Monday, 9 April 2018

A poem by Tristan Moss

Moel Hebog


I approach through bog
and grassy mounds,
from Beddgelert.

It’s a slow unrelenting slog:
the only way up
to look back

how far I've come.
Then on bare rock,
my feet find grip

and eventually
reach a plateaued top,
where a cairn breaks the blasts

so I can eat my pack-up,
watch bits of frozen grass
swirling in the air

and hear the only other person say
'this beats Christmas TV, any day'.








Tristan Moss lives in York with his partner and two young children. He has recently had poems published in Snakeskin, Lighten Up Online, Open Mouse, and Picaroon Poetry.

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