the craggy mountains
or on hills in shades of green,
watch the sun as down it slides
veiling tarns with sanguine sheen.
O to be there with you
holding hands in amber light
basked in aural twilight field;
daylight melting into night.
Fireflies or fairies
My mind cannot well discern.
Feelings surge within my soul,
Nature sighs with me and yearns.
Time and breath both bated
as your lips touch mine with bliss;
stars aflutter, for they know
Love is born with your sweet kiss.
A Callman Collaboration (Paul Callus and Eileen Manassian)
Take Me There
Take me to the place where it’s broadly known
In meadows and woods famous poets roamed
Where hosts of blithe yellow daffodils dance
In expectation of budding romance.
To view magnificent mountains and lakes
And spectacular countryside landscapes
In hopefulness that it all will inspire
My muse to explode alike a drumfire.
The Lake District I will visit one day
There’s so much to view and do on a stay
Such serenity and astounding grace
Is found in Cumbria’s stunning showplace.
*+*+*
9th January 2023
Take Me There Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Margarita Lillico
Let's flee to Little Langdale,
where mountains pierce the sky
through layers of cloud and fog,
past birds that swarm like flies.
Let's find the quarry tunnels
and tour Cathedral Cave
We'll hear our voices echo
like pebbles skipping waves.
Let's walk the hills till twilight
past crumbling ancient walls.
We'll stroll 'cross Slaters Bridge
and watch the evening fall.
Let's grab a pint or twenty
at the old Three Shires Pub.
We'll drink the finest ale
and feast on English grub.
Let's stumble home together
'neath stars we've never seen.
We'll find our merry way
along the winding stream.
*Last year, my family rented a 16th-century cottage in the Lake District of England. It was surreal to wake up in the mountains every morning.
*See "About This Poem" for links to photos
Vincent Van Gogh
gave Starry Nights their lucent glow.
Then he took a pair of shears
and cut off his unsuspecting ear.
John Lennon
never once reeled his pen in.
He wrote and sang what he pleased,
raising hell while promoting peace.
William Wordsworth
worshipped this fickle earth.
With England's vast Lake District,
his tortured soul instantly clicked.
Art Clokey,
creator of Gumby and Pokey.
With no real wisdom to relay,
he distracted us with nonsensical clay.
Languid days of Summer set me afire
Amber sun beams delight my heart.
King Fishers as they dart past
Each one swoops as it flies to its post.
Down by the river's edge
I watch, and listen-
See each one as it dives -
Then, back to its perch.
Resting there awhile as life flows by.
In the still silence I hear each sound of
Calm waves which gently lap creating
Tranquil sounds that abound.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Brecon Beacons for pony-treks,Cumbrian fells and bubbling becks;Dartmoor
with rocks rain scarred ,Lake District views beloved of bards.Northumbria, above
on moor and hill,where Roman echoes linger still.Stone-bridged hamlets in the
Dales with enclosed leas along its vales.Snowdonia ,one thousand yards high
reached by slow trains up to the sky.Pembroke with its distant trail so
long,heritages for us to protect and prolong.National treasures to preserve and
enjoy by rich,the famous and hoi poloi.
He was a wandering man that travelled many miles
staying a few days here and there, sometimes a week or two
then his feet would get that familiar itch and on he'd go
searching new horizons for his elusive dream.
A lady in every town he visited, sighed, when he travelled on
although he found them all enchanting, with none could he settle
the call of the road was just too strong and those feet would itch
wondrous sights he found as the roads led him ever onwards.
In the lake district he loved the open spaces and towering hills
the sparkling lakes that nestled like gems at their feet
the air that invigorated his soul with its fresh crispness
to here he often returned and just soaked in the beauty.
In the peaks he found a place from which seven counties were visible
finding out it was for sale, he laid down his money and the deal was done
a simplistic house he built made of cobb and oak that blended into the hills
yet still those feet would itch and off he once more would go.
The years passed by; often he returned for a month or two
he found he was getting slower and inclined to linger in places longer
then one day on the road he caught up to a fellow traveller
that night they lingered around a camp fire sharing stories.
Oh the stories they both had could fill several books with wondrous memories
she had been travelling for 30 years he a bit longer, yet until now
never with another, both had always been solitary by choice
he took her to his home in the dales and shortly after they wed
Still every two to three months they would share a glance
and each would know the others feet felt that age old itch
so forth they would set off to discover new horizons once more
safe in the knowledge they had each other and their cottage awaiting their return
A good old duck, a mother hen,
a friend of Peter Rabbit; chased
Mr. McGregor out of the garden:
the Flopsy Bunnies survive again.
She knew her ewes from her rams,
meticulous, house-proud in her way.
A hedgehog, a Mrs. Tiggy Winkle
every field mouse allowed to stay.
Cumbria and the Lake District
will never see her like again:
North country girl, illustrator,
storyteller with brush and pen.
Brecon Beacons for pony-treks,
Cumbrian fells and bubbling becks;
Lake District views beloved of bards
Stone-bridged hamlets in the
Dales with enclosed leas along its vales.
Snowdonia ,one thousand yards high
reached by slow trains up to the sky.
Pembroke with its distant trail so
long,
heritages for us to protect and prolong.
National treasures to preserve and
enjoy by rich,...the famous ...and hoi poloi.
The waters sparkle in the sun
as the breeze lifts across the lake
the yachts settle in their berth
looking out as it stands abrake
The skies show its beauty
in the morn revealing pastel blue
as waters show it's stillness
to be as creation intended so true
The ducks sail through the waters
creating more than a little wave
birds fly in the horizon
such loveliness one needs to save
Looking high up to the hills
shows the greenery of it's landscape
words can't describe such a picture
your eyes are bewildered by it's shape
The trees across the lake
fills your view with such splendour
completes the full picture you see
summing up the creator's perfect agenda
The agenda makes all things perfect
in the eternal God's appropriate time
showing His perfect sovereign control
making all things beautifully sublime
AUTHOR NOTES: Just some thoughts on a weekend stay on Lake Windermere on England's lake district a few weeks ago waking up from my bedroom window looking across the lake.
Brecon Beacons
for pony-treks
Cumbrian fells
& bubbling becks
Dartmoor
with rocks rain scarred
Lake District views
beloved of bards
Northumbria on moor & hill
where Roman echoes linger still
Stone-bridged hamlets
in the Dales
with enclosed leas along its vales
Snowdonia one thousand yards high
reached by slow trains up to the sky
Pembroke with its distant trail so long
heritages for us to protect & prolong
National treasures to preserve & enjoy
by rich,the famous &hoi poloi.
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2007
There we were all ready to climb Catbells
this climb we'd done some years ago
so thought we needed no map or direction
the weather was lovely the sky so aglow
A crowd was there seemingly on same way
followed along not needing to ask
came to route block off but walked on
never asked had to go back this quite a task
Found the correct signpost and took the route
upwards it was now all along the way
beautiful scenery evident to all around
divinity created all this in a single day
We all need to read God's holy book
so to find the only way to home
never to think we don't need direction
for God's word is our sure word alone
Speak to God open your tongue
make your plea to His majesty on high
ask for His sovereign plan for you
for He knows your days before you die
These are spiritual lessons for our good
revealed through life's every day events
God speaks through our every moments
for in them He always daily frequents
(Was on holiday a few months ago in Lake District and made effort to climb Cat Bells, one of our fav Fell(hill) climbs having done it many years ago, after coming down thought on some spiritual lessons learnt from the events of that day.)
DRINKING WATER ON HELVELLYN
Martin’s idea to go up Helvellyn
Sounded like hard work to me
Lots of rock-scrambling and ridges windy
Lots of feet sore and toes swellin’
Someplace near the top was a spring
We filled our water bottle from it.
When we got to the summit
We guzzled the water, sweating.
Then, in the sun and slaked we lay,
Finest taste I ever had in throat -
Truest word I ever wrote -
Before or since that day.
Note:
Helvellyn is one of the mountains in the English Lake District, about 3 100 feet high.
Dad, I had Great Desires
........................................
Dad, I had great desires:
Traveling Nanjing and Sanmachi Suji.
Stonehenge , Historic Yorkshire and Lake District .
Morocco and Istanbul .
African wilderness in winters .
Pacific and Atlantic , in a giant Titanic-like ship .
Caribbean islands , and Chicago's glimmering nights.
Alexandria , Athens and Rome .
Building big farms :
Cultivating vegetables , growing chicken , cattle , sheep and goats and duck.
Employing poor countrymen , shepherds.
Watched by bear-like dogs
In moonlit and gloomy nights .
That Editor may call it to be like Dr Faustus ;
And you utter madness .
Oh God! I would call these failures as lessons ,
Stepping stones but
This long life seems to me so short --
Slippery as fishes in a hillside stream .
As a hanging icicle melting
In continual drops in sun.
And my beard has begun to grow grey ....
They say it's an indication of age!
Ultima Thule by Jimmy Boom Semtex
ISBN: 978-1-326-14210-0
from my new book under my pen name
Lakes
Living in a world of memories. I remember our holidays in the Lake District in my auntie's cottage. Going to mountain warplane crashes, visiting the lakes, climbing real mountains and seeing quaint villages and towns.
Driving there in my dad's Avenger and later on, his Lada. Seeing RAF jets fly low in the valleys. For a while, thinking I'd do that one day. Eating Kendal Mint Cake, hard on the teeth, great on the gut! Give me some more.
Collecting all manner of stones; pebbles off St Bee's beach, minerals from Goldscope mines, slate from Whinlatter quarry and a dozen other things from the Mother Earth. Was this where my love of the natural world started?
Those meaningful 70s and 80s holidays faded into my youth. My 20s, 30s and early 40s passed. Decades stealing my memories, eroding their sharpness. But not taking the feeling in my heart. One day I will day return.