Suddenly

 

The dead go down violently, suddenly, silently

Down in the drown of the deep

The born rise up hopefully, suddenly, quietly

Rise from the depths of their sleep

The night will fall dreadfully, suddenly, softly

Fall on the land in a heap

The day shall jump joyfully, suddenly, gently

Jump with a quickening leap

Let the darkness dawn mournfully, suddenly, slowly

Dark on the flood and the seep

For the light shineth endlessly, suddenly, subtly

Bright on the rivers we weep

 

by Gail

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

oubliette

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

Scatter Me

IMG_4339 - Copy

 

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…

*

IMG_3829

*

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