WOODLEIGH
11th June 2010
Beautiful redhead watch where you go, the stream deep and wooded,
follows the contour of fields full of daisies.
In the dark and dank you scamper about.
You know I know this place don’t you?
The urge to move on is magnetic – drawing me.
There is a friend I need to see, to be near.
Your streaked red locks abound with buttercups that surround your handsome face searching for me, anxious and knowing.
Leaving the emerald green grass behind, we make our way by road.
My friend is not far away now.
I shall ignore your disdainful look, better to be with him at the moment
Than frolic with you – be patient.
THURLESTON
12th June 2010
The twisting lanes of Devon be,
as narrow as the eye can see.
Tall the hedgerows, spring is here
decked in wild flowers everywhere.
We sit above the glistening sea,
At Thurleston Rock just Brock and me.
The view is fine we must move on,
We’re soaking up the warm, soft sun.
The sandy shingle beach is ours,
We mess about and walk for hours.
Brock swims in that welcome sea.
I tried myself, brrr, too cold for me.
It’s hard to drag ourselves away,
But time demands we cannot stay.
The tide is rising fast once more,
Our footsteps covered on the shore.
DARTMOOR
13th June 2010
A wild, craggy mysterious place,
full of dark legends that don’t show a face.
Stark raving beauty from woodland to tor,
where wild ponies roam on this beautiful moor
Heather bursts forth on the spring blessed ground,
daisies a-plenty, skylarks abound.
A black raven glints on a rock high above,
the eagle swoops down takes a mouse from the bog.
Summer brings sunshine and rain once again,
refreshing the dust motes in fields that have lain
for the cows, the sheep and for little Bo Peep.
As autumn leaves fall the canvas shows all in
splendiferous colours of gold that unfold.
When the chill whispers in and cold spells begin.
Black is the night, a magical light engulfs
land all around where tin mines are found
buried deep in the ground.
Warreners there be steeped in dark history
frozen forever for no one to see.
In winter the snow makes a breathtaking scene
Such deep, deep snow no moor can be seen.
Remote it appears but it’s my special place
away from it all and the whole human race
START POINT
17th June 2010
To the white lighthouse with the vast Atlantic spread below.
A lone yacht on the far horizon, white sails just visible,
Looking like a child’s toy.
High on the cliffs the sun is gently setting behind me,
Brock scurries around in the grass rubbing his back, legs in the air.
An ode to the joy of just being there.
Beautiful lighthouse, mariners’ friend.
Majestic in presence, a sentinel.
Keeper of the sometimes cruel sea that has claimed lives,
Entire villages in its rage.
Calm sea tonight, perfect light, perfect place.
Where a deep pink sky blends into the sea.
White, bright Start Lighthouse remote and serene.
A sentinel.