In the Valley of the Stones

The Valley of the Stones is in Dorset in the hills north of Weymouth. This poem comes from the same short holiday which produced “Weymouth Bay”.



This valley is thick with time

It seems to coagulate in my hands

Only to slip through them

The sarson stones lie randomly round an axis

Or clustered in small groups like some

Ambushed patrol. The hillside terracing no longer

Cares for the crops, only sheep manoeuvre

Round the stubborn lines

Who came here when the glacier withdrew

Who farmed here, that is in the time

That laps round these soft hills and asks for questions.

What will be here, I’m deaf, I cannot tell

Is it there somewhere in the swirling

And slowly settling time, or on the wind

There to be caught or dropped and in the balance?


I am fascinated by the idea of being in contact with time past, but what about time future?

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  1. There’s something in this poem that will grow into something more.

  2. Perhaps it has in other poems!


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