From some fathomless place in a yawning sky
the lark falls soft, loft on salty breath
(its song-of-place a sharp decline)
to be an unkempt bundle,
post-bound & mundane.
Purpose runs deep
in the bird
in the land
in the standing stones,
old as any named for their place.
here on an edge,
the stones’ cipher, cracked by birdsong,
unbroken remains.
Kidsgrove Canal: Wayward Plant discoveries
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The Appetite Get Talking Kidsgrove event took place last Thursday evening
in Kidsgrove sports centre. I was really pleased to be invited along to
talk to...
6 months ago
Beautiful words and photo! dcrelief
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