stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 18300
    [post_author] => 23
    [post_date] => 2017-09-28 16:34:24
    [post_date_gmt] => 2017-09-28 16:34:24
    [post_content] => That place,
caught at the edge of sight,
ancient and lonely,
clinging to the side of the road
like a clutch of wool stuck to a barbed wire fence.

I too was held there
by forces unseen.
What kept me from striding
headlong back
into the world of cars, and people, and warm houses?

Perhaps it was the deep grassy ramparts,
rough with wildflowers,
troubled by sheep tracks that echoed their lines.
A circle,
a ring of blood, sweat and callous
dug into the English earth 2000 years ago.
It demanded time, respect.

And so I stayed,
my ear circling that lonely space,
straining for something to call up
out of the hum of the vanished years.

Perhaps it was something simpler,
but harder to understand.
The marble eyes of the sheep
as they rolled their gaze upon me?
Or the sound of those bones -
most ancient, unbending sound -
that I disturbed with my boot?
Like dice they rattled.
Strung as beads, the knuckles danced and dangled
from the crumpled leg bones.
An empty ribcage rotted by a stone, yellow with lichen.
And time pleated back on itself in that place, as it listened.
    [post_title] => Yarnbury
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => yarnbury
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2017-09-28 16:34:24
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2017-09-28 16:34:24
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=18300
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2017
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is the third-prize-winner in August challenge #1 on Young Poets Network (YPN) in 2017.

Judge Magnus Dixon commented, "When I first read this poem, about three quarters of the way through I came to an image that made me stop in my tracks.  I re-read the words ‘the marble eyes of the sheep’ again and again, the image so vivid it stayed with me through the day, the words occasionally replaying in my mind as I walked the dog or brushed my teeth.  This poem was more narrative in style, rather than an exploration of a still image, which made it stand out from other poems in the challenge.  What also set ‘Yarnbury’ apart was the use of sound in lines like:

‘Like dice they rattled.
Strung as beads, the knuckles danced and dangled’

The poem, like ‘A church on the Edge of the World’ explores the passing of time and the juxtaposition of the modern and the ancient— its use of sound creating an echoing effect bound up in this theme.  Perhaps the image that condensed the whole poem, and indeed the whole theme of edgelands would be the opening one— comparing the ancient fort of Yarnbury ‘clinging to the side of the road/ like a clutch of wool stuck to a barbed wire fence.’"
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => 3rd prize, 2017 August challenge #1
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 2762
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Theo Lewis
            [slug] => theo-lewis
            [content] => Theo Lewis is a 2014 winner of the Cape Farewell/Young Poets Network competition to produce poems in response to climate change. He is a third-prize-winner of the Young Poets Network 2017 August challenge #1, themed around edgelands.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 2762
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Theo Lewis
    [slug] => theo-lewis
    [content] => Theo Lewis is a 2014 winner of the Cape Farewell/Young Poets Network competition to produce poems in response to climate change. He is a third-prize-winner of the Young Poets Network 2017 August challenge #1, themed around edgelands.
)

Yarnbury

Theo Lewis

That place,
caught at the edge of sight,
ancient and lonely,
clinging to the side of the road
like a clutch of wool stuck to a barbed wire fence.

I too was held there
by forces unseen.
What kept me from striding
headlong back
into the world of cars, and people, and warm houses?

Perhaps it was the deep grassy ramparts,
rough with wildflowers,
troubled by sheep tracks that echoed their lines.
A circle,
a ring of blood, sweat and callous
dug into the English earth 2000 years ago.
It demanded time, respect.

And so I stayed,
my ear circling that lonely space,
straining for something to call up
out of the hum of the vanished years.

Perhaps it was something simpler,
but harder to understand.
The marble eyes of the sheep
as they rolled their gaze upon me?
Or the sound of those bones –
most ancient, unbending sound –
that I disturbed with my boot?
Like dice they rattled.
Strung as beads, the knuckles danced and dangled
from the crumpled leg bones.
An empty ribcage rotted by a stone, yellow with lichen.
And time pleated back on itself in that place, as it listened.