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Errant Here and There (November Contest)

Here, this day, I up and trek
Aways away from home
Across the lane, beyond the beck
That bubbles through the brome.
Ascending, slipshod, up the hill
Where green is twice as nice
Where here the mood is hushed and still
And air is sweet as spice.

There atop a cloudy peak
All but to the sky;
That's where I asylum seek
(Or the least I try).
That's where flowing rills below
Divide the valley floor
And there above ~ since long ago ~
The golden eagles soar.

By myself I halt and rest
(Though I am not alone)
As breezes whisper from the west
And chill me to the bone.
I have no destination sure
I leave my angst elsewhere,
Guided by the tranquil lure
I wander here and there.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 
Content level: 
Not Explicit Content

Comments

that I caught you out with the word [brome], but found that it is a kind of grassland. Very good! But I am not sure about the use of [burns]. I would rather see [creeks, streams etc.]. otherwise, nicely done! ~ Geez.
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Yes! I agree with you about 'burns' It is a common word here in the North of England but it doesn't sit too snugly does it? I will definitely change that for something a little cooler.
Stay well G

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Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

In search of adventure, sounds like you have shared your soul with an eagle. Just beautiful. Your rhyming is superb. All in a day's work.

Thank you...Teddy

Teddy. Just another day at the office. A lost soul!

.......................................
Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

Dear Alan, your poem reminds me of the area where I live. There are eagles soaring, there are streams, rivers and lakes.
I don't mind the word "burns", it reminds me of my Scottish ancestry. My Dad used to tell us stories about Yorkshire and the moorlands. He was, as you must well remember, born in Berwick-on-Tweed, which is half in England and half in Scotland, divided by the river Tweed.
It must be wonderful to trek up the hills and almost touch the sky!
Your end rhymes are perfect and the spacing as well. I love the theme also.
Do bring on more, best wishes, Gracy.

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"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

the highest point in my area is 1500 feet above sea level. Sometimes when you are up there, during low cloud, your head is literally in the clouds. I do, of course, remember your father was born in Berwick-on-Tweed and think of how proud he must have been of his family. I have a friend who is Welsh but lives in England in Berwick-on-Tweed. His son lives half a mile from him in Scotland in Berwick-on-Tweed.

.......................................
Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
.......................................

author comment

I thought this was thought provoking... I may never slipshod up a mountain in real life, none the less, I can see me slipshoding up the hill with you in this piece...

*Collaborative Poetry Workshop* American Version of Japanese Poetry ~ Renga ~ Haiku, Senyru, Tanka.

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Yes come along anytime. I'll saddle you a horse if you don't want to walk. There's nothing like it.
Thanks for your kind comments.

.......................................
Critique is a compliment
Kind regards, Alan
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author comment

Never ridden a horse. That would be nice

*Collaborative Poetry Workshop* American Version of Japanese Poetry ~ Renga ~ Haiku, Senyru, Tanka.

Neopoet Community

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