Hike

Hike

An original piece of poetry by yours truly, It originally appeared on the Pages of Allpoetry.com but i’ve added a few lines and decided to share the new copy with the wordpressors – Hope you like it

His multi layered coat
is on his back
kinder scout area….
can expect an attack

He’s been planning this trek
out to the Peaks and his
movement theirin for about
eight weeks

His bag is packed,
his lunch – made up
thermos and map
and his favourite cup

Warm woollen socks
(to keep out the cold)
Thermal Fleece
(more precious than gold)

Wallet and Keys –
In a very safe place
and Binoculars –
to observe the wide space

Penknife to pull out occasional stones
Notepad  to record thoughts, drawings and tones
Money in wallet for the Bus and his tea
and watch , so he’s back for his dinner early

Small First aid kit – in case of mishap
(he hopes wont happen – to this happy chap)
Doesn’t need a car, a boat or a bike
Just a strong pair of boots
He’s off on a Hike

Advertisements

Well worn Blanket

Salford 16th May 2017

Blanket

Back in Nineteen eighty two – i started taking this long woolly blanket to camp

Like many other scouts i stuck it at the end of my tents sleeping bag, and

As it got cold, i wrapped it round me to keep warm

Now, each camp i went to – i picked up a patch from the campsite – and these were

Kept on the woolly blanket…covering areas from Cumbria to Derbyshire – I

Even had a whole heap of locations such as

Torquay , paignton and brixham and these found a spare spot on my sleeping spot

A Tale of Old Boots

These Boots Were Made for Walking

March 2011

In a part of the corridor, just by the stairs by the front door, lies a pair of Old Black Boots. It’s been quite a while since they have been walking. And if their owner were truthful – they could do with a bit of a clean.  The hooks holding the laces crusted with dirt, their leather is worn from the passing of time having seen many a moorland excursion. Lakeland water now pools at the toes.

But they still feel right. As if once put on, they could take their owner from their Salford home out to the hills of Perpignan and back again, covering miles along the way and without a mutter or moan.

Rugby Boots and Training shoes might be fine for a sportsman at Old Trafford but they don’t cut it on the fields of the West Yorkshire Moors. If these boots could talk, the tales they would tell – of covering rocky paths once stepped by Roman Legionaries, of campfire ditties sung round old ancient stones, and of moonlight illuminating mugs of steaming hot Beef Tea.

They’d sit outside tents so the groundsheet stayed clean, and leave their owner a morning surprise if they hadn’t been left under the flysheet. They would walk for miles as their owner crossed field and moor, praying that they would avoid the hidden cowpats. Of course they’d get cleaned on one day, just before parade, as the group amassed around a solitary flagpole.

Where they’ll go next, is anyone’s guess. But for now they just sit on the varnished wooden shelf, looking quite a sight with dark brown Yorkshire mud entrapped in the soles. They look at themselves in the tall hallway mirror and think of the streams they’ve crossed and the moors they’ve run, the bracken broken for kindling and stiles climbed in fun.