Make your way through the parlous fog and place your trust in God,
As heather, moss and bracken fern embrace the peaty sod.
Take the fork at the Roman road that seems the wilder choice,
Then wander down, my bonny lass, and listen for my voice.
Cross the trace of the tumble-wall that borders on the glen.
Flee with me across the moor, the misty moonlit fen.
Follow close by the windfall light, two foundlings on the run,
We’ll shelter midst the craggy loft to wait the morning sun.
Huddle close as the small rain falls and gaze upon the fire;
Sparks dance free of their ashen vault as true as our desire.
Hear the song of the abbey bell; mark well the sweetest chime.
We’ll sway as one in warm embrace, our heartbeats keeping time.
Holding you in my dreams, my love, we gloried in our youth.
Waken then in the cold alone, the blackthorn’s bitter truth.
Lyoness, how the hard north winds do howl in angry speech
That what I seek in lonely quest seems ever out of reach.
Categories:
peaty, desire, literature, romance,
Form: Lyric
There is a season for sadness
rain darkens and dampens
the mood. Darkness hushes gladness
~
There is a season for new birth
rain feeds thirsty gardens
flowers spring up from peaty earth
~
There is a season for warm sun
rain feels nice to dance in
holding hands with your special one
~
There is a season all is stilled
rains splash on dying leaves
The weary soul rests, and is filled
Written 24 Oct 2020
Categories:
peaty, garden, seasons,
Form: Rhyme
Like so many times when us youngsters reigned
We got up to so much that we forgot to refrain
Instances, confrontations, non immaculate we be
C'mon, c'mon, come at us you'll soon see
Then it went tit's up as we now look back and tell
Bravado at the time, drinks, drinks, we're swell
High fives abounded, knowing we'd rid the scum
It's now the morning, reflecting, how we'd become
It was his bullying Officer, bullying, all down to such
Each and everyone of us, drunk out of touch
We'd had enough, he'd pushed us to our tether
In panic worried union, we'd suggested together
To a peaty marshy headland, headlights our guide
No thought to he's now lost, to no longer reside
Us, a scraping of shovels, as cowardly tears fall
All down to bravado, whilst the worried still call
Written 02/03/2019.
Categories:
peaty, age, anger, bullying, confusion,
Form: Rhyme
When It Rains
When it rains
The ghost comes out and smells the water
When it rains
The tree goes small and the baby cries harder
When it rains
The mountain is silent and bears the thunder
When it rains
The fire grows big and I become a gambler
When it rains
The river starts thinking and gets a fever
When it rains
The whiskey gets peaty and scents like a healer
When it rains
The time turns mighty and the rays the dimmer
When it rains
The deceits conquest and I disappear
Categories:
peaty, psychological,
Form: Romanticism
The Strid
Get rid of the Strid with its seething torrent trapped amid the caves
In downward spiral coursing through a web of underwater stone
Oh that the river would have carved a safer way away from occulted potholes
Shame on its dogged passage that prefers the dangerous route
It could have chosen a placid path amid a tranquil retreat
Where solace is found amongst much safer depths
But retain the bowing trees that stand around and cast a shade
With hanging boughs for birds to alight and sing their song
Strange river that aspires to stream again to squeeze into the narrow
A tempting bubbling brook that bluffs its onlooker
Mere stride to other side in gleeful daring
That tests the balance on slippery verge and rock
And Strid becomes the stride to play the waiting game
Thus claim ill fated darers that slip into its frothy forbode
With smothering aqueous wings dragged into caverns
Where infinite to remain and forever retained
In a murky swathe of peaty chambers yet to be discovered
Where amongst its conquests a would be king
Rules amid the Strid’s palatial watery kingdom
Categories:
peaty, river,
Form: Blank verse
A misty Scottish gale blows fierce
From the grey that clouds the hills
I step onto her western way
Desolate, damp and chilled
Her grasses grow brown and lavender
Stretching as far as I can see
While Hill tops and the horizon
Lead me deep into a peaty sea
From the banks of black Loch Tula
At the base of rocky Bens,
I walk this winding pathway
Bearing forward to Ba bridge
I stop to survey the ruins
That were once, hardier than I
And climb up to a mountain's pass
with Glencoe in my sights
The Buachaille and Beinn a' Chrulaiste
Towers high out from the fog
Herding me towards the gateway
Of the Glen and from the bog
And yet that cold wind continues
Against me all the while
And the rain blows much harder
Urging me to turn away
But the Highland call has taken me
From far enough away
That I see the moor's true beauty
Even on this rainy day.
Categories:
peaty, adventure, nature, places, rain,
Form: Ode
Atop old Penistone
From bumpy stony track to peak the summit
No ledges, drops from which to plummet
A quarried mound that boasts sweet heather
Loyal and strong despite the weather
The climb to top, a meagre stroll
But views abound, sights to extol
Bilberries aplenty on summer day
Rich pickings from a lush array
On one gray stone, a single rose is laid
where envied views boast hills of jade
In memory of a beloved view
Recalled by one faithful and true
Down slopy rubble on rugged track
A tarn exists amid the crags
A mirrored well by fallen sky
For calm reflection to stay awhile
And on to sepulchered random rock
Sculptured by time, turn back the clock
Grand memories of those since gone
Each tilted stone bears one loved name
Proud Penistone portal to the way
Not much to see, I hear you say
But look awhile on peaty ground
Penistone hill, not just a mound
A vantage point of contoured green
In memory of a beloved view
Categories:
peaty, beauty,
Form: Rhyme
Fingers of light pierced the clouds caressing the moors
with life giving warmth, purples, browns and greens of
heathers mingled, blended, in a union of beauty. Yellow
of gorse splashed in the sultry, hazy spectre of natures
superb canvas. The dry stone walling lay sporadic, lost,
decaying in time and memory, the hardy moorland sheep
stumbled from blade to blade, in the breeze they used the
walls as shade. Golden plovers dipped and dived the call
of pee weet pee weet echoed in the stillness, the Peregrine
hovered with silent wings and sunlit eye. Those fingers of
light walked the hillside highlighting the chalk outcrops
on craggy reaches as if new laden snow. Black pools of
peaty water dot themselves borne of winters starkness,
it is a beauty that holds both eye and heart, a picture
painted for the soul. A place where all blends and the
crofter wears no watch only the sun and moon to follow
and the footsteps of the rambler sleeps in the fragrance
of the heather.
Categories:
peaty, inspirational
Form: Prose Poetry
The Swimming Hole
A burbling tuneful peaty burn
Like amber whisky flowing clear
Where darting minnows twist and turn
Is soothing music to my ear.
Between the banks of rushes green
Below the falls a deep dark pool
Where lads who come to swim are seen
Enjoying fun and keeping cool.
I paddle in the flowing brine
Where icy waters cool my feet
And ripple through my toes, sublime.
A feeling rare, supremely sweet.
The swimming hole, a place to be
When sun is warm and spirits free
I spend a quiet happy day
And watch my worries float away
Categories:
peaty, nature
Form: Quatrain