Friday, 15 July 2016

The High Peak - Bruce Levitan

A mown field with black-wrapped bales
Like pieces from a checkers game, thrown by a giant;
A sky of monochromes: chalks and shales
Arching above the High Peak hills, brooding and defiant;

And looking up to the moors, the white smudges of sheep
Congregate at the nexus of dry stone walls for shelter;
Or purchase on the slopes where it looks too steep
For shepherd or dog to reshape the sheeply welter.

Houses here are grey, built from gritstone, with roofs of slate,
Standing square against the elements to survive,
Knowing that time and wind and rain will not abate,
Taking form and function from abiding rock to stay alive.

Leave aside the cities - the endless bustle and roar -
With their physics of people-particles that anti-matter...
This is my place, the England I adore
Where peace reigns, and the weather really does matter.

Bruce Levitan (born 1955) England (born in Kenya)
The High Peak near Hayfield

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