I have been posting poems during lockdown based on the concept taken from a much earlier poem called 'Cycle Of The Scarecrow' a fantasy piece which tells the tale of a scarecrow who is brought back to life by a witch and walks the fields of Albion. It is a reflection on the changing seasons and of growing old - and the premise of 'what if I had my time again?
It was released today as a digital do...

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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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Crow Lore

We sit and watch the world go by

On fences long and oak trees high

The waxing moon the setting sun

We are the crows of Albion

We chronicle the human ways

Their restless nights and confused days

Mother, daughter, father, son

We are the crows of Albion

Our stories written down in books

Guarded well by crows and rooks

And no one knows what we ...

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Lazarus Curse

I trudge across these ancient lands

Where crops are reared by human hands

And all I leave are footsteps deep

a crop the scythe will never reap

I see the changing seasons turn

The new shoots grow, bonfires burn

From the soil the world will grow

I track the sacred rivers flow

These things of beauty pass me by

I have no soul I cannot die

F...

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The Mandrake Curse

I spied the purple mandrake flowers

Sitting in their nest of green

And foolishly looked to rip them

From the earth they serenely sat upon

And everywhere a shriek echoed

Across the woods and leafy vales

and to my weary eyes I saw

The bulbous body resurrected

A face demonic in its glare

For being torn from fitful slumber

Wizened arms of k...

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The Beast Beneath The Beck

The beck at Westgate End is full of weeds,

its water is a muddy shade of brown,

confused ducks die within anaemic weeds

as sunken shopping trolleys pull them down.

Sometimes you hear a cold slithering splash,

as though some ancient creature has slid in

to feast upon the centuries of trash.

Who knows what evils are contained within?

It...

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Tumbleweed

In a town called Tumbleweed

sound is deadened

so that every conversation

crawls like a gentle breeze

through cotton wool.

Beggars are kings,

politicians pariahs,

policemen thieves,

priests parasites.

Suzie is a victim.

The streets of Tumbleweed

host sinners, saints and surrogates

sneering into bibles

left to them

by agnostic pa...

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