Hi Sally,
I've enjoyed reading this - and I can't say that about every poem I've read
that's been written about that particular graveyard...
What I think I like is the way you don't get overwhelmed in the poem by all
the great poetic things that could be said but, instead, let your poem tell
its own story.
I assume that the Cap on "Three" in the last line is a typo... (it works
well without it IMO).
Bob
>From: Sally James <[log in to unmask]>
>Reply-To: The Pennine Poetry Works <[log in to unmask]>
>To: [log in to unmask]
>Subject: new sub Heptonstall church yard
>Date: Fri, 4 Jun 2004 18:30:47 +0100
>
>Heptonstall churchyard
>
>Some bizarre twist of fate brought me here
>to this place, this grave of woman’s weeping
>The day was sunny, the blossom swayed
>lent its perfume to the moor land wind
>but by the church,
>great gusts carried my breath away
>tangled my hair, blew my skirt above my knees
>I don’t know why I came at all
>I was out for pleasure, to see the countryside
>look for somewhere new to hang my hat
>The church tower looked fierce
>frowned, as I trod the cobbles
>the narrow streets
>searched the tipsy grave stones
>that leaned port side in the
>early summer’s howl
>I had to ask of course
>“Many visitors come,” he said
>then pointed, told me
>where the woman lay
>But today, there was only me
>pacing up and down the ranks
>inspecting, looking for the poet
>whose petals bloomed in fiercest flames
>I found the plot at last
>and tears erupted, spilled
>upon her flowered bed
>and as I cried, the church bell tolled
>Three times.
>
>sally james
>
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