Collection 1

The Ballad of Marden's Bell

By river Lugg, there was a church,
where Marden it did cross
and in the church there was a bell,
one April that was lost.


That April, the storms had been full strong,
and with it the wind did blow
both to the wise, and to the church,
the people scared did go.

The seers told of loss ahead,
and in the church they prayed

for many were the omens dark,
and they were sore afraid

They prayed to God, and to the wind,
that they may save their toll
but in the night their bell did fall
and to the river roll.

The wind blew soft next Matins song,

but in the church was grief
their royal present had been lost
and no one knew the thief.

Until one spied it in the Lugg,
beyond the marshy bank
and with each moment of the day,
into the mud it sank.


The village horses, they did try
to pull the church bell free;
however hard they tried, it stuck
with horses one, two, three;

And deeper still the bell did sink,
into the river's bed
and all the people did despair,

and many tears were shed.

But to these tears a wise man came,
who knew the web of Wyrd
a wise man came right to the town,
whose name was Otter's Beard.

To river's edge he stooped down low,

to listen to it's song
and when the locals they did chime,
he heard the church bell gong.

He called the elders to his side,
and offered up these words
"Go to your field, unleash your ploughs,

and bring to me your herds.

Here, where the river turns it's course,
there lives a mermaid fair
and it is she who has your bell,
entangled in her hair.

Gather your herd of Freemartins,
for they be white and pure

and I will use my magic ways
to make them safe, for sure

And gather me wood from the Yews,
that I may form their yoke
and from the Rowan fetch me wood
that grows beside the Oak;

Go to the Rowan for your wood,

for wittern bands to make
and build me a fire by the bank,
the Spirits for to wake."

So all was done, and peace was called,
a silence in the field
each knew the plan and dared not speak,
and prayed the bell would yield.


So Otter's Beard crept silently
into the river's stream
under the water he did go,
dreaming his otter's dream

He found the bell and quickly tied
onto its ring a rope
and to the shore he swiftly swum,

and climbed the marshy slope

The oxen soon to it were tied
and slowly they did pull
and none was heard but creaking wood,
and the sound of straining bull

And suddenly the bell did move,
not much, but it did slide

and all around drew bated breath,
but one a driver, cried:

"In spite of all the Devil's in Hell",
the driver he exclaimed
"now we'll land the chapel's bell for sure,
the river has been tamed!"


But down the river hurtled fast
the trunk of a great Ash tree
and with it's bough it caught the rope
and would not let it free

The oxen to the bank were dragged,
and Otter's Beard did cry

"How foolish now to utter words
and shake our mermaid's lie

I hear her calling to your herd,
calling for them to eat
Not only will she have your bell,
she hungers after meat!

Spirit's break fast your wittern bands,

I call upon your might
and save the oxen from their death,
for sore else is their plight!"

And thus the bell was lost that night,
though the oxen grazed again
and Otter's Beard did call the chief

and tell the King was slain

For such was the sign that he did read
at losing Marden's bell
that though the people would be saved,
Cuthbert by Offa fell.

hymn to spirit.

You whisper in the eaves
of the sanctity of time,
and rise on ether's skyward wings
above the candle's flame:

In the stillness of your light
I am but reflection
and the passion of my words, simply

mirrors your perfection,

So I strive not to do
no action right or wrong
and in surrender, trust your voice
that I may sing my song.


A glimpse of what's to come.

Age of unfoldment, passage of time

a moment of choices, or meet the divine.
It is the sense, after rain
of stillness, of ether
the light in the leaves'
sparkling and fresh;
Is not this life, our birth, this earth
all but a miracle. So then

to fill our space, our mind's
with packaged illusion, distraction;
the everyday myth that eats up our time
misses something so poignant in our journey.
Are we not still as blind to our future,
as our ancestor who failed to see

electricity.


Here, by a sacred stream of Avalon
the mystery of the land unveils itself.
The May dew has not yet dried,
yet the promise of summer shines
upon the tor of Glastonbury.
From the dark shadow of last night's

sunset, comes a vision, golden in
the morn. The mound of earth,
pregnant lies, Great Mother ready to give
birth, as she has always done.
And atop, a man-made tower
stands erect, proudly boasting
"I am the father, I did this!"

The cycle of light and shade now softly
swings once more. And in a world
beyond the judging mind of boys
and girls, Nature timeless keeps
an older truth and future promise;
"I am the stage of life and death, transcendent."




My magic wand, my stave of dreams is broken,
to be repaired again. Snapped by my ego's
desire to be at one with more than this
seeming, but false, reality of life
I see  beyond the veil, behind the mist,

my heart: no care for intellectual striving
when I can feel so rarely the sublime
and tender loving of my mother Earth--
how dear to breathe her air:
to look with mindfulness beyond the layers
of window panes; I see the silver bough

the apple bearing fruit -- my sweet desert
eternal tree, who breathes for me clean air
enshadowed by the rippled light of day.

An Indian Spring

I have known of love and loss
I have walked the jungle path
to a shrine under the banyan tree
on holi day.
I have seen the vulture flying high
I have eaten shark from the sea,
and yet stillness, elusive as ever,

has evaded me.
So human, so me.

In the crown of Isis

Resting on the bough
I look up
and see a canopy
of Sycamore, green on blue
me with you.

Tears well, but pass
blown gently away;
And the coolness of a wise old being
sinks into my flesh


Lichen, moss
grows on the bark
where Ash beyond the meadow lies
still half asleep amidst dawn's chorus.

'Hold me, for I hold you'
appears from within the wood
So, I listen, and sit in thought.

false, reality of life
I see  beyond the veil, behind the mist,

Let me behold your lotus.

You call me to my seat
and leave me there, poised
to enter the silence
that we both know
contains the nectar.
Like stamen and hummingbird
are You and I;
who could not resist those
sweetly tapered petals

that call me to the truth.
For you are no one now,
no name, no person, but simply
goddess, Tara, in whose
white pearl-like essense
I seek repose.

A year has passed, since your last caress,
and I, like the sailor driven to the rocks

by a mermaid's luring song, am beaten
by memories of waves and mighty boulders
that are our history. I long these long days
to hear again that echoing song. For in my pain
nothing compares to what you were for me.

I would have it all again, a thousand fold,
for it was my fondest dream, my heart beat
when I found myself in you.
So I hunger for a taste of your ocean spray,
your seaweed hair slipping through my fingers

your shore to be my sacred land once more
and know I am bewitched by that sweetest song
that echoes in my veins, like an opiate fantasy
I have tasted in a distant land
knowing that I may never feel  so deeply

calm as once I was within your arms.






On asking Blake for advice.

From my depth a sadness springs
a melancholy understanding
bathed in mirrored light.
The path from lamentation

through the tears of an age-old
   wound not yet healed
leads to a more subtle, reflective
    contemplation
Let my hermitage be surrender,
 and the rhythm of my breath my love
Let liberation be
 the marriage of my self and soul

that my desire for you, for other
 be tempered
   by self-worth






Only the brave 

Only the brave
write their words upon the page,
for to bare your soul is one thing,

but record such a moment
echoing endlessly into the future
until it becomes itself the past
tears all illusion from your mask.
So write on all you poets,
that we may know what truth you really felt.


As the blossom on the cherry plum now dawns
from bud to petal, and Iridaceae
spring open wide to form a crocused lawn;
so I awake from sleep, and trace my eye
to where the fairies' saffroned footsteps warm

my heart. You are my call to embrace the day
Let me ride with you inside your  petalled  dream
that we may sparkle our light iridium.




Like a poem, you are my love

Like a poem, you are my love;

flowing, suggestive and free
 a gift of nothing and yet of all
how sweet your rhythm falls.

So let me call this one my masterpiece
 and you my musing queen.
Let me write a cycle
 that will never end;

so I may dip my quill in your precious ink
 and begin again.
Like a poem, you are my love:

'With inpired heart you set me to my task''

In Spring, once more my seeds to earth I lay:
A lasting message upon my earthen way.
Carving a pentacle upon the soil:
This is my journey, this my holy toil.

Seeding the rich beauty of sunflower dreams

and knowing on my eve, that we are one
I turn around my head to the waking sun,
both year and I, a fresh born child it seems.
So I sit and watch the scene upon the day-
Two magpies call, and chase away a jay

and in the play within my mind, they foil
for jealousy is none, where love is loyal.

Sweat Lodgers

We were the Magi
 gathered in our field
All with hope and an understanding
 that the time had come
to be our true, true selves:

And in the moment of that full moon
 lodging in the fire-keeper's tent

there was a serpent,
 painted red and gold
A shrine encircling,
 illuminating serpent
who rose in each of us
 her potency enduring
reflecting full his summer's vibrancy.




The Midwife and the Goddess

( a terza rima sonnet)

At each moment of the journey, revel, for
we breathe our dreams alive, here on the earth
in the heart of truth, our beauty is no more.
So when in Spring, she sees again the birth,

the budding leaves, the warming soil; she pauses:
and finding stillness, leaves behind the search:
for wisdom watches as the water pours.
So like a salmon, home in her estuary
she, lotus poised and rooted to the source,

returns again to drink the mystery.
Soon it will be her time to leave the shore
and deliver a new birth into history
"At each moment of the journey, revel, for
in the heart of truth, our beauty is no more."





In my meditataion,
 you came to me as pegasus,
Like Mohammed riding
 the alborak
You, my goddess, were to show me
 somewhere beyond,
a path to the higher life
 soaring above on fresh new wings.

And then you left,
 with me tied to the earth as you flew.
Leaving me victim of human passions
 that devour my heart.
I must recover my strength,
 reclaim my totem power
and wait within the stillness

 for time to heal my wounds.
May the phoenix rise again.