it hovers, in the cloudless sky, on a hazy summer day,
the harvest drone in the distance, the butterflies flutter in the breeze,
spiders spin their webs which catch the sunlight rays,
the first signs of autumn approaches,
the squirrels feasting on the acorns in the trees,
the fruits of autumn now in abundance,
fungi stirs in the darkness of the wood,
will be a distant memory in the starkness and grey of winter,
On The Moor
Stepping on the soft earth,
Under the blue, silken skies,
along with the rolling tide of life,
time seems to stand still on Bodmin Moor.
Touched by a feeling,
to the standing stones and rock formations,
like lonely figures frozen eternally,
in the waking hours of dawn.
To the slow winding down of sunset,
the past, the present all rolled into one.
To dream away in a place so wild,
like it's beast seen by many,
but lookout if the fog comes in,
if you've strayed off the path,
you're lost in the mists of time, maybe forever.
A. Williams. '08
The fires flickered and the candles glowed,
creating shadows on the cave wall,
that seemed to dance in time to the music,
until the music stopped,
the silence returned
only broken by the hoot of an owl in the wood,
and the fire making a whispering noise
from itís burning embers,
that looked like faces in the darkness of night,
until sleep came
awakening to the morning sun and birdsong,
a new day and at one with nature.
by A. Williams March Ď06
Distant cries carried in the wind,
like the musket and cannon fire,
ghosts of battles past, death,
fought on this isolated hill,
now peace has come,
the sun casts itís shadow over the land,
itís beams popping out on fields
shining like diamonds in the distance,
the kestrel hovers in the sky,
above the speckled jewels of the land,
of beauty and sadness rolled into one,
to pastures old and new.
by A. Williams 30/12/07
Langridge Valley by A. Williamsí95
Deep in the heart of Langridge Valley,
where the ancient springs meet,
that flow down the hill and under a leafy glade,
where wild flowers abound,
my thoughts float with the stream,
and are lost to the wind,
and the cries of the birds,
in this tranquil place,
where time stands still,
a haven in the tide of life.
Twyford Down by A. Williams 4/11/94
Here once wild flowers grew,
where rare butterflies flew,
and our ancestors on ancient paths roamed,
now a great ugly scar lies across Twyford Down,
a motorway cutting making a wound so deep,
to see makes one weep,
with only the sound of cars,
where once the cries of birds broke the silence from afar,
what madness to destroy such beauty,
for to protect the countryside is our duty.
The old Tree by A.C. Williams Ď84
The old tree stood alone in a sea of green,
casting itís shadow over the land,
itís branches reaching out like tentacles at the sky,
beckoning for a leafy suit that would no more come;
as lightning had ripped away itís seasonal life,
never again would it proudly boast leaves that glinted in the sunlight.
it now stood lifeless against the sky,
in a sort of strange and defiant way of itís own.
frozen eternally like a moment,
whilst life went on around it.