What 3 Words walk

Woodingdean to Lewes 29th May 2021 – Assembled using What 3 Words app

3 Words Walk     (29^th May 2021 Woodingdean to Lewes)

Grow clues abode

Dripping roads bloomers
Starter ruffling informer

Enter victory gobbling
Lunging swelling roadways
Waltzed roofed reward
Bland discusses dares
Races command hypnotist
Revives classed escalated
Weeps tougher spending
Sorry gift baking
Coffee asking enjoyable.
Mind music certified
Elaborate reforms Simply
Took wings limit.
Wrong curve awards
Fresh holds hunter
Lake dogs liked
Palm trapdoor wished

Decanter mystery crunchy
overdrive unfit welfare
Harvest detained variances

———————————

Waypoints:

(coop corner)

(Falmer Road Woodingdean)

(drove road to downs)

(stopping for skylarks)

(drove road)

(phone mast)

( Castle Hill)

(Gate near reducing station windmill)

(a horse woman riding by)

(a gate)

(finding cowslips and Crow feather)

(signpost and sheepfold)

(hag thorn)
(juggs Lane)
(path to ashcombe windmill)
(Gate)

(middle of a27 Bridge)

(end juggs Road)

( Anne of cleeves house)

(St John the baptist)

(southover Grange Gate)

(Flint Owl Bakery)

Dan Belton (What 3 Words App) 29/5/2021

Prayer

I did not die before I wake.

I draw breath in,

Expel fears taken.

The day crackles like cereal with

Heat and heart.

Hop scotch pavements

Chalk the feet.

I hit the ground hurdling, sure,

The sky an open mouth

Of rich blue notes,

With all the joy of the red

Wigged woman

Singing opera from a

Barber’s chair on a Sunday

Morning.

Dan Belton July 2021-07-19

Three Words Poem

This poem was created by using the 3 words generated by the ‘What.Three.Words’ App, at various locations during a journey to 3 Brighton Parks, and back home. (line spaces odd due to WordPress playing up)

Apron safely healers

Scrap firmly prove
Focal nature blend

Spun loans dream

Voice powder garden

Ground rise cling

Talent deed works

Deflection aura radio

Sheep awards tried
Zoom target cried
Gives yard bunk
Intervals prep noise

Vocab showed achieving

Rocket fend fake

Stone only clubs
During card stones
Trials tune choice

Single went many
Puddles sudden thick

Sausage egg person

Drip wedge bigger
Beard misty cook
Ruled toxic congratulations 
Mass bravo submit
Define place closed
Proper gloves soils
Cups heat lance

Destinations

Sillwood Street

Little Western Street

Co-op Bus Stop

The Deneway

Withdene Park

Entering woods

Entering Lilac Groves

Exiting Lilac Groves

Blue Bells wood

Buttercup bench

Small pond

Peacock Lane

Surrenden Field bus stop

Preston Manor

St Peters Graveyard

Graveyard exit

Preston Park clock tower

Tea chalet

(Breakfast)

Preston Park rockery pool

Beard misty cook

Ruled toxic congratulations

Marks and Sparks

Churchill Square

Norfolk Square

Home

** all 3 word lines taken from destination markers generated by

What. Three. Words

Application.

‘Sausage Egg Person’ is name given to me for my breakfast order when cafe forgot my name.

Yaffle

The green woodpecker

Laughs.

Where I could not laugh with

The world,

Where I dared not laugh

At myself,

The woodpecker laughs,

Reminding me to look up

At this sky.

And the cloud is ivory.

Or the cloud is ash.

And the green woodpecker

laughs.

Dan Belton 7/4/21 (an extra mural poem)

Morning Poem 12/3/21

I should be writing;

Daily pages, three,

But I am listening to the voices

Of the arriving morning.

The withering gale,

Blathering, buffeting

Like a drunk

Around the seafront room

Of hotels

And plugged up chimney pots.

Listening to the gulls

Crying, “I am lost”

Screaming  “I am found”

5 floors up,

The outside tarnish of these windows

Will never be cleaned,

But in the creeping light

I start to see

The adjectives behind the voices.

Dan Belton 12/3/21

The Little Black Month *

This is the Little Black Month.

Clouds blink:

Prestidigitation –

And the full moon is gone

Not seen to return,

No matter what the crick in the neck.

A body large as loss,

Silver as longing,

Heavy as bleakness.

It was there behind Winged Peace;

She was placing a wreath,

An olive ring, upon its brow,

Marrying the sky.

This is the little black month,

Ebon, under a wintering caul,                     

And we never feel so flung and far

From returning fire,

From the hope of the splitting seed.

Dan Belton February 18^th 2021

*The little black  month is a Romani term for February.

Ce n’est pas un masque

At the bus stop

This morning,

I reach into the dedicated bag

And find I have packed wrongly,

Morning hands grabbing all in the wake from

Bedroom gown, to front door

And in my hand I find

Not a mask,

But an apple.

I of course, curse,

Then laughing I hold it up to, and

In front of, my mouth

To look like Magritte’s

Le fils de l’homme ;

A leafed world held in its orbit around my face.

The bus goes past –

I breathe in orchards

I breathe the speech of hives,

The tang of memory.

I breathe in tart green evocation

From the fruit

To the branch

To the bark

To the loam

To the life.

Dan Belton

14^th February 2020

In the Tree Corner

Three silver beeches

Lay felled,

The fans of their gloveless fingers

Waving defeat to the resounding sky.

The slow count creaks out

In their silver bones.

At the next copse

A man boxes a young poplar;

A foam pad wrapped around it

Like a champion’s belt.

Yish-ish-ish

He fights

Yish-ish-ish

He grunts

With one smiling mind’s eye

Cast over

As his former conquests.

Dan Belton 02/01/2021

(after Storm Bella Decemeber 2020)

Saffron

Consider your life as if it was saffron;

That golden rarity, that is you,
Dreamt from the blue of a crocus eye.

 

Saffron,

A hay perfumed gem

In a cracked plastic box

At the back of the cupboard,

Hidden behind a mundanity of beans.

 

You may have stored the breath of clouds, against drought,

May have harvested the butter of suns against deluge,

And, in caution, in unbroken forecasts,

Lost the reason, the key, to these cupboard magicks.
In

Those stories,

Those travels,

Those histories,

Those reveries,
That you have forgotten you know;

You may have mislaid that you live.

 

It is not the end, it is not the start.

It is a journey stalled, half started.

 

Consider your life as if it was saffron:

 

The crease of your wondering hands

Opens, like a recipe book.

With petrichor scent,

A prayer of memory arrives;

Consider your life

As if it was saffron;

So scarce, we crave it.

So dear, we save it.

Once you obtain it

You sometimes cannot bear to broach it,

Feel you cannot rise to, or prove it.

 

What is so simple, so everyday,

Can

Be so hidden

You forget you have it.

 

Will yourself to use it.

 

Consider your life as it was saffron.

 

It is for the simmering,

Not the stores.

 

 

Dan Belton 12/5/20

19 Corvids

 

 

Let’s go to the square and feed the birds,

You said,

Qualifying;

They don’t cough.

 

Those ones do, I said, once we were there,

Pointing at a dark tessellation of 19 crows

At attention like all in black chessmen patient formation,

On a lawn mower striped board of green grass;
Listen;

Kark. Kagg. Kaff.

You turned from filling the nut cage with seeds that were too small

For the mesh and ran like gold

Dust off the scales of your cupped palms.
They are not coughing.

You said.
They are embarrassed to be seen always in Undertaker’s weeds,

Always in tight, ebony shoes.
Inside, they may feel quite as you or I

May, or may not feel;

 

As colourful,

And as contrary;

 

Wanting to be noticed.

 

Wanting to turn away.

 

Dan Belton 28/3/20