A crescent of high cliffs
rooted into a plateau of heathland.
From all directions cloud mottled wings,
dart between the light and shade -
falcons, their wingspans
aerofoiled for instant chase.
Heads and beaks
seem to part the sky,
as the raptors javelin the air.
Peregrine’s dive through
their own wind-dancing arabesques,
their streaked silhouettes
skimming over the towering rocks.
Camera's gaze to hold and capture,
lens's fishing for those ever passing
bolts of speed.
Malham's soaring cove
seems to be both their nesting
acre of sky,
and a place for plodding minds
to only follow.
As dusk hours darken the skies ever later
Crepuscular creatures return
Strisores awaken the heathland
As the heat of the day still rises from the earth.
Quietness blankets the world in black
So silent I hear only noise
Yet over the volume of nothingness
The nightjars are back with their voice.
The trilling incessant and echoing through
The forest, rebounds from the trees
Bringing the woodlands alive at night
As the sound travels far on the breeze.
Pausing only to breathe and break their song.
As I hold my breath to silence my body
Closing my eyes to strain and not to miss
A single note in their evening aria.
As I retire to my chamber
Window open to allow warm breeze
Finally as sleep creeps into my mind
The nightjars commence their diminuendo
The noise of the night retreats
Inky blackness taking over the sky
Dreams float through the dark
Accompanied by the memories of the day.
The heady scent
Changing through the seasons.
As spring is no longer embryonic
It’s adolescence showing through.
Swathes of yellow
Popping buds and seed pods as the sun hits,
An audible accompaniment
To the visual spectacle.
Each year I walk
Through the forest fringes
Heathland meets dense wood
And each time when the scent hits
Initially for that year
My mind is transported.
To lazy hot summer days,
Beaches far away.
Sun glistening on caramel skin
All triggered by the scent.
The gorse fills the air with coconut,
The telltale sun cream aroma,
A reminder of days gone by,
Summer to come
Sweet blossoms heavy with nectar
Ambrosia to nourish the beasts
Dwelling in the margins of the forest.
And as the Beltane passes,
Air filled with smoke from
A nonet of timbers
Taking us into the summers dawning,
The fresh yellow darkens,
The scent matures
No longer coconut richness
And once again the spring has retreated
Time advancing on toward the hazy days.
'Twas slightly scary in terms doctors know
did nurses nimble who would pass this way.
Prickly plied do glories go
so soon alas undismayed.
Long time in fact she thought
jabbed her vaccsees as she fought.
Needling here high 'n low
ends to this virus she so sought.
Come flee false harms some speakers sent
ner fears those thinnius wackovaccs.
Lest all hear harms we will allay
to get her heartfelt heathland back.
'Twas slightly scary in terms doctors know
did nurses nimble who would pass this way.
Prickly plied do glories go
so soon alas undismayed.
Notes: Attribution to Lewis Carroll for his classics
in onomatopoeia, portmanteau, nonsense rhyme
devices - Jabberwocky, The Hunting of the Snark
TRACKS THROUGH TIME
The Sand and pebbles of this stoney
way
Once made a shore on warm Jurassic sea
High dunes in desert, by great ocean bay
Now heathland slopes and barrows that we see
These tracks between the heather fronds
touch light
Cross pine tree hurst with gorse in blossom gold
Once paced by tiger, brazen eyes burned bright
And swarthy hunters skilled in ways of old
O’er neat home gardens - flowers bloom in line
Where thrush and warbler each a sweet air sings
Within a span of geologic time
Great pterodactyls soared on scaly wings
Our world, perceived by some: in dire decline
Goes on with little care for our brief lives
Yet we may play a part in its design
At least as wardens - lest it be our shrine
Show me what you see each day
Through your sparkling eyes of greens and browns
Do you see the smiles, the tears and frowns
On children's faces as they play
Can you see beyond to the lilac heathers
to the mountains tied with ribbons of snow
Where the Red Grouse rest wearing rufous-brown feathers.
Tell me what you hear each day
Where life stands still in your darkness deep
Where the Waterboatman lavae sleep
Do you hear the laughter as children play
Come twilight can you hear the Nightjar call
In the heathland broken by clumps of trees
And the cattle defended by sturdy wall.
Whisper what you feel each day
As small fingers tickle do you laugh and dance
Under the stepping stones of risk and chance
Do you feel their hearts slow down from play
Can you feel the chill when the sun fades in the west
When the motion has ceased and the lands laid to rest
Don't answer these questions,I think you know best.
By Michelle Makepeace
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.