Trap Grounds Poetry and Prose
Someone once described a visit to the Trap Grounds as “like entering another world, a place full of secrets and surprises”. Listen for the plop of a water vole as you walk along the boardwalk … sit in the wildflower meadow and wait for a fox to saunter past … let inspiration come to you. Then send us your thoughts, in poetry or prose.
Birds may have been caught here,
or eels trapped in baskets
made of willow withies.
Pony traps could have been left
in the area during Sheriff’s races,
or it might have been a site
where night-soil was dumped,
the word being slang for ‘privy’.
Some say ‘trap’ stood for extra-parochial,
denoting the fact that this land
was exempt from tithes.
Sounds make their escape —
The muntjac’s pack of dogs,
yaffle of a green woodpecker,
the water rail’s piggish squeal.
The Oxford Magazine, no. 284, January 2009
(Stephen Wilson’s collection of poems, Fluttering Hands, was published by Greenwich Exchange in 2008)