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From the North East of England. Poetry, prose and cultural comment to keep you engaged and alert.

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Brimham

 

 

Across brimming rocks the windswept girl

Skipped through a gaping fissure,

Unable to emerge, until hours later.

 

Voices which had rang and ricocheted

Against sharp edges,

Floated across the heather, gently

Waking the sleeping girl.

 

Clear blue eyes defied the ancient sky

And silenced with a glance

The infinite landscape.

 

The voices lifted, now sirens, singing

Like the river rushing through her name,

Beckoning, calling.

Indifferent, for a moment

She lay back, considering  the blue distance,

Holding the universe in her stare.

 

Then, standing quickly,

Welcomed the cries of recognition,

In smiling contemplation.

 

Steve Bishop