Scree at Pendle Hill

Poem by Jeffrey Loffman

'I breathe in, aim for the ascent...' | Photo: by ewan bullock on Unsplash

Metal pins heal warts, ground-to-cloud lightning
strikes the summit, nightmares the yellow sun
of St. John’s Wort might soothe,
arthritic relief in turmeric. To not conform

threatens elites, Witch! Witch!
Chattox and Demdyke cauldrons stirred,
blind daemons lit, clay figures fired;
after a feud the hanging, a short drop.

Mix ginger, a dash of rosemary, catnip
and calendula for ease, cinnamon to tame the bloods.
Hygiea comes in different forms, so relief
for the Pendle sick, clouds thicken
like a raven’s unkindness. This barometer
sees dense air, pressure and mercury soar.

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