A Church in Kent

A Church in Kent

The church at Trottiscliffe*

Sits there loftily

Within the green vale.

Its stones an old tale

To tell of bygone

Days and plain deeds done.

 A place where pilgrims

Stopped. To cleanse their sins

They went, shamefaced all,

To the cathedral

Whose air holds the taint

Yet of the blessed saint.

The gilt cock atop

A beacon to stop.

But quiet now this

Lonely haunt for ‘tis

A thing of and for

Memories of yore.

*Pronounced: ‘Trossley’

Dave Urmston c 2017

A Swift Awakening

A Swift Awakening

Most days I walk the field path

To the ancient village church.

My duty to secure the

Doors. This evening, copious

Droplets fall to my dismay.

A dark shroud falls about me,

My ramble now a chore. Eyes

Downcast upon the stony

Ground. The heavy door upon

An aching hinge I shut, then

Turn about to face the hill.

The skies remain cloudy. But

My eyes uplifted and my

Heart, as swifts scream around the

Tower delighting in their

Joy of life through the still air.

Dave Urmston c 2017

A Pembrokeshire Beach

A Pembrokeshire Beach

We walked to Swan Lake Beach.

Wild flowers festooned the way;

Birds sang and within reach

On cliffs above the bay

Were choughs, linnets, stonechat

And tits, and we also saw backside;

A man covering himself with a hat,

But there was more beside

For this was a naturist beach!

Dave Urmston c 2017