Citizens

The Bakers, the Millers, the watchmakers.

The clerics, the priests and the reeves.

The plougher of fields and the sower of seeds.

The bankers, the scoundrels, the thieves.

The farmers, the tailors, the shopkeepers.

The woman who sits home and weaves.

The godless, the hypocrites and sinners.

The bishop who prays and believes.

The innkeepers, drunks and ...

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In a shadow, 

so softly creeping 

I met a maiden

so softly weeping 

Her lovers blood

in her clothes, seeping

For, his wandering eyes

she'd took for safe keeping

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Down in the valley 

Where wild things grow

There came a mist

Of long ago

Within the haze:

A nursery rhyme

Lullabying 

Dark webs of time

Ring o' Rosie 

If you please

Come float with us

Upon the breeze

It gets so lonely

Down in the ether

So Mother says

It's time to feed her 

Pockets full 

Of posies rare

From a time

No lo...

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Within a forest
Within a dream
She danced amongst the evergreens

Until the moonlight 
Turned her pale
To become the forest's ghostly tale.

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Roses were never within her

For only the cloying fragrance of lilies  

emanated from every pore

and ethereal breath 

A succulent moss gave comfort

like an earthly blanket

Seducing her cold, dead bones

Pale, decaying flesh turning

fertilizer for sprouting fungi: 

such tempting, flavoursome morsels 

of a fine meaty bouquet

The swirling breeze whispers:

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The Celtic Spring begins today, so Happy Imbolc.

__________________

Green Man

on a ceramic head

by Paula Zimmermann

I know that you must be there,

innocent divine,

although at first I cannot see;

your martyrdom, daily,

amidst brick, steel, and glass

goes almost un-noticed

and has made us blind.

We have all but buried you.

But then I find ...

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(Happy Halloween everyone!)

She rides upon a crimson horse

Its eyes as black as tar

Pray not to hear her whispered name

For she'll come to where you are

Her skin: as white as fresh-laid snow 

And twice as cold to touch

Her hair: as black as night itself

Hold your breath now, hush!

For if you hear the galloping hooves

Coming to your door

Run with all ...

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Damnation Trail

Through forests dark and shadowed vale

He follows the damnation trail

Along the river’s twisted course

Through bracken thick and clutching gorse

The ancient path cut through the land

He walks with devil’s hand in hand

And where his steps flatten the crops

No more will grow the wheat and hops

For he has footsteps cast in death

He steals the fa...

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Corruption

Here in the verdant meadows

All on a summer’s day

The dreaded army of the dark

Met with the noble fey

They fought until the long sundown

And the lost blood of the dead

Soaked into the sacred ground

And turned the roses red

When the fight was over

And the legion of the flies

Had swarmed across the corpses

Stealing hope from sightless eyes

...

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Prophecy

The crows tell of the walking man

Who travels fields by day and night

The walking man who’s not a man

Who strides between the dark and light

Soulless, cursed to stumble through

The endless hedgerows of the land

He wished for life but walks in death

He is the sweet prince of the damned

The hares and rabbits run from him

The fox and wolf walk by ...

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The Pumpkin Queen

The pumpkin queen is orange

Like the colour of her fruits

She wears a giant apron

And polished hob-nailed boots

She has a heart as big as Oceans

And helps others when it suits

The pumpkin queen is deeper than

An oak tree’s ancient roots

She sits in regal glory

On a throne of wood and leaves

And will animate her chosen one

As long as i...

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This is my own edit of an appearance I made on Radio Scilly last month. I've been a frequent visitor to the islands for twenty-five years, and they feature a lot in my work.

Linda Thomas is Scilly's estimable librarian, and it's great to be able to give her this shout-out as she's been a real champion of my work for several years now. The show itself was a blast (although you may not get that f...

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Jack In The Green awakens from his slumber

Spring is upon us, nature in all her wonder

Gaze in awe of rebirth, renewal, fertility

Stood deep in the forest, deep within tranquillity

Robin Goodfellow his mischief to perform

Souring milk, trampling crop circles from fields of corn

Tripping those who into the green wood unwary tread

Laughing, yet another traveller away from p...

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Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech

between banks of bluebells' hazy blue

where supple crosiers of new fern reach             

over verdant moss still damp with dew

a grassy lane runs beside the river

In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome

of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak

a far cuckoo calls the dryads home

but we pass unseen by woodland folk

'til tylwyth teg w...

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Dha Kro’z Ov Al-bi-an

(Tak’n frum ‘Dha Book Ov Kro’z’)

Koww Koww Koww
Wit wich hurd mi ple -
Kum down in hur
sno dres fin’ery.

Koww Koww Koww
“Giv mi vois”, sez I,
“For Kro iz sik ov
ra’ging at gray ski”

Koww Koww Koww
“I wish mi song be hurd,
tune’ful as a
prit’i lit’l burd”
 
“No, No”, sa she
“Nev’ar such a thing -
for u ar blak ov hart -
as blak of wing”

“I se u on ...

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Nocnitsa

the woods are dark and tangled
and the moonlight jangles white
along a twisted stony path
that leads away into the nowhere
a howling fills the stillness
overflowing like a scrabble
of beetles on porcelain tiles
in the shadows sits a something
with its head a leather pumpkin
oozing cherry-soda pus
and mewling for its mother
who is stalking just behind you
as you stumble thro...

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My new collection of poetry, Hobby Horses Will Dance, is available from book shops £5. A collection based on folklore and nature.ISBN 978-0-9929685-1-9

Old Ninth

Blod monath arrived

shrouded in mist and

winter chill.

Soon the firewood

would be stacked

and the cattle

slaughtered.

And when All Saints

and All Souls had passed,

Mischief Night gone

and even befo...

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