Towards Quietness

The perspiration sits with me
A short hike through the woods
A nature trail, beside the Colden Water
After walking along
An immense man-made path
Presumably for the workers
To make their way to the mills

What I hear now
From the peace of Lumb Bank
Is a scrambler bike, its rider
Possibly risking life and limb
Riding through the trees, over
The rocks, just as Arthur Lampkin
I never did take such a risk

Hornets in the sweet-williams
Mesh of fennel in sunlight
Butterfly inspects my wrist
Soon it will be mid-September
When we will be in Ibiza
Climbing the stone steps
Up to the castle and the cathedral

But before that I have to tell you
That I know so much more now
Yet I also know so much less
Take that mountaineer poet
Who goes to places where I never will
Or that quiet gentleman
Whose prayer poems I cannot equal

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon

Work, And Plenty Of It

I walk this path
As you might have walked a similar path
With a lighted candle, or not
I note the huge size of the stone slabs
And how they have been worn by footfall
The pathway must have been essential
In providing a route for the workers

For the mill owners to have expended so
How much a fortune in prospect
But how many lives lost in the making
How many lives broken in the walking
Did they ever stop
To sit on this vast plate of rock
To listen to the river burbling

Did they ever look at the light in the trees
With a sense of wonder
Did they smell that countryside smell
The excrement of cows and sheep
Did they touch the bark, or the moss
Or, back then, had the moss not gathered
On Rolling Stones, or vice-versa

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon

Water, Davidoff’s Cool Water

The huge, flat, rocks of the riverbed
Are soiled, as if by the liqueurs of tar-macadam
Actually the rocks are more like tectonic plates
Though to be truthful I have not seen any of those

This place is towards the heads of the valley
A small man-made dam of brackish water
Perhaps a spot for children to play
If ever they could blooming well get here

It is on, or right beside
The Pennine Way, so maybe
It is a stop-off point; for serious walkers
With tents, campfires, real ale, and wild swimming

For me it is a place a good distance away
Away from what you might ask
Well, what would Robert Frost say
Or Ted Hughes, or Virginia Wolf

But I won’t on this occasion use their words
For they might not get it right
Because only I really know how I am feeling
Though, as yet, I don’t have the tools to tell you

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon

At Last, It’s Time To Gasp

I walk up the hill
A different hill
With a different camera

I am not at the monastery
Though I am with
Equally devoted patrons and followers

The track is narrow, rugged
One boot print footfalls
On top of someone others

My footwear squeaks to me
I turn around
Looking, listening for a conversation

There is no five-bar gate here
On which to place the camera bag
On which to leave the camera bag

I do though sit on the style
If I had a Silk Cut (Low Tar) cigarette
I would smoke it now, in homage to one memory

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon

Horticulture, Me, No

Whatever the plant is
I feel it must have a purpose
Perhaps to flavour the soup
Or to keep evil spirits at bay

It is not a Bay
For we have one of those in our garden
The leaves we use in curries
And other culinary delights

I take a photograph
Knowing the description will be inadequate
However, in the framing of the image
I am more drawn to the layered cloud sky

Which I am also pretty certain
Will have an encyclopaedic name
Which will make no mention
Of its effect on me this morning

Happenstance in Heptonstall

Poems Started at Lumb Bank

Arvon 2018

Available from Amazon