Uncategorised Poem: The Isolation Hospital: Bowl Barrow 21st May 2018 Bowl Barrow I sit at the foot of your tomb and watch as fog descends extends its cold fingertips across the crisp-moss hills becomes a sudden sandstorm gathering speed and bite: pursues a red kite, striking white under its wings. Gorse drop barbed spines Carline thistles shake dead heads walkers are forced to battle through fine fistfuls of vapour emerging with chalk manes restrained travelling land they don’t understand. Their feet resist, create rifts. Tug and trudge disturb mud, stumble over your grave, labelled a bunker a ditch a crater. I reach for my scarf, pull it tight around my chest feel the chill of damp grass pull my l i m b s apart. I am the bones beneath the barrow left for none to see. Previous Writing and Walking: The Fulking Archaeology Walk Newer The Hamblin Centre: First blog post! June 2018 Leave a Reply Cancel reply Your e-mail address will not be published. Required fields are marked *Name * Email * Website Comment Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.