from the oubliette
far down in the lonely ground
the sound of weeping
out of sight, but not of mind
drown out the echoes with wine
by gail
Death
Scatter Me
Scatter me there where the winds are sweet
To the blue of the sky and the sun’s bright heat
On Oliver’s Camp where the dragon lines meet
Scatter me there on the hill
Scatter me there where the waters flow
Where the weeping mourners come and go
Down by The Wharf where the ducklings grow
Scatter me there on the bridge
Scatter me there where the earth sees all
When the pond is lit by a moonbeam’s fall
Where the children play and the drunkards brawl
Scatter me there on the green
Scatter me there where the griffons play
Where the waters pour the hours away
In the pool of the fountain on Market Day
Scatter me there in the stream
Scatter me there with the silent dead
Where ages of souls have been buried and wed
And the angels cavort among coffins of lead
Scatter me there by the church
Scatter me there where the townsfolk cried
And strew flowers on the steps when Diana died
On the stair where ’tis said that Ruth Pierce lied
Scatter me there on the cross
Scatter me here and leave me be
On every street, under every tree
Until I am dust and memory
Scatter me here where I’m free
by Gail
Rosemary’s Funeral
Mother’s Day is an emotional time, especially for folk who no longer have their Mums around. My mother is long gone, bless her. She died at this time of year, in 1990. I wrote this last year for Mother’s Day, and the coming of Spring. It’s actually a celebration of her so no need for tears.
*
My mother’s coffin on the bier, up the cobbled steps to St. Mary’s church. My babe folded warm to my breast. Green turf on the hill and the early cry of lambs upon the Plain. Warm breath, warm wind, the knell of an ancient bell, solemn steps up to the sacred temple, dedicated to His mother, The Mother, all mothers, my mother.
For Spring is a dying in itself. My child stirs. She waited for him before her passing. I pressed him to her breast as she lay dying, her window open, bright gifted daffodils a-stirring on the sill. I took a photograph and have it still. My mother, blessed in her helplessness, still fierce in her humility, with a twinkle in her eye, a warm smile and her only grandchild in her arms.
Funeral over and back in the light my son and I await new life.
*
by Gail
Here Speaks The Magic Work Of Raymond John
Inspired by the writings of Raymond John Burt…
Here speaks the magic work of Raymond John
Intrigue in reference, delight in phrase
I’m curious as to what, my friend, you’re on
That powers your pen to so the mind amaze
Let he that has an ear be still and hear
Let she who has an eye seek out the light
For here some crazy wisdom doth appear
On wild wings of angels in the night
For Love and God and Death and Grace and Hell
Within your words take buttered toast and tea
More syllabub, Beelzebub? Pray tell
What syllables might set the Sibyls free
Get thee behind me, ghosts, take flight, be gone!
Here speaks the magic work of Raymond John
© Gail from Devizes 2016
Blossom Rising
On the deaths of Major John Cairns Bartholomew, of Wadworthshire,
and a much loved Devizes tree…
*
*
Beneath a grey and monumental sky
In wild confetti clouds that dance in air
The blossom falls, all trees and men will die
However good, or beautiful, or rare
For years beneath the branches of that tree
Have lovers kissed and lonely mourners waited
All men and trees shall die, he, thee, and me
By that same force destroyed and yet created
The clattering of horses’ hooves, the sound
Of yeoman passing, ghosts that haunt the ears
All trees and men be gone into the ground
Till from the light new word of life appears
In red Victorian brick and petal glow
Are strength and beauty blended for our eyes
Good men and trees in season come and go
Such knowledge is the glory of the wise
Drink with your eyes each bright delight you see
And savour every moment of creation
For man will pass, and wind will fell the tree
And wine will fall on coffins in libation
If blood still flows like sap, then drain your glass
Enjoy the fleeting sunbeam in your ale
All trees and men will die, for all things pass
All moonlight fade, and colours turn to pale
Let hops be gathered, make of sunshine, hay
Add rosebuds, and ferment a heady brew
For trees and men shall certain pass away
As dark of midnight shadows summer’s blue
And soon enough, last orders will be rung
Sad flags will flutter half way up the mast
And dark laments for men and trees be sung
And rest be found for dear old souls at last
Learn wisdom, child, from ale and wood and bone
Brew love in barrels down in cellars deep
And find it there when you return, alone
To watch the man in blossom rise from sleep
*
by Gail
narcissus and the carp
narcissus, the pond
across the surface ripples
disillusionment
dead in the water, floating
not so koi now, bloated carp
by gail
winter tide; a haiku
damn you, winter tide
leaving behind in your wake
shells on shores of spring
*
by gail
Too Late For Words
*
Oh, when they were alive we never said
The things we say about them now they’re dead
Too far away now, too far gone to hear
Gone, never to return or reappear
Too late to say how much they meant to us
Just hollow words, and funerals, and fuss
And sorry tears, and memories, and pain
And wishing we could see their face again
That gaze exchanged by eyes when last we met
That lingered a split second, we forget
That precious image, vague, so hard to find
In cupboard corners of unconscious mind
*
Why didn’t we just tell them they were great
Too late today, too late now, all too late
We had that thought that day, we didn’t call
What if we never called that much at all
Or when we did, droned on and on and on
No chance to listen now they’re dead and gone
And our last words, a blessing or a curse?
A dirty joke or elevating verse?
*
And what if it was bad, so very bad
Unreasonably difficult or sad
Too late to shake hands now, forget, forgive
For they have gone and we have stayed to live
To reconcile our difference alone
With icy wind and cold unyielding stone
With questioning, with anger, fear and prayer
And all the time just wishing they were there
*
They change us most, our dearest kith and kin
Lay waste the landscapes that we dwell within
Leave shattered palaces in ruined wake
Leave with that part of us they chose to take
Make waves rise up on ponds in silent glades
Blast particles of light through sunken shades
Part oceans with their leaving, break the sky
Leave fish upon the shore line high and dry
*
And even those we never thought we knew
The ones we thought were simply passing through
However long the number of their days
Do change us, in small subtle little ways
Make dust prints on the table in the hall
Leave crumbs on plates, and scuff marks on the wall
Blow gentle breezes soft through window crack
That whisper ‘I am never coming back’
*
The more we loved the more we miss, the more
We yearn for some strange loophole in the law
Unwilling to concede the battle lost
To pay for love, and ever count the cost
We search in dream, in lonely mountain walk
For one last touch, for one last quiet talk
And briefly, in the corner of our eye
We see them come, and go, and wave goodbye
*
At every funeral we stand and swear
That next time we will say how much we care
Say that we love them, call them on the phone
To let them know that they are not alone
And every time we fail and forget
That well intentioned heartfelt course we set
I loved you, did you know that, tell me true?
Unanswered echoes coming back at you
Dark holes within the soul and endless night
Bright angels lost in distant blinding light
The empty vase, the upturned empty chair
Deep lesions of the heart and songs in air
*
by Gail
truly odd; a bowie thing
*
something strange to earth was sent
dropped some art then simply went
now lonely spiders left on mars
watch red shoes dance on dusty stars
and walls of televisions sing
sweet things about the rebel king
the lad insane, the skinny duke
androgynous inspired fluke
flight of peacock, coloured flash
funkin’ funky ash to ash
china diamond, cold as god
genuinely, truly odd
*
by gail
The Solstice Door
The light is coming… and I wish you well
*
*
Behind the running, running man the land
Lies silent, fallow, haunted by the cry
Of one lone mourning rook who flies alone
Inscribing solemn circles in the sky
There is no time to take a backward look
Just running, running, running, running blind
He leaves the flowered garlands that she wove
With ribbons bright, with summer’s love, behind
He runs with only hope in empty hands
All faint of heart, with life blood running cold
The chill of winter earth beneath his feet
All water turned to ice in frozen fold
All out of breath with minutes yet to live
He runs, through elder grove and stand of yew
Runs, seeking for the ancient Solstice door
Described in tales the bards and ancients knew
‘Till suddenly he stumbles on a glade
All silent where no wild bird wheels or calls
And in the glade there stands a single stone
And on the ground a moon dark shadow falls
And there, within the shadow’s light he sees
That which before him other men have found
A stairway leading down in to the earth
A dark descending path in to the ground
No way but down now, this the only way
He gathers one last breath, and full of fear
Goes down the old and foot worn ancient steps
That lead towards the portal of the year
How dark the endless steps of winter’s stair
That shadow down, down to the Solstice door
To where, beneath the door a chink of light
Hints soft and bright across the cold stone floor
He sits upon the bottom step to rest
Reflect, and contemplate the year behind
And lo, she comes, bedecked in leaves and fruit
And dancing, dancing, through his weary mind
Forget me not, she sings; I am still here
I wait for you, for life to shift and stir
And through the keyhole and the chink there blows
A fragrant waft of birch and silver fir
Reviving, blessing, soft upon his face
The promise of new life upon her breath
Touched by her grace he weeps upon the step
For she has saved him with her love from death
Another year dies, another lives
He sits and waits; she watches from afar
And as he waits the light in darkness shifts
And creaks the ancient Solstice Door ajar…
*
by Gail
gailfromdevizes 