Amidst Amongst Around The North York Moors

I

Upon Rawcliffe – 
a new town,
its valley verdant; steam-trained.
In the steep hoofsteps of cows,
tread trav’llers.

The blank-verse chimes
time night.
Switch – dark. Hold – whisper.

II

The flies find lighted windows – 
polished tow’r.
The scone cliffs crumble.
On cake ‘n coffee fuel,
we coast to Ravenscar…

Beware the bull!
The cow! The calf!
See the seals supine!

III

A greasy spoon – 
red brick; green paint; raw screech
of th’babe hushushed.
A breadbeanketchup mush
on plate on tray.

Imminent…
“Another round!” She’ll cry.
Th’quiet prior t’storm. 

IV

Ana Cross – 
a bird of prey,
at hov’ring height, doth herald.
The ironworks, b’yond moorrise,
echo th’wind.

Moss-matted bridge – streamriverstone.
Impeer’yul Rome lost…
Purple heather.

 

Image creditEbor Images

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