The Fourth Year - 2005/6

Lest I Forget
What is Life?
Old Wind
Golden Fleece
The White Hart and the Peacock

Lest I Forget

I felt that I had lost the touch, when along came a song...

Spirits, spirits, send me a wind,
Lest I forget, lest I forget.
A wind that shapes and forms and lives,
Lest I forget, lest I forget.

For this land of ours was formed by wind,
Was formed by wind, wave, beast and bird,
By all the spirits that have been,
This land was made, this land was made.

Spirits, spirits, send me a leaf,
Lest I forget, lest I forget.
A leaf that grows and falls and dies,
Lest I forget, lest I forget.

For this land of ours was formed by trees,
Was formed by tree, wind, stream and rock,
By all the spirits that have been,
This land was made, this land was made.

Spirits, spirits, send me a man,
Lest I forget, lest I forget.
A man that loves and fights and dies,
Lest I forget, lest I forget.

For this land of ours was formed by man,
Was formed by man, tree, wind and wave,
By all the spirits that have been,
This land was made, this land was made.

Spirits, spirits, send me a hope,
Lest I forget, lest I forget.
A hope that lives and breathes and thrives,
Lest I forget, lest I forget.

For this land of ours was formed with hope,
Was formed by hope, man, beast and wind,
By all the spirits that have been,
This land was made, this land was made.

By all the spirits that have been,
This land was made, this land was made.

Top of Page

What is Life?

Ok, so I had a bad day....

What is life?
What is its nature?
Brief crystal clarity
cracked easily beyond repair?
What is its purpose?
Whence does it go?
I have more questions than
I can answer.

I held a bird, hawk-killed,
shock-killed, spark-faded;
I held the still warm being
so much alive a second earlier,
but that sweet flicker,
that animation that I
had seen fly and feed and sing
gone in a moment.
Gone where? Gone why?
If it had been hawk-meat
then death had had a purpose,
but this, this rending,
was purposeless;
it had no meaning.

Tonight two flies buzzed in,
interrupting these words.
So churned I was
I hit out and killed them
without thought.
What gave me that right?
What gave the hawk that right?
We are both killers, he and I,
both guilty of the same crime.
I doubly so; I extinguished two lives,
he only one.
He killed beauty, I foul pest.
Should I therefore be excused?

And when my life finds its hawk
how will I fall?
Will I be snuffed candle-like?
A candle can relight;
this wax will not burn again.
My flame will be extinguished
just like the bird.

Lady of light in darkness
hear my prayer.
Bring me swift passage through Annwn,
bird-flown, egg-borne,
into another womb
and in that darkness light
my flickering flame again...

Top of Page

Old Wind

Inspired by the wind over Castell Dinas Brân. A long climb, but worth it....

I met an old wind
    blowing the souls in hell away
like dust in a desert storm.
    Where did they go? I know not.
Only my heart felt strange
    and tired in that wind;
but it blew life into me
    as it carried theirs away.
What is truth but a tired sigh
    lost in an ancient wind?
What is valour tried but lost strength
    sucked from a spirit's death?
What is hope but wishful thinking
    when a wind comes out of hell
to wipe all things away;
    what then is left?
I am a hawk floating on a wind.
    I am a shrew hiding in a tussock's edge.
I am a rabbit stilled by a sudden light.
    I am a fox scenting her prey,
here on the edge of a cliff's high fall
    my eyes see everything
and naught at all. How is this?
    Because truth is a lost atom
caught on the air's breath;
    found one time and gone the next,
like the wind's music
    never heard the same again..
(Quo vadis, domine?)

Top of Page

Golden Fleece

I've gained a place at Jesus College, Oxford to read for a Masters Degree in Celtic Studies. I also recently helped found a new Druid Gorsedd at the White Horse at Uffington. A friend remarked that I should be careful because she detected that there was an element of questing for status in both. This has troubled me a little...

A Golden Fleece the Argos sought
through many a wine-dark sea;
but what prize do I seek?
Is it fame, kudos, recognition?
What is my guiding star?
I would like to answer 'Truth'
but I know that truth to one
can be falsehood to another.
Then, is it my truth;
my own truth, the truth of my heart?

I saw a shooting star last night;
a rock burning out its existence
as it perished in our skies.
Will I find my Golden Fleece
or, Hydra-seared, burn out
before my prize is reached?
I know not; I can only hold my course
and aim to reach the goal I seek:
my own truth, the truth of my heart,
and only I will know if I succeed,
and it is only I that needs…

Top of Page

The White Hart and the Peacock

One of my more jaundiced views on the world inspired by some remarks from English Heritage on 'enhancing the Stonehenge experience'....

Somewhere out there
there is a garden, they say,
where the white hart and the peacock
can roam in peace.
O happy place!

I doubt it, for had it been so
the free marketeers and the advertising men
would have marketed it out of existence,
the white harts would be stuffed
and the peacocks run down on the roads.

One can only hope that the end
of civilisation as we know it
comes before the destruction
of everything worth having in this world.

For mankind has outlived its usefulness
and now destroys more than it saves,
particularly when trying to save things.