The Dew Stones

Pal Helen and I wrapped up against the blustery weather this morning and took a walk out to find two of the Stanza Stones. We were glad to get out of the wind and into Rivock Wood where we followed the path till we reached the Stones. Each stone is inscribed with a poem relevant to its situation by Simon Armitage.

The Dew Stones

The tense stand-off
of summer’s end,
the touchy fuse-wire
of parched grass,
tapers of bulrush and reed,
any tree
a primed mortar of tinder,
one spark enough to trigger
a march on the moor
by ranks of flame.
Dew enters the field
under cover of night,
tending the weary and sapped,

lifting its thimble of drink
to the lips of a leaf,
to the stoats tongue,
trimming a length
of barbed-wire fence
with liquid gems, here
where bog-cotton
flags its surrender
or carries its torch
for the rain.

Then dawn, when sunrise
plants its fire-star
in each drop, ignites
each trembling eye.
©Simon Armitage 2010

From there we took a walk deeper into the wood before returning to the car to drive to Rombalds Moor. Parking near the wireless mast, we headed out to the top of the Moor in search of the Puddle Stones.

Puddle Stones

Rain-junk
Sky-litter
Some May mornings
Atlantic storm-horses
clatter this way,
shedding their iron shoes
in potholes and ruts,
shoes that melt
into steel grey puddles
then settle and set
into cloudless mirrors
by noon.
The shy deer
of the daytime moon
comes to sip from the rim
But the sun
likes the look of itself,
stares all afternoon,
Its hard eye
Lifting the sheen
from the glass,
turning the glaze
to rust.
Then we don’t see things for dust.
©Simon Armitage 2010


We were glad to get back to the warmth and shelter of the car afterwards and drove to Helen's friend's lovely house for tea and hot mince pies! I have struggled with this blip because behind us was the very dark and thick forest so upping the contrast was tricky!

You will need to look in large to read the poem on the stones themselves, methinks.