Long Hayfield Poems

The Journey
by Robert J (Bob) Moore ©2020

We used to live in Manchester, in England, the UK
till one day our dad said, we’re going to move away
Australia’s where were going to, a land of sand and...

Read More

Manchester Lad
                         by Robert (Bob) Moore 
    ...

Read More

The fairest creature I, in the garden of the blossoms,
My scarlet visage overweighs the evil of thorny vesture,
In my dwelling, an unheard hymn the sparrows sing of,
Melodies of praise stacked up like hay in the...

Read More

Symbols and sigils flood the forebrain as I walk through the metal and wired glass doors. With an whoosh of air, they close as if mocking the breath I had held in too long. Fear...

Read More

FEEDING  HORSES


She was four years old
Apples in bulging pockets from garden trees
Cold day in autumn
Stroll down to Paddy Sands’s horse pasture


Stop at five-bar gate and lift her up
Call or whistle - they come from...

Read More

No one refuses a refuge
Even the holiness stays at sanctuary.

I'm halfway into the street
whose paw had held million souls
& millions of us astray at nights
like the Sun caught up in the chambers of the Moon.

I'm...

Read More

sun on the hill a hayfield
on an uncle’s farm
my childhood, captured gold
reflections on a placid lake
trees and greenery rise
ripple a silver face
later a song in the air
the summer of love
sgt pepper, a new refrain
an old...

Read More

I climb into the big haymow
On this eventful day
Looking for childhood memories
Trapped in a mound of hay.
The large expanse is empty now
And somehow looks too small
To have held all the busy times
Now sweet in my...

Read More

through a mud stained field
and thickets galore
mountaintops blue in the haze
walked through hayfield stubble
with a damp, faithful dog

I am anticipating Halloween
but thoughts dissolve quickly
in fields and forest hues
indian summer is over
litters of leaves all around

we...

Read More

The first time I painted the old red barn

I was twenty years old and the skies were blue.


There it sat in the middle of the hay field

Waiting to be immortalized on canvas.


The second time I...

Read More

Pennine Chain
                  by Bob Moore © 2021

I’ve camped in the hills of the Pennine Chain
in the cold, and...

Read More

It laves under the waves of warm sunshine,
a chill breath of almost spring- near weather 
deliver endless hope and yearn of the fruit vine,
her wee frame caressed by the moor's heather.

A look of silent wonder...

Read More

Everyday my father got up early
And put wood in the fireplace
With frozen fingers that bleed
From labor in the hayfield the day before
Caused by the white cold weather.

I'd walk and see my white cold breath brisk
When...

Read More