The Devil’s Punchbowl – a poem

First poem in a while. I took a walk today into the Surrey countryside. My walk to me to a place of legend with a tale of evil attached. I made up some haiku about it.

Weathered cross of stone

Mile marker on the frontier

No ills may ride out

Of this depression

lush green with nature’s efforts

But sick to its core

White saplings spring through

Remnants reaching for heaven

From beneath the soil

What landed here then

What passed screaming thorough the earth

And left such a mark

For here was Murder

Clothed as three men met one night

Who stole Jack’s young light

Tarred and starving

They were hoisted in a cage

There left for days, days

Lifted up on high

For to gaze at heaven’s light

And await the crow’s bite.

The Sailor’s Stone

Thanks for reading.


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