Amidst Amongst Around The North York Moors


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.


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!


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

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


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

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s