Best Moors Poems

In the dark dark year of 63
Britain's most gruesome murder spree
A conscious betrayal of innocence
With acts of barbarous decadence
Left five young children, in a hole,  on the moor
And no one knows if there are more
For silence followed with lips shut tight
Across fifty years, day...

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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...

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Creeping through the the moors of this castle,
   the ghosts of my past lingers and haunts me.
These damp walls that has imprisoned me has the
   bloodstained tears I have given and it seeps through it's
      old...

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Before sunrise, I walk outdoors.
I love to trek across what are known as "moors”.
It is early, and there is not much light.
However, the little bit shows me all is right.
Here, tiny droplets of dew make it foggy.
I awaken from my sleep and feel a bit...

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Tall iron gates
That mutter of authority
Beyond which lie fields
Barren and bleak

Fence of stone topped with
Crenellations of Ravens
Keeping watch with keen eyes
Above leaf shrouded creek

The manor of grey stone
That rears all alone
And lies atop 
The rise…

The windows tight shuttered
Cause one to shudder
At their semblance
To moribund eyes

The...

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Wade in the heathlands mourning moor
Sniff the stench of ten thousand bodies
In sorrows sense the weight of the mire
Lost for fools wants forever in the dire


Liberum Divisa 3
11/29/20
Gregory R Barden
Sorrows Of The Moors; Original Poem...

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Earth holds close all memory for us
Wade in the heathlands mourning moor
Sniff the stench of ten thousand bodies
In the sorrows sense the weight of the mire
Lost for fools wants forever in the dire
No more glory days left to shine
Only reekish moments amongst spent souls

Step out...

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Wind swept days, a good time
to be a thin branch
in a treeless landscape.

I was not born to the moors,
they were born again in me,
they're a sea creature
created to be
the heartbeat of the sky.

Rains surf over mountains of air
pell-mell is the wilderness.


The rolling swells of a...

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There was a great incline of stone, weathered
amongst the sparsely green valley
whose feet lay at the door of a thatched cottage
and whose head I was treading over now.
A fair stream, no wider than a meter,
had had its pulse dried up by the sun
leaving moss strewn...

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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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This is our town, this place we share
we’ve got lions, on our town square
old mills, big hills and Smithills Dean
no frills, aside from our home team 
Rivington if you want fresh air 

You’ll not find many millionaires
but dreams survive, with wear and tear
for what could...

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