Idly stationed in the bucolic hills,
sits a stone well; unknown when abandoned.
Though her people foregone, water yet fills
as much as you can want for. In tandem,
are high trees less old than she; occluding
the view from pathless and naive strangers.
As their wish in well is to keep obtuse,
those that siren would otherwise capture.
Her drink, one thinks they'll constantly receive.
In reality, they'll only be taken.
Youth will fade as the heart minutely bleeds.
Their hollow, dried corpse will be forsaken.
And though her hole but a tall dark crevice,
I see my reflection on the surface.

Each hill climbed means an obstacle overcome,
behind each hill is another,
behind the next is a mountain
of ravines and crags, covered with fine
snow; when overcome, the peak transcended,
life becomes just a pleasant downward
snowboard into the sun.

Crops crave for water at a hill
Thirst visible on their stalks
The sky gushes a coal black
But no. It is not rain.
Nothing to quench a crop’s thirst.
Only the manifestation of darkness
roaming the skies
And yes. Walking on a road, intimidated,
Before me, in the distance:
Nothing but dead man’s hill
But now a smirking old woman:
Silently still.

Blue skies
green grasses,
golden sunrise,
umber masses.

Scarlet roses,
ivory clouds.
lovely aroma.
quiet sounds.

Liberty waves,
silver hills,
long days,
beautiful thrills.

Walk
We’re off for a walk tomorrow up the big hill at Dovestones. We said we’d do that walk for eight years. I’ll even wear my Lacuna Coil top that I was going to wear years before. Time stands still and I’m back in 04. Before our silly row and my move to London. Now I’m back north and we’re going to defeat the hills. Even though there’s snow on the ground, I saw it from town today when I met a friend for coffee. Be careful we don’t fall and break our legs or it’s an air ambulance job then and a chance to fly in a state of the art Eurocopter chopper. I’ll take my camera to take some cool photos of the snow and the hills.  Bring it on *****! Yomping up the huge ******* hill in the snow. Are we mad?

To be in love.
Her heart was a hill that I climbed with slippery soles.
To be still in the moments of encouragement.
I'd slide down unable to catch my footing.
I acknowledge that I wasn't dressed for the occasion.
Still persisting to climb.
To be in love.
The valley of dream & hope.
I tied my shoes tighter.
My hands filled with grit and grass.
No matter how hard I tried I constantly slid down.
The sky a beautiful mix of orange and blue.
Her love was a sight I longed to see.
The meadow to low to catch the best view.
Everything she has to offer.
I tossed through mud and dirt.
Learning patience in every attempt, the closer I got.
She'd open her arms wide.
And each time I'll fall face first.
Still determined I didn't cease to stop.
I spent a lot of time there.
Lost in a valley of fog.
To afraid to ask for help.
Scared that my secret valley would no longer be my own.
That everything serene.
Everything that I loved would be modernized, torn apart piece by piece.
No matter how many times I slip.
No matter how many times I fall.
I love everything ,
Still persisting to climb.
Learning patience with each step

The sun beamed at the meadow with blissful happiness
As I rested by bones, bathed in warmth, the aroma of grass seasoned slightly by water droplets found itself comfortably in my nostrils

Seas of time seemed to stretch out before me with welcoming arms
The perfect tranquility, the soft breeze accompanied with the swaying of the flowers like some rhythmic dance.

Green trees and foliage delighted to see me as I strolled by.
Just over the dip a pond could be seen, jubilantly conversing with lazy dragon flies.

Berries springing from every bush like glimmering jewels residing peacefully in a crown of leaves.
The tactile curiosity of an ant navigating the plains of my palm.

The blue sky stretching vastly in front of me yet seemed as though it was a canvas, waiting for my imagination to paint

A place where time stops.

(2017)

A hill presumed a to be man
As splendor as the King,
And he divided all his states,
With no authority;

Refused as he attempted,
His measured not enough;
His ears had mocked the syllables
Of those permitted foes;

And still he grew amorously,
The birds all woke the fields;
There was a parting dawn on him,
And worshipers beside.



E.