《Dances, Towers, Hills and Skies - Poems》


 1 - Words and Hallencoly Hill

    I''ve put poems into this chapter as the prologue needs to be at least 500 characters:


    Words


    Sometimes you can focus


    so much on the green;


    That you miss the blue and


    white above.


    Hallencoly Hill


    That time on Hallencoly Hill,


    I saw them dancing,


    Swallows no less than five,


    Larks no more than fifteen.


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    A display to herald the Zenith


    of Spring;


    Or the ever-growing Floral song that leads


    into June Summer.


    Each swallow skipped in skirts of


    navy with blouses of snow,


    Whilst their heads were crowned with


    garlands of crimson roses.


    The prancing, springing and


    joyous larks,


    Were bedecked in stars to the


    Swallows'' moon.


    Yet each had their hair shaped into a


    nautical crest;


    From aqua one way;


    Then surf-ultra the other.


    Yet it was their song that came


    to me;


    Entwined with harps, piccolos,


    and flutes,


    That danced from twirling invisible


    hands.


    Words also sprang from the


    avian lips;


    To the accompaniment of butterflies


    cut from the very sky.


    Of woods and towns so far away,


    That never would I hear of them between


    breaks of day.


    Of ages old, and ages new;


    Yet they had remained in


    chiselled prime;


    Floral Mountains not even Time


    could wither.


    Till one spied me with a single


    glance.


    Fresh, unearthly and with more


    than a dance.


    And up they flew without a second


    glance.


    Not nymphs, dryads or even


    Elf-maids,


    But Maltese-crossed Swallows and


    Cloud-passing larks.


    To continue their dance upon the brow


    of a cumulus hill.


    <h2> </h2>

 2 - Morrion Down

    The first time I asked him about Morrion Down;


    He bade me to be still and not to mention it again.


    The second time he repeated the first command;


    And said that I would do well to heed and meditate upon it.


    The third instance took place during a stroll through Newclarion Park;


    But that did not stop a bark and glare of flame and pain within those azure eyes.


    Whilst the fourth may as well have been a bark and a bite;


    Were it not for the audience at the tables of the Inn.


    Widest was the interval between the Fourth and the Fifth.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.Yet still the question bubbled all through the morn of the escarpment walk;


    With wide fields, distant copses;


    Aerial vapour vessels and a sapphire firmament.


    "Four times I have asked and all four you have refused;


    What lies behind Morrion Down?"


    The bark did not come. Nor the unfinished bite.


    But a spread of arms and a sigh akin to the surrender of an ice shelf.


    "This was; Is;


    And will always be:


    Marianne-Morrion-Mirriendal Down:


    Birth of a Song;


    Never far from my present;


    And always, Always,


    Un-blurred by memory."

 3 - The Monolith

    For a decade or more,


    A wall has dominated the borealis view.


    Not of stone,


    But bricks and metal;


    A landmark to a house of follies.


    Home to two-score flock of pigeons,


    Who wheel and roost,


    Dance, breed and roost again.


    A more than grand substitute for the


    cliffs their wild cousins still reside on distant isles.


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    Now in the morn of septembre,


    I stare across the expanse where the


    wall once lay:


    Bricks broken down,


    Steel pillars taken away.


    Instead lies an expanse that crosses


    road and houses,


    And continues on into the sky:


    More welcome,


    More bright,


    Than the monolith that stood before.


    To the North,


    North east and


    North West I can now gaze;


    Unhindered into the realm of firmament


    and clouds.


    And only have photographs of the


    barrier that stood before.


    Would I have the monolith back?


    I will let thee guess...

 4 - Perspective

    Two not-so-old buildings block my north, north-east and


    north-westerly view.


    One a vacated shop;


    The other a sky-climbing and


    space-eating folly;


    Roost, convention and courtship-hall to


    a Cloud of pigeons.


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    Yet in the space between,


    Both my eyes can fly;


    Past road, weather-post and line of


    ash trees;


    Past houses, lights and a pub once called


    Cattle market:


    Past Dales,


    St. Anne of Stanley and the windmill whose sun-lit blades


    twirl above an allotment:


    To a small blue line that can only be


    the horizon;


    An old hospital clock tower and


    an ever changing,


    Always beautiful,


    Stretch of the realm named Sky.

 5 - Green Cherry Blossom

    late spring,


    thing:


    For along with the Cyclamen, Muscari


    and Daffodils,


    The earth-attached clouds have returned to life.


    since November;


    Yet did not waver whilst other monuments


    swept forth:


    still cold;


    crimson gauze.


    Two more members of Populus catkins bear;


    fresh like a new season;


    Acer autumn;


    crystal snow.


    During this, the Cherries began their floral dance,


    Rose Snow,


    Luscious Pink and Dove White all processed;


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.Covering the ground below in a snow


    that did not melt.


    the Summer Month.


    of the Aesculus,


    Contrasting with the falling bunches of Lady Acer¡¯s


    arrival,


    Chartreuse clusters like the fruit of vines.


    Pendulosity was also found in a member of the


    Salix tribe,


    A weeping fountain with waters of gold;


    joined those of Fagus and Tilia in rising for May;


    or enticing sugar,


    the clouds.


    where to look:


    Smooth-leaved and


    Elms with seed pods like


    Green Cherry Blossom.

 6 - Astrantia

    In the time between Mid-May and


    Solstice June,


    The Floral Princesses slowly awake.


    From the sycamore and plane-leaved


    woods they rise:


    Slim as birches,


    Strong as towers,


    Cuffs mineral-hued;


    Collars of star-birthed gems.


    By their collars, cuffs and pillar corsets, did I


    know them,


    Even before their open gazes took my


    breath away:


    Bright-collared and rose-pink


    Buckland,


    First to rise and the last to go;


    Invariably joined by diamond-rose


    Roma,


    Cuffs and collars in a hue that


    danced.


    Next and capable of parading till August;


    The Ebony-corseted,


    Carmine-cuffed and


    ruby-collared daughters of Gill Richardson


    would stride;


    To join the dance with the Ladies of Hadspen


    Blood and Ruby Star.


    Whilst not far away would be Gill''s sister in


    all but colour:


    Skipping Penny in cuffs and collars of Crimson-pink.


    Yet the parade had not truly begun til


    House Involucratae had joined the fun:


    Snow white Moira Reid and Pine-tall


    Orlando,


    Cuffs and stellar ruffs of pale green, white-tipped


    with emeralds.


    To contrast with deep Venice and


    elegant Bury Court;


    Crimson gems sparkling against calm fields of


    campanula blue.


    But, as May is followed by June;


    Still Gill and Roma were but two of a


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.sky-reaching quintet;


    The five Astrantias to whom a wreath of elegance


    could be set:


    As the teal and mauve geraniums danced


    and played,


    The Ladies of the Four Cities continued to rise.


    Above their maple and plane-leaved


    canopies;


    On stems that could almost soar to the


    very clouds:


    One as rich a ruby as any of


    the Reds;


    Yet so great that only Gill and Venice could come


    close to matching her.


    The other three would soar further


    still;


    Yet not all belonged to House Involucrata:


    As Barrister, Snowstar and


    Crocodile-leaved Superstar joined Moira


    and Orlando.


    Their two Sister-Courts would rise to a height reached


    only by another.


    Cuffs of jade-tipped and emerald-veined snow;


    Pale ruffs shaped like a grand star with tips of stained-


    glass ruby:


    Crocus Shaggy and West County Shaggy whose ruffs


    were tinged with the softest rose pink,


    And, along with Ruby Wedding, would have me gazing.


    To be joined by a fourth that could be said to


    be of the House of Pale Pink:


    Tall Florence to whom the word elegance was first applied;


    A bridge between Pink Roma and Snowstar White.


    Lars, Helen and Gill would indeed dance on into


    the haze of August.


    But the zenith of June would also be the zenith of the ladies,


    No ¨C towers;


    No ¨C Emergents Of the Four Cities,


    That also encompassed Roma,


    Vigorous Gill Richardson;


    And made them cousins of the Minora-shaped


    Sapphire Eyrngiums:


    Ruby Wedding, Florence and the Two Shaggies,


    To be later joined by two more members of House Involucrata:


    Majestic and triple-flushed Burgundy Manor,


    Last to arrive, yet the most surprising of the Reds,


    And the pink-centred and snow-white collared Jumble Hole:


    Princesses of the Floral Kingdom known as Astrantia,


    Whose late May to mid-June forms never failed


    to surprise.

 7 - Leafy

    There lies a place that shall be


    known as Leafy.


    Known to some as districts,


    Others as wards.


    But,


    on this sunrise of the


    first month of summer,


    It is,


    Was,


    And will always be Leafy.


    During school I was ferried in and


    out on a daily basis:


    Entering the Southern Edge,


    Occasionally going home via the


    artery roads North.


    Through two phases of work I saw


    its eastern boundary;


    The high canopied ridges that gave views


    to the towers that produced their own clouds.


    It''s hard to say where the western


    bit begins:


    Although in two cases it is after a descent


    from hill crest to dell.


    Now, in a new phase,


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.I am taken back into Leafy.


    Its walls of glaze,


    stone, perennials and


    manicured hedges.


    Its emerald canopy plus the matching,


    living ceiling over


    the parks and golf courses;


    Where a squirrel can not only cross a dual


    carriageway;


    But reach the crest of School Hill without touching


    the ground.


    Yet despite these journeys,


    I do not think that this is the


    only Leafy.


    For on Week''s End I rise through what


    could be another:


    Ascending then descending through an


    avenue of Planes.


    Whose pillars and canopies frame the sky in


    winter or summer;


    With views to the district centre I have visited


    more than any other,


    And the verse on the church noticeboard that


    provides food for thought.


    There is another route to the First Leafy.


    Via a climbing road beyond the place of


    Hunt''s Cross.


    A long-held goal was to walk up this route


    into the tree-swathed hills,


    And buy a cake and a smoothie in the village


    on-top.


    Too far some say.


    You wouldn''t get back in time say others.


    But, one late September day,


    When autumn had not truly got


    underway,


    A group of us walked up the Hill


    called Camp,


    Enjoyed the warm sun and


    sat on the warm grass,


    Took in the view of the cobalt mountains beyond


    two estuaries,


    Whilst I remembered that I was finally sat


    on the hill that I had long wanted to climb:


    Leafy.

 8 - Equivalents

    In the place where one species


    dwells;


    An equivalent thrives in another.


    Shall I start and you add the name?


    Red and Willow,


    Bald and White-tailed;


    Carrion and Hooded,


    Herring and Lesser Black-back.


    Bewick''s and Whistling,


    Common and Arctic;


    Golden, Pacific and long-distance


    American.


    Royal, Wandering and far Amsterdam.


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    Common and Red-Crowned;


    Whooping and Siberian.


    A Cygnus Whooping,


    plus the Trumpeter.


    Gyphon and White-backed;


    Cape and High Himalayan.


    Tawny and Steppe,


    Verraux''s, Golden and Wedge-tailed of


    the Southern Cross.


    Pied and White Wag,


    Maribou and the Adjuants''.


    Common Buzz and Broad-winged Hawk,


    Sparrow,


    Sharp-shinned and possibly Cooper''s.


    And don''t leave out Andean and


    Californian;


    Nor the goat antelopes with horns like


    scimitars:


    Alpine, Spanish and Nubian,


    The two Caucasus, plus


    Siberian.


    In the place where one dwells,


    its equivalent abounds in another.


    As with Lynx Eurasian,


    So too with Lynx Canadian.


    Over the same stretch the Great


    Horned watches,


    In the Eurasian depths so too


    Owl Eagle plunges.


    Through the canopy the Harpy cruises.


    Upon the un-suspecting the Crowned


    descends.


    And in the vastness of the


    Pantanal,


    Strides a cat like a leopard,


    But crowns the apex like


    a tiger:


    Panthera onca


    Two cats in one.

 9 - Elements

    In a land far away,


    On a world beyond stars,


    There lay ¨C or still lies,


    The elements of a Kingdom.


    Balmy Scarhys,


    Pearl of the South West;


    River-spanning Malsenna;


    Up in the North East.


    The Two Shires come around next:


    Idly-not Ryeshire;


    Idyll-never-wanted to be Rotherashire.


    One signatured with Oaks;


    The other beloved of Ash, Elms, Sycamores


    And even Olives?


    Tranquil is what can be said of Abbeysfold;


    Peace lies within her realm.


    Blessings come along her rivers and people.


    Whilst Canalsell is ever a-bustle with commerce and textiles;


    With Arrowell and Asphodel hubs of the Waterway.


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    Ospreys still soar on the waters of lofty


    Mosprey-Mere.


    Once a frontier but now a place to traverse and settle.


    But its residents still yearn for the Golden Raptors of


    yester-age;


    Who once graced the place known only as Zen¨¦mere.


    Chalkisa was never a realm,


    But everywhere needs an in-between.


    With Greenslay secluded and Andemira so violent;


    A traveller to or from the North would be wise to


    traverse via the ''safer'' hills of chalk.


    For beyond Chalkisa lies the vibrant Duchy.


    The Brilliant Emerald beside the Sea.


    Hills of Jade and Downs of Aqua.


    Where green is as rich as the bountiful sea;


    And the sky contains a priceless blue.


    Yet all these realms:


    including Greenslay and Andemira;


    Have one point in common:


    One that still stands whilst their builders


    have long returned to dust:


    Towers that try, yet fail to reach the clouds,


    But are never out of the horizon-sight of


    one or another:


    Signatures, and sometimes all


    that''s left;


    Of the Kingdom that the realms once


    belonged to,


    And even in sleepy Ryeshire are still remembered


    as ''The Kings'';


    Whose emblem was a snow-clothed Swan with


    stars and crown;


    Sword and sceptre:


    And whose Knights could strike fear into any foe in their path:


    Weathermere,


    Pearl of the Home Realms;


    Weathermere:


    Seat of the Star-Crowned Swan-Kings.

 10 - Twelve Cards; Twelve Months

    Twelve cards like


    a clock on the wall.


    Each card a number;


    Each card a month.


    January:


    Snow stars on a sapphire field;


    February:


    Sun-sheened boats on gentle waters.


    March,


    the Birth of Meteorological


    Spring;


    A Heart-shaped Cloud on an


    aerial canvas.


    April,


    a boat as elegant as


    a Swan;


    At one with Sky;


    In-tune with Sea.


    May;


    Sea and Sky once more:


    With a view of the realm


    between sand bed and


    surface;


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    Where yellow-tailed and


    jet-striped fish;


    Swim in the midst of a


    nautical dance.


    June,


    the start of


    Glorious Summer,


    Graced with pattern-stalked and


    rainbow-capped mushrooms;


    Their stalks mirrors of the pillars,


    No, tree trunks;


    That reach toward a cloud-wisped sky.


    July,


    as scarlet as Sister June


    is azure;


    A falcon-holding lady flanked by a lion


    and a unicorn.


    August,


    the End,


    and also the


    Beginning.


    A cream-wisp beach,


    A matching boat;


    A hammock from which a soul


    rests in near-paradise.


    A tortoise soars into the


    firmament of September,


    To catch a disc with the


    luminosity of the sun:


    Whilst the azure sky


    of October,


    Is graced by a pair of doves


    with the plumage of snow.


    May is the name for the


    green field of November;


    Over which lies a sun with


    rays of magenta and a centre


    of amethyst.


    Yet the ultramarine sky


    returns for December;


    As deep as the chateauwalls are pale.


    With weathercocks that


    glisten like avians of gold;


    Above a vista of emerald,


    violet grapes and a not-so-winter harvest.


    Yet December is not the end,


    nor the last card:


    For in the centre of the twelve


    lies one named


    Thirteen;


    The scene of which is a


    mirror of the cards that


    encircle the centre:


    Three Kings,


    Mother and Father,


    Angels, Servants and


    a Radiant Child.


    Twelve Cards,


    Twelve Months,


    And a Thirteenth in


    the centre.

 11 - Sky Picture

    The sky is a picture


    A picture is the sky,


    The lake is a mirror


    A mirror is the lake;


    An elm is a cumulus.


    Cumulus congestus is the elm.


    A daffodil in March is the onset


    of Spring.


    The Ash is in leaf before Spring sweeps


    into Summer.


    Aster Violetta unfolds her regality


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.after the transition from August to


    September.


    Whilst Autumn,


    Winter and most of


    Spring are never without the marbled


    gloves or intense bonnets of dancing


    Cyclamen.


    A sky is a picture,


    The picture is a sky,


    The lake is a mirror;


    A mirror of the sky.


    Between the deep emerald mounds


    of a pair of hills,


    Rises a Third more


    distinct,


    More blue.


    A distant hill with more glaucous


    topiary?


    Or a cloud with more affinity to the


    emerald crests than its sky-sailing


    cousins?


    Look at a silver lake and see


    an overcast sky.


    Gaze at an azure sea;


    And spy a field of gull sailing


    sapphire.


    A sky is a picture.


    The picture is a sky.

 12 - Loft, Fall and Jupiter and Falcons and Butterflies

    Loft, Fall and Jupiter


    The Loft dost fall to make


    a prize,


    Dense as a sledge hammer,


    Unforgiving as a hail-laden


    sky.


    What would the audience say?


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    What would I say?


    Neither.


    Rather,


    the still, small voice.


    Lighter than a feather,


    Stronger than the pull of twelve


    comet-attracting Jupiters.


    Falcons and Butterflies


    Falcons the colours of


    Butterflies,


    Panthers with the faces of Crows,


    Lizards that caress the base


    of a lock,


    Dolphins that can touch the clouds.


    Source is lost,


    The End is hidden.


    Now is Forever.


    Eternal is Moment.


    Joy is a Gift.


    Love is Strength.


    Hope is to be Clasped.


    Despair is to be flung from.


    Song and Laughter.


    Laughter and Eternal Song.

 13 - Where, Into, In and What

    Where does the flower make


    a bed?


    Where does the briar wind


    and bend?


    The ground into which their


    roots extend;


    Like interlocking fingers with


    the grip of tenfold vices.


    Into which air does the scythe-


    Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.winged Jar cry?


    In whose hour does the Tawny,


    Long-eared


    and Barn owls


    hoot, chit and call?


    The time of the stars between


    dusk and dawn;


    When the one that is at its


    Zenith at noon illuminates other realms


    between rise and set.


    What drifts and weaves unseen through


    an emerald canopy?


    And carries a spiderling into the realm


    above the clouds?


    The one that dances across the


    Beaufort Scales;


    From One,


    to Twelve,


    and back again.


    What has clean, elegant limbs


    in winter;


    Gains clusters of flora in the


    midst of spring?


    Followed by green apparel in


    Glorious Summer?


    Apparel that makes some resemble an


    earthbound cloud;


    That turns to citrine, crimson or gold


    in autumn?


    Trees,


    Trees,


    Trees and more Trees.

 14 - January Yellow

    On a given year between


    January and Feb,


    First is the crocus to grace


    the garden;


    Bright, cheery,


    like the sun;


    In tandem with cyclamen and


    the earlier tribes of Galanthus.


    The floral concert has started,


    If it ever had a pause,


    And it rarely does it want to stop.


    By the time buttercup crocus


    departs,


    Spring Dawn Narcissus is nodding


    beside the path;


    Followed by Early Sensation,


    Ice Follies and


    March Herald Tate-ta-Tate;


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.Plus the miniatures with a name


    I know not.


    Yet between the November fall of the


    citrine-leaved Maples,


    And the rise of crocus janvi¨¦r;


    A new member of Party Floral joins


    the Sun:


    One with a rosette that opened on


    Christmas Eve,


    And a second that swept into play on


    New Year''s Day;


    A member of a party of fifteen,


    Who between them form a dance from


    late July to this Fifteenth of January:


    Who will all be pruned the week of


    Valentine¡¯s Day,


    In readiness for a new season of


    growth and abundance:


    Moleneux the Yellow,


    Single member of its


    bright shade amongst


    the English,


    Old English Musk,


    Leander and


    Alba Roses.


    Or,


    as I call it this winter''s day:


    January Yellow.

 15 - April Days

    At April¡¯s set and the


    rise of May,


    I look back at this changeable


    month.


    A month of odd warmth and


    blustering cold,


    A month of clear skies and


    overcast rain.


    A month where the daffodils danced


    their last;


    A month where the tulips flowed


    into being.


    Where the evenings grew longer;


    And the sun rose earlier with each


    passing day;


    Where the days of


    April¡¯s Zenith felt more like the


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.apex of Glorious June:


    Sun,


    Sky,


    Warmth and anticyclonic


    sand:


    With three bouts of sea fog more


    akin to autumn;


    That swept in from five in


    the afternoon;


    And did not recede until Noon of


    the following day.


    Now Polar Maritime dominates


    the April flow;


    Fresh,


    Cold,


    Laced with hail and


    even snow.


    One more day of the mid-


    month of Spring,


    Goodness knows what May


    will bring.


    But one thing will I


    not forget:


    The April days that were


    so like June.

 16 - Five Evendance Strum (To one of the tunes by Tynham House)

    The strums of yawn weave


    to a lull,


    A pair repeat a verse with a


    switch between high and low.


    To the beats, I see in


    my mind¡¯s eye;


    A pair of deer bounding across


    an evening field.


    A field framed by a darkening


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.sapphire sky,


    In which the June sun¡¯s gaze


    still has warmth.


    But also the fifth dance in a


    summer party,


    Where the participants flow in sync with


    notes and voices;


    Rhythmic flows and beats:


    This way first,


    Then second that.


    Perhaps it''s time to take up


    the offer and rejoin


    the Dance.

 17 - Window to the Towers

    From my window


    Towers spring between me and


    the horizon;


    One, an old hospital,


    Two are churches.


    In more distant times,


    a third church,


    An orange and white meat


    market;


    And a brown tower could also


    be spied;


    But,


    whilst the third church lies


    in the realm of the old hospital,


    I passed the market one december


    afternoon:


    Tall, Grand and


    crowned with gulls.


    On my way to the market, I passed a


    park entrance;


    A park with a line of trees on its


    northern side,


    Beyond which rose the brown tower,


    Grand like the crest of a mighty


    chateau.


    Even from there, it said:


    "Come and visit via yonder path".


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    Yet on I travelled to a church with a


    drinking well;


    But about turned to the park to follow


    the tower¡¯s call:


    Through the boundary,


    Past suspect Elms;


    Past a man counting his steps


    on the grass;


    Around a path that had turned into a


    pool of water and mud;


    Then up a road with the edge


    of a rampart,


    A road at the top of which I stopped to


    wipe the mud from my trainers.


    Stopped and looked beyond


    the rampart;


    Beyond fingered trees and hard against


    the pale northern sky,


    The old hospital so similar to a


    dark-hued chateau:


    Tall,


    Majestic,


    right out of a fairy-tale.


    Home I returned, but the tower has not left my sight;


    A place in a story,


    A mighty palace;


    Yet one thing I do hope is that my window''s view will


    reveal the Three Towers again.

 18 - Window to the Towers 2

    An April Day of a later year:


    The Church lies hidden behind a tree.


    Yet, to the left of it;


    Concealed by a block structure


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.no longer;


    Rise the Saffron and Snow Tower,


    The brown Tower of the old hospital to


    the left again;


    The trees of the park that lap its western


    bounds;


    And west and


    north again,


    Where earth and sky meet:


    A tower block in the land of


    Sefton.


    The view of my dreams has returned


    threefold.

 19 - Three Spires

    At this point on


    the second day of


    May;


    Three spires lie at points on


    the horizon:


    The ashes on Allenby Square will


    conceal the second spire before the


    month is out,


    But for now, I see them;


    First,


    Second,


    And the Third surprise:


    Nearest and easternmost,


    the spire and tower of


    St. Oswald''s,


    Seen so often yet visited but once.


    Next and poking above a chimney,


    the spire of St. John the Baptist on


    West Derby Road:


    Visible only from Ash-fall in late October:


    To Ash-rise in Spring.


    Furthest,


    And the biggest surprise;


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.The miniature spire of the


    South Chapel;


    Nestled between the Towers of


    Fish-Meat and Old Hospital;


    Yet in the Sphere of the Two


    football grounds.


    A third tower lies also to


    the North;


    One like a mini version of


    the old hospital tower but with


    a clock face.


    It too was once a hospital,


    But lies in the realm of Walton rather


    than Newsham;


    And,


    during the time of the monolith,


    one of the few


    structures that could be spied whether in


    winter or summer.


    Three Spires;


    Three Towers;


    Two Hospitals;


    Three Churches.


    The horizon has broadened to points


    unimaginable.

 20 - Happened

    A lot has happened since pen first


    touched paper,


    The evening I was inspired by a


    programme about a poet with the surname of


    Thomas:


    And music that made me want to lie in


    a field and gaze at clouds on a


    Summer¡¯s Day.


    But, looking back through the mountains


    and valleys of this journey,


    It''s been worth it to stand where I do now;


    To acknowledge and to give


    deep thanks


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.For the help and support that has been


    there through it all:


    To Christel for asking me about my poems,


    To EQ Transcription Services for typing out my longhand;


    To Joe for also asking me about my poems;


    To Fabienne who lights up Instagram with her love of that


    rich, radiant and calming colour known as Blue;


    To everyone who has read this far and wishes


    to journey further:


    Thank you.


    The verse has opened and it doesn''t


    want to stop :)


    Del Elle


    mars 18

 21 - Here

    Here we are; at the End.


    For now ??


    Not all of the poems could fit into Dances.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    So a second book came into being:


    Curious?


    ETA on RR: Monday 6th May the usual time ??