Death On The Day of Remembrance

11 November 2015

Death shall have its dominion
After all is said and done
Year on year we remember more

Clearly as the leaves fall
Between the headstones
Drifting down centuries

Of endless war, as babies drown
On Mediterranean shores
And the rape of Syria

Wearies the world
In its cocoon before climate
Change wakes us all from

The Sleep of Us Undead.
But the woman my humanity
Holds me to be, has hope

Though not in my lifetime
Perchance sometime
A young girl will dance

Where once Death stalked
Will sing where Blood spilt
In Her Life we shall be reborn.

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Poem in Autumn: NeverLand of Now

17 October 2015

For Frank Bowman


Decline of civilization imaged in fall of fig leaves

Perchance its endgame in my garden of delights

The fruit too small to eat, but no biblical intent

And beauty yes, in annual riot of growth and colour


As Syria tumbles down and her human offspring

Scatter in an epic exodus, bearing ancient seeds

To plant a global orchard, two million Steve Jobs

On a great meandering, the world can only wonder


Yes! Yes! Crieth Carlyle from The Grave

As little england wriggles away from memories

Of last war’s refugees, from its own

Wandering Jewish tendrils winding round


The centre of the Being we call Britain


Enough! Enough! Whispers Carlyle’s feisty Wif

Enough? The world weeps

Mediterranean tears, our screens dim

With salt, sweat, the blood. Enough.


More Than Enough until we wake

To see ourselves as one species

With One Work to do, shall we survive,

Embrace the Unwanted, Victory for All


We are better than we know

We arrived here with altruism in our bones

This is The Time Foretold, the NeverLand of Now,

When Aslan roars out of his cage, the angels sing


It is not Jerusalem to build, it is but Earth


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How My Garden Grows


4 June 2015, Cambridgeshire, UK


Well, to start with

We must rescue speaking plants

From dumb nurseries


Then they take charge

Overmuch, methinks, maybe

But follow the clues


The new russet Japanese maple

The pink-blue hydrangea

Debate with ancient yellow irises


Reborn old-fashioned lilac

Recovers beside traditional eternally

Rebirthed fuschsia, what the hell


That wood pigeon is asking for trouble

Hermes the god-cat is watching

Next door’s yellow rose pokes its nose across the border


The white roses shall win again

But close follow up by sweet honeysuckle

And fragrant jasmine


Across the divide of grass that would-be meadow

The ceanothus shouts volumes

Of abuse at anything in its way


The fruit trees run apace

Apricot, fig, apple and cherry

Dear lemon watches from afar, aloof


The Cornish camellias dream deep

As the peonies have their day in the sun

Soon to sleep, aye to sweep up another day


I cannot bear such beauty

But we must, as bees buzz

And blackbirds nest, best of show




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Running As One: for Jere, Master Runner

from AT HOME IN BELL BUCKLE, Poems by Leona Elen (1996)

(published in Bell Buckle, TN, USA 1996 by The Brideswell Press)

Reprinted here In Memoriam to Jere Hall (d. 2015)


Do you remember, brother, how we knew this land by foot?

Before horses ran among us, before we wore the boot?

The trackways were well-travelled, our villages kept informed

Before forests became timber, before the Circle was malformed


The mounds rose high above us and we entered up with awe

For there the shaman awaited us to tell him what we saw

We ran perfect as one body for from one womb we came

They chose us before our birthtime for mother dreamt our Name


Running As One we wandered this country far and wide

We vowed to run together until the day we died

But I was born a woman and you were born a man

So in the end our lives were run by dictates of The Plan


For though Our Run was paramount, my body blossomed forth

And I was chosen then to mate with a shaman of the North

And in all the lives that I have lived in northern climes apart

I looked to see if I could find my former counterpart


Then I remembered who were were, that night, in the old Cafe

When you touched my wrist and said, you have a runner’s way.

I have my loving brothers, they are all three runners, true

But now our vow is honoured, I have a newfound friend in you.

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14 January 2015


Back and forth

The sound of racisms exchanged

Hopes and fears

Mixed messages



With some eloquence


Dirty linen flying in the breeze

Of consumerist streets

Flags and signs and pens aloft

Crowds and mobs and marching


We can either

Be Je Suis ou Je Ne Suis

Ou NON a tout cela

Nous sommes

Touts Charlies et Ne Plus Charlies

Mai Qui est Charlie?

Pas moi ou toujours lui ou rien de ca

Les morts sont morts

Les familles sont triste

Je suis Confusee

Cette Franglaise




Commencement d’un multilogue

Entres touts les Charlies


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Season’s Greetings

Brideswell's Christmas e-card 2014

(click to enlarge)

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In November: Death and Anniversary

In between the 24th and the 27th

A death and an anniversary

A mother and a marriage

A letting go, a remaking


In the dark time, the fog deep,

The air damp, visibility down,

Smell of earth and decay

Still digesting death


In Memoriam:

Florence Boyd-Graham

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Launch of Marianna Lines’ Sacred Scotland: A Guide to Scotland’s Ancient Sites and Sacred Places

MariannaBookCoverI am pleased to be able to tell you about the new book from our friend Mar­i­anna Lines. An author­ity on ancient sites, espe­cially in Scot­land where she lives, Mar­i­anna is also a tal­ented artist.  The Traveller’s Guide to Sacred Scot­land is pub­lished by Gothic Image in Glastonbury.

The Traveller’s Guide to Sacred Scot­land
A Guide To Scotland’s Ancient Sites and Sacred Places
Mar­i­anna Lines

Buy from the pub­lish­ers, Gothic Image

The first guide­book to weave together the cul­tural, his­tor­i­cal and spir­i­tual aspects of this fas­ci­nat­ing coun­try, it will enhance the expe­ri­ence of the arm­chair trav­eller as well as any pil­grim to the ancient mag­i­cal land of Scotland.

Scot­land has a rich pre­his­tory stretch­ing from Neolithic times through the Bronze and Iron Ages. She has islands from the mag­nif­i­cent Orkneys and Shet­lands to the Outer Hebrides and the Uists, the Isle of Skye and the Inner Hebrides. Each one is renowned for its ancient sanc­tity. Scot­land was home to many dif­fer­ent cul­tures includ­ing the Norse, Picts and Celts. She has a par­tic­u­larly unique and stun­ning land­scape with holy moun­tains, spec­tac­u­lar lochs and sacred trees. The High­lands with their Pic­tish set­tle­ments and carved stand­ing stones offer yet another kind of awe-inspiring beauty. Fairy folk­lore, poets and bards, Arthurian and Mer­lin related sites, Celtic Chris­t­ian foun­da­tions and their Saints are all to be found in this land.

This guide­book not only takes the reader on an inspir­ing jour­ney of dis­cov­ery into Scotland’s past, but, also, offers direc­tions to places regarded by Scots them­selves of spe­cial impor­tance, what they mean and their rel­e­vance today.

  • Pub­lished : 03/11/2014
  • ISBN : 9780906362761
  • For­mat : Paperback
  • Imprint : Gothic Image Publications
  • Size (mm): 110 x 215
  • Cat­e­gory: Travel
  • Pages : 500
  • Price £16.99

Info from Deep Books

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After Dylan Thomas, from An English Garden on Beltane Eve, 2014


Mind clusters, garden roots green and glowing

Thick in my throat, memories of times forward

Fernhill potent, wordstruck, clambering tendrils


Eyepools of happiness, yellow eyed feral beasts

We sing in our chains, claws intact

As animals go extinct, we cry stop no more


Down the long haul, towards all our deaths

We do rage against this night of our making

The fire bright, horns askew, owls call our names


Too many too few too much too little

Too late sings the blackbird deep in my doom

Too soon the summer and then the winter


We shall fall asleep

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Listening to Los Incas

Listening to Los Incas
Poet panpipes
Take me away
To the High Andes…

To another time
Another place…
Where imagined goodness
May have reigned

But no, where’er we look
Blood and the business of life
Bursting bounds of
So called civilisation

We must peer into the heart of
The Matter, where we lie
On our altars, awaiting death
To rebirth, our hearts askew

Many ways to make atonement
Sacrifice but the earth will outreach us
A few of us left to tell the tale
At least we tried

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