Where the devil comes to make his feast,
On cliffs that cut off to east,
His table stone and half a ruin,
In a shadow of a church on dune.
400 years or more have past,
He comes just once to break his fast,
To a spread of wine, prunes and figs,
And to his fiddle; a merry jig,
By the light of moon and a sky quite teal,
He takes his leave and ends his meal,
With nothing left but a stain of wine,
On the table where the devil dines.
This is my D poem for the A to Z challenge.
My A-Z is based on Northumberland, and the myths and monsters that lurk within.
When I was younger, there was a story of a stone table at Church point in Newbiggin, years of rumors labelled this as ‘The Devil’s Table, where if you went, ouji board in hand, you could make contact with the devil himself. Age made us wiser and we came to realise the table was in fact a memorial with weathered writing. However this little story has always stuck in my mind, and from it has sprouted this little rhyming tale.
My poems kind of lead onto one another so I do suggest you read the poem before it to get the gist.
So the time has come, April is almost upon us and the A to Z Challenge starts. This is my second challenge and I have learnt from last year to prepare, so for over a month I’ve been writing notes and rhymes all on my theme…
The Untold Stories of the Northlands
This is something I’ve worked on before but chose to save it for the April A to Z. Whilst on a trip to Glasgow I wrote The Untold Stories of Scotland and ever since wanted to write something similar about the area I live in. The stories you will read over the month are all based on things around Northumberland England, I can’t promise you these tales are 100% true, in fact you’ll be lucky if they are 1% true…
A huge thank you to Arlee Bird for setting up the challenge! I am looking forward to seeing what the month and challenge brings!
B is for… Bluebells
In the outdoor hidden wilderness,
There lies a brambled hall,
Where the acoustics set to perfect,
And the canopy grows quite tall.
For there in almost unison,
The bluebells chime their song.
natures grounded orchestra,
Tinkle all day long.
As the breeze it strokes their petals,
They whistle like a flute,
A humble winded instrument,
Sound quivers to the root.
The leaves they form percussion,
the rain it drums the beat,
Forming steady rhythm,
The bass round and deep.
A thousand strumming stems play,
Like a harp or string quartet,
The melody of the bluebell,
A woodland soundtrack set.
No Mozart, or Debussy,
Could write a comparing tune,
As the bluebells take their encore,
And bow their heads in bloom.
Inspired by the blog Thoughts from the outdoors! 🙂
This poem is for B of the A to Z challenge