Pennine Chain
by Bob Moore © 2021
I’ve camped in the hills of the Pennine Chain
in the cold, and the snow, and the pouring rain
and if I was young I would do it again
but the days of my youth are behind me
Beyond Hayfield, at Kinder Scout
each weekend I would be, out and about
tramping and camping, and seeing the sights
free as the birds all around me.
Follow the road, the Pennine Way
built by the Romans, back in the day
Climb the downfall, and Jacobs Ladder
enjoy all the peace travels with me
Now back home to reality, the week is new
money to earn, and work to do
back to my life, and daily toil
with friends and family around me.
Bob Moore.
Categories:
pennine, youth,
Form: Rhyme
Upon this Pennine peak
in stretch of wilderness,
where ground is silver grey
of moorland millstone grit,
a glistening piece stands out.
I take close look and see
small flake of shiny brown.
Curious, I pick it up.
This stone is not from here
and shows the hand of man.
A thumb size crafted piece;
one edge neatly saw-toothed.
It is my first flint find.
A hunter's blade I hold.
It is a hide scraper
from ancient butchering.
Once used by Stone Age man.
I felt it in my hand.
A peculiar feeling.
Now something primal stirs
deep in my spirit core.
I feel strange connection
with folk of ancient world.
Categories:
pennine, england, history,
Form: Free verse
Pennine Ramble
by Bob Moore © 2019
I have rambled through the Pennines, on a lovely summer’s day
to Kinder Scout and Bleaklow , and Scafell not far away
We’d start our hike at Hayfied and head for the Kinder Road
past the Kinder Reservoir, into the Pennine Hills we strode
With Jacobs Ladder and the downfall, and other sights between
with views into the distance, where Manchester could be seen
At the Snake Inn we would stop for lunch, a glass or two felt right
then back out on the Snake Pass Road to find a field to camp the night
We’d ask the farmer was it OK, to stay in the field out there
he said “it’s alright wit’ me,, if the cows don’t care”
A few more hills to climb next day, then time to head for home
down in to Glossop, and catch a train, until next time we roam
Categories:
pennine, farm,
Form: Rhyme
I (think) I Remember Gorton
by Bob Moore ©2019
I used to live in Gorton
a cosy little nook
in the shade of the Pennine Hills
by Blackie’s babbling brook
Jackson’s clay pit was where we made
the bricks to build our home
it was a playground for our children too
so they would not need to roam
The people were all friendly
the children were all polite
but we kept that to ourselves
didn’t need the kind who fight
We spread the word that we were tough
so don’t you come around
we don’t need bother causers
bringing trouble to our town
I left there many years ago
and I hear the stories now
of how Gorton is out of control
and I wonder if, somehow,
Are these still the same old stories
we used to tell, to keep people away
or is it true, that after all these years
my Old Gorton has gone that way
Categories:
pennine, home,
Form: Rhyme
A balmy breeze arrives to bring
the subtle scent of flowering ling.
From heather nests the red grouse shout
their rapid cry of chout-chout-chout.
Aloft, is brightest blue and clear
and on hill slopes are grazing deer.
But this moor has an evil mind
and wicked ways it turns to find.
It summons up wildest weather.
Arctic blast and ice together
bring tumbling clouds of cumulus
to clump up as one leaden mass.
Then comes the pelt of sideways rain.
Some seconds on it's calm again.
A balmy breeze arrives to bring
the subtle scent of flowering ling.
Categories:
pennine, nature, weather,
Form: Rhyme