Wyeman

Poetry

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2005-08-20
1:45 PM

Silver Cloud.

The silver cloud of morning moving quietly from the East,
lays itself so gently, over fell and fern and beast.
Early, oh so early, when the dawn is still just forming,
the land laid out for all to see, with silver mist adorning.

Drifting softly 'cross the surface of the beck and lake and tarn,
it moves along the valley, over village, over farm.
Harrison and Stickle at the valley head stand proud,
granite faces stark, unmoving, peaks brushed soft with cloud.
Loughrigg Ferns and Lingmore trees, the bracken on Dow Bank,
all now gently moving with the wind along their flank.

Dark clouds begin to gather in the valley from the West
and soon the rain will bathe it all – fell and crag and crest.
When night at last enfolds the land,
and sheep beneath their awning stand,
all will await, both land and Man,
the Silver Cloud of Morning.

Peter Clark. 1986

Glossary:
1. The morning mists of late autumn, in the Lake District in Cumbria, England, …..
2. Harrison & Stickle are two peaks at the head of the Langdale Valley, Harrison standing at 2,400 ft. and Pike-O-Stickle, to give it's full name, is about 2,000ft.
3. Lingmore is a Fell (mountain) on the southern side of the Langdale valley; famous for it's unique small tree-like ferns.
4. Loughrigg is a small Fell between Ambleside and Grassmere, heavy with fern and bracken.
5. A Tarn is a small natural lake formed by a depression left behind when the glaciers retreated.
6. Beck is the Norse word for a stream.




2005-08-20
1:52 PM

Immortal Fell.

In the East the soft, pale, silk dawn gently lays itself across the lush green fells.
The still, quiet peace of early morning soon to be invaded by the day, is greeted by the Jackdaws’ lonely call.

City dwellers from afar, eyes on high, feet clad firm, moving to become, for their own short space of time, a small part of the ageless beauty of this oldest of lands.
Rainproof wrapped, knapsack backed, they slowly climb to views whose beauty wraps them in its’ own quiet peace.

Names whose strangeness comes from foreign lands and distant times, lead them on their lonely climbs.
What draws them they cannot say but evermore their hearts will yearn to be amongst those misty, cloud draped fells.

Rising hills that stand and wait no matter what is planned by the small, self turned minds of Man.
When we are nought but dust, our epitaph written in plastic litter, they will remain.

They will stand as they have stood since time began, their glory lit by the morning sun,
and in their awesome splendour they will not have noticed the momentary passing of that creature known as Man.

Theirs is a past we did not know, theirs is a future we will not share, they are Immortal.

Peter Clark. 1986




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