A regular journey recorded in a poem after a long drive over the Peak District on a rainy Sunday evening. I love writing about the weather, as much as I love writing about the ordinariness of 'things' and places.
Copyright:
Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
Available Formats
Download as DOC, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
A regular journey recorded in a poem after a long drive over the Peak District on a rainy Sunday evening. I love writing about the weather, as much as I love writing about the ordinariness of 'things' and places.
A regular journey recorded in a poem after a long drive over the Peak District on a rainy Sunday evening. I love writing about the weather, as much as I love writing about the ordinariness of 'things' and places.
Copyright:
Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
Available Formats
Download as DOC, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
A regular journey recorded in a poem after a long drive over the Peak District on a rainy Sunday evening. I love writing about the weather, as much as I love writing about the ordinariness of 'things' and places.
Copyright:
Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
Available Formats
Download as DOC, PDF, TXT or read online from Scribd
Doused and drowned by a rainfull smothering cloud Driving slowly behind beetle tankers I can’t see the endless Dark Peak Just inflections of egg yolk gorse. All around me on the sized down moor The random sheep are dirty, unwashed Rag tag and filthy grey Contrasting acutely with the tiny lambs Newborn, pristine white Sheltering in the lee of their mothers From the biting snowladen wind Just so much a poundage of mince and shoulder Averting my gaze, despairing of such destiny I stare at the oncoming stream of cars The headlights join up A moving necklace of starburst citrine, diamond and sapphire Refracted by the anonymising cloud, unworldly.