Hatherleigh.net - Local Poets

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Poets of Hatherleigh This is a selection of poems have been written by the people of Hatherleigh the majority of them having over the years been reproduced in the Pump.
	Foot and Mouth 2001
HATHERLEIGH CARNIVAL When all peoples' spirits are high We will remember The floats going by Five AM, the tar barrels do their first run Everyone is there Having lots if fun They all stand and stare Eleven AM, the hunt is coming Watch out for the hounds The horses are amazing Hang on, what's that sound ? Two PM, here comes the band Look at all the walking guys Prince & Princess hand-in-hand The people watch them go by. Two-thirty PM, they all arrive The Queen and her attendants The judges wonder if they'll survive The judging of the contestants Six PM, in the market The judging has begun Drivers ask where to park it I wonder who has won ? Seven-thirty PM, they all start to go Money being thrown Childrens' faces aglow Instruments being blown Eight-thirty, the tar barrels do their last run Everyone is sad But we know they've had fun And it's back next year – I'm glad Lucy Wonnacott
Hope Poverty crowds the matted ground, Tears flow without a sound, Children scream, sick in need. No one comes because of colour or creed. Scared eyes as the gun shots fly, Destroying the setting sky. Children dying lost in hunger, Can't cease to survive much longer. Babies held tight to mother's breast Nowhere else to rest. Many killed for one man's fight Burned houses demolished by night Sudden desperation and father's grope, The only thing left is hope. By Shivani Price (when aged 10)		Divided also printed in the "Save The Children Magazine" On two dusty streets or paths Two children walk on different halves One is black, and one is white Both travel on though the night One is dark, one is fair Neither of them are ever there One is lost, one if found Both feet fastened to the ground One is hurt, one is fine Both divided, an invisible line One moves and crosses sides Both forget about allusional divides On two dusty streets or paths Two children walk, on the same half. By Shivani Price
MEMORIES Far away in a place not known, was a house on a hill, my home. In a town so small and quiet, with a river running through it. Farmers out at the crack of dawn, Like the early bird on the lawn. The smell of woodfires fills the air, as newborn lambs play with no care. Movement begins in the house, the cat brings home a little mouse. Cows come in to be milked, walking on grass, just like silk. They trundle on, as slow as ever, at this rate it would take forever. The milks soon ready to be collected, by the tanker that's been directed. Time for the dog to go for a walk, passing old ladies who stand and talk, about the gossip that's going around. I think it's time to go to town. Past the cottages, all white and thatched, past the fields and a football match. Through a wood and over a bridge, right down to the river's edge. To a market that's up and ready, bringing in cattle slow and steady. In pens they are put to be sold, huddled close, maybe they're cold. Chickens clucking, sheep are bleating, the hammer goes to start the selling. Around the market on my own, back up a hill, to a house, MY HOME . By Carolyn Farley
Foot and Mouth Spring 2001 During the spring of 2001 teh community was devistated by the destruction of much livestock due to the presence of Foot and Mouth disease in the area.		SPRING 2001 Where are the feet of the lambs? I thought we should see them still In the clay of the gateway wide, where we drove them down from the hill. There was rain and sleet as we hurried down- there was no time to cry But the young ewes trotted proudly and called their first-born by. I walked with my cat up the hill tonight: alone with the pale spring sky The willow buds were turquoise, but oak leaves still tight furled. He stood on my feet as we stared around the greening empty world. Is it only a month since the young ewes called as we brought them down to die? The cold wind carries the song of birds or of distant ghostly sheep He raises his head to touch my hand- oh now is the time to weep. Patricia Lindsay
Silent Spring March 2001 Hatherleigh As far as the eye can see stretch fields bereft of their woolly pregnant flocks, grazing in expectation of bringing forth their spring-time, life-full lambs. Their lives snuffed out by vicious virus or compulsory cull, And milking cows taken by this disease, regardless of pedigree. This languid, lush, landscape, home for centuries to those who lived by husbandry, wiped clean of moving, breathing creatures - all but the scavenging crows. Smoke from funeral pyres hangs on the misty air, adding to the mood of gloom. The Town, well used to shared joy and sorrow, sleeps now, void of market and needless gatherings and awaits future re-awakening. But daffodils and primroses with their eternal beauty herald Spring and birds sing, though the bleats of young lambs are few and far between. New life will come again after the sadness and grief of farmers and their families - so close to all the death and desolation - Their livelihoods wiped out, but not the life-force, which with support, must and will survive if rural England is to maintain its unique character and beauty, for which so many lived and died, and once again 'sheep may safely graze'. By Pat Abell		FOOT AND MOUTH The smiles have gone from Hatherleigh Town and all that surrounds. For centuries these lush lands have been nurtured by men, not clowns. Is someone trying to wind it down? What really did go wrong with our market town? Knighted by a famous King he must have known the strength within It will rise again with love and care by gentle keepers there. Other parts of our glorious land are also in deep despair, "Will it be our turn now?" The moor is silent, pyers blaze to blacken the sky with their murky haze. It is now spring, life reborn, the birds are singing with the dawn. Not all things have gone so terribly wrong. Name withheld by request FOOT AND MOUTH May 2001 The smiles have gone from Hatherleigh Town and all that surrounds. For centuries these lush lands have been nurtured by men, not clowns. Is someone trying to wind it down? What really did go wrong with our market town? Knighted by a famous King he must have known the strength within It will rise again with love and care by gentle keepers there. Other parts of our glorious land are also in deep despair, "Will it be our turn now?" The moor is silent, pyers blaze to blacken the sky with their murky haze. It is now spring, life reborn, the birds are singing with the dawn. Not all things have gone so terribly wrong.
Silent Spring March 2001 Hatherleigh May 2001 As far as the eye can see stretch fields bereft of their woolly pregnant flocks, grazing in expectation of bringing forth their spring-time, life-full lambs. Their lives snuffed out by vicious virus or compulsory cull, And milking cows taken by this disease, regardless of pedigree. This languid, lush, landscape, home for centuries to those who lived by husbandry, wiped clean of moving, breathing creatures - all but the scavenging crows. Smoke from funeral pyres hangs on the misty air, adding to the mood of gloom. The Town, well used to shared joy and sorrow, sleeps now, void of market and needless gatherings and awaits future re-awakening. But daffodils and primroses with their eternal beauty herald Spring and birds sing, though the bleats of young lambs are few and far between. New life will come again after the sadness and grief of farmers and their families - so close to all the death and desolation - Their livelihoods wiped out, but not the life-force, which with support, must and will survive if rural England is to maintain its unique character and beauty, for which so many lived and died, and once again 'sheep may safely graze'. By Pat Abell		HATHERLEIGH MOOR Why do birds still sing Where no ewes call Why do birds still sing Not knowing our pain Why do birds still sing Where men are mute Why do birds still sing For life will come again By J.C.H.

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HATHERLEIGH CARNIVAL

Divided also printed in the "Save The Children Magazine"

Divided
also printed in the "Save The Children Magazine"