#northampton
As local as shoe leather,
though laced a little differently
I still feel the pull of aul boody,
aul boy,
a voice of ancient things
this impossible centre of England
with the flow of Plantagenet
of Watling
of Nene and Welland
where nothing happens
but everything has
rich in silver willow
and tannery stink
still giving cause to think,
to feel Clare’s fears
as the inexorable tarmac is laid
and each day passed
as the hedged wren and dunnock
begin to explain
green and pleasant pains
Jul 26, 2021
Jul 26, 2021 at 10:59 AM UTC
On a chimney crown in Northampton town,
Where frost has stitched the fields in white,
A traveler rests in feathered gown,
A lantern in the fading light.
From Arctic winds and tundra wide,
Where silver moons on silence gleam,
He's crossed the cold on steady glide,
A hunter threading winter's seam.
His amber eyes, two embers bright,
Scan hedgerow, meadow, drift, and eave;
Each shadow stirs his ancient sight,
Each whisper tells him what to seize.
He rides the dusk on soundless wing,
No branch too bare, no roof too steep;
The north still in him, listening,
While village windows blink and sleep.
A pale command against the sky,
He keeps the old and patient ways-
To watch, to wait, then fall and fly
Through brittle air and iron days.
And when the thaw begins its creep,
And robins test the tender ground,
He'll turn again to snowfields deep,
To star-shot dark without a sound.
Feb 13
Feb 13, 2026 at 11:11 AM UTC