On the outer edge of Kemble
there’s a stone upon the green
where a spring becomes a trickle in a pond.
It seeps and then it flows
under bridges as a stream
towards the narrowboats of Lechlade and beyond.
There is peace and so much beauty
from The Isis* to The Thames
winding dreams around the spires along its course.
It flows on through The Tideway
'til its journey finally ends
at The North Sea many miles from its source.
* The Isis is an alternative name given to the River Thames from its source in the Cotswolds until it is joined by The Thame (a Thames tributary) at Dorchester in Oxfordshire - after which it is more generally referred to as The Thames.
Categories:
cotswolds, london, river,
Form: Rhyme
Home
A one pub village-the Cotswolds
The Totternhoe Chalk Stone
weathered, firm grey and brown co-mingled.
Corner edging buttressed.
The outskirts of hedgerows lined roads
Lawrence and the motor bike
in the sunlight until there was silence.
Set in the green grass
under the blue sky shadowed by clouds,
intermittent rain now cleared,
the Chalk Stone waits.
Grass plot surrounded by close in
green foliage, trees nurtured by the rain
next to the resting place where they have come.
Stones made of the same Totternhoe Chalk
once labelled, now weathered, indistinct names, dates
decipherable only in parish records.
Today the family gathers
to bring home to family
dust to dust and ashes to ashes.
Categories:
cotswolds, family, mother,
Form: Free verse
The Cotswolds are a bunch of hills in rural England's heart
They're green and rolling, full of sheep that frolic, bleat and fart.
People come from far and wide to hike the Cotswold Way,
And from Bath to Chipping Campden lovely views enhance their stay.
The villages and towns each have a unique English charm,
And when the sun shines on those hills there's joy on every farm.
The cows and pigs and chickens temporarily forget their fate,
That tomorrow or the next day they'll be on somebody's plate.
The dry stone walls meander through the fields o'er hills and dales,
And from the very top you can unluckily see Wales,
A country full of Welshmen waving leeks and daffodils,
Who sing too much and abuse their sheep amongst their rugged hills.
I'm digressing, it's the Cotswolds that’s the topic of this ode,
There's beauty round every corner of each winding country road.
So when in England, to the Cotswolds drive without delay,
You won't regret it, honestly, you'll love it every day.
My buttocks both rejoice whene'er those hills come into view,
I love those gorgeous Cotswolds, and I know that you will too.
Categories:
cotswolds, beautiful, beauty, daffodils, england,
Form: Rhyme