The Storm and the Edge

They said, “You’re mad to chase a storm—
no light is worth the cold and harm.”
But something stirred that wouldn’t rest—
a pull, a whisper in my chest.

I should’ve turned; the signs were clear:
the clouds grew low, the rain drew near.
But Blackstone Edge loomed sharp and vast,
and dared me not to let it pass.

Calm Is Found Where Water Falls

Hidden deep where wild things grow,
beyond the paths most walkers know,
a waterfall begins its song—
not sharp or strong, but soft and long.

It slips from the rock in silver threads;
like whispered thoughts, the silence spreads.
Each streamlet curves with tender grace,
a dance of light on the stone’s worn face.

It’s Grim Up North

It were blowin’ a gale as I clambered up top,
wi’ gloves that were soggy and fingers like rock.
Weather turned sharp soon as I left tent —
aye, Pennine tricks, wi’ their cold-hearted bent.

Trig point stood there, bold as brass,
white as bone in a sea of grass.
Perched on a rock all battered and green,
weathered by storms and things it’s seen.

Where Water Meets Stone

I stepped where sunlight scarce would tread, where stone and water softly wed.
A hollow carved by time’s own hand, a hush more present than the land.

No silence, this—a breathing still. Where shadows clung with ghostly will.
The walls were damp with ancient tears, and the air was thick with mineral years.

Storm Over Scout Moor

Beneath a sky of charcoal rage, where thunder scrawls on lightning’s page.
The moor lies wide, a haunted plain, its grasses lashed by spectral rain.

Tall sentinels of whirring grace, the turbines haunt this desolate place.
Their ghostly arms in silence flail, against the storm’s unholy wail.

A Moment Gone, Yet Not Alone

A trickle carves the stone with grace,
Soft hands that shape a silent place.
No need for thunder, rage, or roar;
The stillest streams can wear the shore.

"O’er Ashworth Moor tha’ Looks"

Now then, sit thissen, tek a breather,
Tha’s climbed enough to sweat through t’ether.
Cast tha’ peepers ‘cross yon land,
Where bog an’ breeze go hand in hand.

Tha’ clouds drift soft, like cloots o’ cream,
While moorland hums a golden dream.
Water’s still as Sunday prayer,
Holdin’ shadows like it cares.

The Barn Remembers

I am the bones of shelter past, stone-stacked and weathered, built to last.
My frameless window, once a watchful eye, now frames the hills where echoes lie.

The Broken Moor

I stood where silence wears a crown, where ghosted hills in velvet drown, and in the hush of rain’s retreat, the world bent shining at my feet.

A wound of colour split the skies — a living fire before my eyes. A bow of flame, a whispered spell, that only fleeting hearts could tell.

Three Years Whispers, Scout Moor High Level Reservoir

Three years, a significant slice of life, measured in the steady tick of the clock, the relentless march of seasons, and the subtle changes etched onto the face of the land. Three years I’ve spent in silent conversation with Scout Moor High Level Reservoir, my camera a humble interpreter of its moods. It was a quiet affair. A slow burn of curiosity and an irresistible pull to witness the reservoir’s transformation under the endless ballet of the skies. These gathered images are more than just pretty pictures; They are the culmination of countless journeys, each laden with the unique character of its season.

The Crisp White Canvas The Pack Horse Inn Hebden Bridge

A simple journey culminating in a moment of peaceful contemplation in nature. An evocative descriptive poem.

A Winter’s Dream

A winters dream. A poem focused on capturing a specific moment and the feelings associated with it, escribing the stillness and beauty of a winter morning.

Resilience And More

a poem that captures beauty and melancholy of historical landscape. Imagery rhythm and contemplative tone creates a powerful emotional experience for the reader

Perfectly Imperfect

Perfectly Imperfect. This poem is a compelling and evocative piece of writing that beautifully celebrates the beauty and value of imperfection.

On the edge of Cragg quarry I stood

A descriptive story with evocative imagery and emotional resonance that focuses on a single, intensely described moment/experience while standing on the edge of Cragg quarry.

Seasons upon the moor

A beautiful exploration of the natural world, capturing the essence of the moor and its ever-changing beauty.