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.' O K he remted it to the relic's archialogical
Whatsama-thingammy..Cant deny it' and he took a fee' twenty
Years went past, now surely he can till? again.? At last!! No
Mention of a clause; or legal waiver, .' I'd say to farm again is
His right and favour.' Old England will benefit' the people all
Round need the crops to go into the ground.' A balance is
Great between preservation and farming.' Yet this is an
Imbalance. And most alarming in a time of Brexit and
Challenge of change a nations interest are more relevant
And this injustice must be changed.! Give ear to reality, and
Allow the wheat to grow, as in ww2 the fields need to be sown i am with Andrew.! (the Coope-rman)of Croyde Devon,! may he live long and hale to continue farming that land.!
Categories:
devon, environment, farm, identity,
Form: Free verse
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 of blood
while fungi often made her think
of slipping coniine inside drink
then with the breathless views behind
a choking often came to mind
though with the river dart in view
her thoughts would turn to drowning too
and passing by the greenway bell *
she'd sound out bludgeoning as well
then muse once at the greenway gates
of ordeals, follies, pigs and fêtes **
before she'd vanish through her door
to ‘kill’ some time and write some more.
* The Greenway Bell:
A bell on the quay of The River Dart in Devon, England that can be rung to let the ferry (a local passenger launch) know that you are there waiting to cross.
** References to the three stories written by Mrs Mallowan (Agatha Christie) that were inspired by her holiday home of Greenway:
Dead Man's Folly (a fête is featured)
Five Little Pigs
Ordeal by Innocence
Categories:
devon, adventure, murder, mystery,
Form: Rhyme
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?
Why the preemptive frowns,
the litigious silences,
when only yesterday we watched
as, out of an autumn sky this vast,
over an orchard or an onion field,
wild Vs of distressed geese
sped across the moon’s face,
the sound of their panicked wings
like our alarmed hearts
pounding in unison?
Keywords/Tags: East, Devon, Beacon, England, Moors, Forgiveness, Maps, Miles, Lost, Directions, Compass Points, Moon, Geese, Lights, Headlights, Headlamps, Fugitive
Categories:
devon, allegory, analogy, break up,
Form: Free verse
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 all the noise?',
boxing ear drums and shocking babies
into crying out 'what's all the noise?'
A fox skirts the hedgerows, bringing home
night raider conversation in stoccato
barks across frosted fallow fields.
Badgers run the black-strip gauntlet
as the day becomes a work in progress.
The new sun challenges darkened corners
and pavements full of night sweat
that hold sway over no man's land.
Farmers wives curse early morning
spitting bacon, soothed by adding fresh eggs.
The day raises a cheer for being one day closer
to the privacy of darker mornings and
one day closer to a change of early
morning calls.
Categories:
devon, animal, farm,
Form: Free verse
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, through heartbreak; turmoil and tears;
The sorrow never weakening that clench.
The words on a page, winding and weaving;
Attacking our minds and breaking our hearts;
Molesting our senses like sharpened darts;
And disproving "seeing is believing".
Though none of these are aware of their bliss;
Nor have knowledge why they are beautiful;
Just like you they make me feel dutiful;
To hold and to love; to kiss and to miss.
Categories:
devon, absence, addiction, allegory, allusion,
Form: Iambic Pentameter
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 fine fed
Look at those people with a big head.
Is a crown required to have much glory
Or is it just a part of the same old story
Forget about having my fortune and fame
And also always hallowed be my name.
Who else has a name rhyming with heaven?
Unless you live in some shire called Devon
But at all wouldn't really disturb them or me
Everyone there are all actually from Derby.
Put on slick shoes and tighten long laces
And lets all of us head off for the races
If you can't find any roses heard someone say
You can play ring around great island anyway.
Great Britain, that is and humorous
of course for subject.
James Thomas Horn
Retired not Retried Veteran
Categories:
devon, humorous,
Form: Couplet
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.
Eventually disintegrating into
the sand to be no more.
The razor blade edges,
caressed by the ebb of the
ocean.
Gods watchers dance in the
amethyst night.
Ships glide the tepid waters of
summer
- guided by a beaming ray of
light.
Categories:
devon, absence,
Form: ABC
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 pirate queen,
Avast, she swapped the widow’s weed,
The pirate’s code became her scene,
The woman’s world that might have been,
A place she felt she didn’t need.
A Devon lass was Mary Read,
Raised as a lad the pirate queen.
Form: Rondel Prime
Categories:
devon, history, sea, world,
Form: Verse