Christopher Woodall Biography

When a man stands on the edge of the moor
Receiving the wind’s rough investiture
Of all that power which remains extant
From the creation of air, sea and land
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Novus Actus Interveniens


My time; I naively believe
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The buses leave at dawn, with protest songs
On the lips of the old and young alike,
Returning in warm numb silence at night
On the eve of revolution. The throngs
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A man in London and damp skies up here
Declare rain and storm; a dark wave rears up
But the blow does not fall. My footsteps veer
Into alleyways of a mildewed look.
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The hills will wander in their time
Over the bones of men
Who once when suited thought it fine
To booted walk on them;
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