North

We steal north
where peaks are crag and caved
and folk are sketched
with sharpened pencils.

Here rheumatic trees
have spindled pointed knees
and blue noses poke
unseasonal blasted clouds.

Sounds hang sharp
shriek pierce and blow
holes in limestoned earth
invoking snow.

They beckon me in
and back I itch to scratch
a path – thin and poor
but these are peaks I know.

Published by

Julia Dean-Richards

Julia is a writer and performer living in the Shropshire hills. Her writing is a product and expression of the love she has found whilst journeying through the most difficult times of her life.

please feel free to comment on these poems - all feedback appreciated. :)

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