Amongst Prudhoe Castle, Playfully

I.

Into the back wood thicket through the leaves and branch tangled crisp packets twisted with thorns lit by daybreaks god rays larking amongst the green distraction of the pastoral veiled timberlands hung high up in the trees smokeless canopy covering these entering adolescence without regard clamber thistle spiked or red raising nettle touch hidden in holes of broken lumber growing bored but never wanting to be found till tag scale and scramble over all puncturing up to that always intended destination

II.

Leaves peel back unwrapping the castle garden enclosure revealed to tree roots wincing at the light binds left at the foot of the hill as eyes adjust too perfect green sheen algae these little lakes are a lovely site I imagine slinking amongst close to water’s edge beneath the noses of former inhabitants at elevenses tasting the grass to whistle finding it too rich too glossy this which lurks beside plots upon plots past feeding until all snug and tucked away amongst the cracks where all of Prud’s Ridge are present

III.

Threshold of the stone clad gatehouse in complete singular split I Odinel of Normandy and barony standing in phantasm while turning on a penny yelling ye shal not have peace scoundrel earl of hotspur kin unsheathing a branch blade of mythic steel for his oh so legitimate sovereign lunging forward strikes struggling in all out head trip to thwapped chins bruised knuckles in teared up war cries of snitching at last heel on chest I rend him through cleaving grass mud stone sediment all severed incomplete

IV.

Cracked sky with thunder toil of anguish and self-infliction bemoaning fault skarper up stony steps to chapel entrance sanctuary from crumbling chaos in fear undone his given spirit speaks imperfect in love so ethereal like haunting of his dissolute shade prattle on of cheats traitors and the unfinished homework to be not be to by fermenting proud shards in half tartan apparition cannot be abated but greys and blues shrinking pipes blaring we are all shatter born of both siblings of none by title alone attached to black cab red bus big ben

 V.

At the edge of dimmet time comes called by our christened branding a point of return tracked through the flattened weeds and broken bracken lead back to smoke scented carpet lea at the foot of home cloaking domesticity death and regret to nothing but bath bed and love you mam sent off all silently unaware of left behind stick wood swords lay at turned over log stamped grass imprinted lakeside foot punched stone signature crevice thick and filled a gaping grows all around in this fissure marking is marked

David Bell is a creative writing MA student at Newcastle University, with a focus on poetry and script writing. He is currently working on a collection set in his home town of Prudhoe called 'Prudhoe Banter'. The poems within the collection explore the interaction between the geographical history, personal history and invented history. To read more of his work on S&D, click here.