Category: Poetry

allsorts including Dartmoor 126

I often get poems and songs that just come into my head complete and I know if I don’t write that first sentence, that has a kind of pressing in on me, like an urgency, it will be lost, gone. The songs are more difficult, they come and I sing them and they are gone and I cannot recapture them. I have tried recording some of them, but invariably I forget to and besides, the ones I have recorded, I don’t know what to do with them!

So, when this poem came to me, as I was washing the cat’s bowls, I quickly got my note pad and wrote it down as it came into my head. Poor Nikita had to wait a while longer for her fresh plate of food!

So, here is the poem, as it came to me. I don’t want to tamper with it, as I fear it will lose something. Anyway, as a druid, I am more about raw and wild rather than neat rows of prose!


I watch as it snows and snows,

relentlessly falling,

yet failing to take hold;

on and on,

 pouring death on the spring,

the delicate blossoms,

the lambs in the field.

My heart drops into the depths of despair;

empty caves, like graves,

of dark and of dank, misery;

longing for the sunshine to take it’s place,

warming the ground,

enlivening the cold and angry places.

It is as if,

the bitterness and wanton greed,

of humankind,

has finally driven the sun from the sky,

and all warmth dies,

in the frozen waste of white.

Fear gathers at the side of conciousness,

like C.S. Lewis’s snow Queen,

and the forever ice.

Is this what we have brought upon the world?

Is this our beginning, of the war, of climate change?

Like a cancer eating and killing itself;

and as we mindlessly,

use up the gifts of Mother Earth,

and peer out at the drear,

we still have the cheek to moan!

For what have we done,

to stop this selfish affliction,

that now mirrors our hearts,

in ice and snow?

Do we run away to warmer climates,

thinking we can escape Her justice?

Do you think She will not find you,

basking on Her finest beaches,

swimming in her magnificent seas?

Think again, my friend.

But, for me, the saddest thing is,

we still don’t see,

we still don’t hear,

we still don’t make the change.

And, worse than that,

the innocent always pay.

Look at our struggling bees and birds,

our lambs and farmers.

How will the harvest be sown,

or ever brought home?

Will the apples be scarcer still?

Will the trees and flowers and plants,

still grow and gift us with their beauty, food and medicine?

Or, will they silently,

wither away,

with frozen roots and buds,

never to bloom?

Yet, with extraordinary denial,

we will go to work,

have a party,

birth more children,

and continue to take from our Mother,

while she heaves,

and vomits blood,

from the damage to Her body,

and Her children.

Carry on, why don’t you?

Bemoan that the sun has gone,

and somehow,

it’s anybody else’s fault,

but ours;

that the snow incessantly falls,

and threatens,

every living, breathing, being in nature,

while we,


also of nature,

yet deny,

any responsibility.

And seek warmth,

in our central heated homes,

running copious amounts of water,

into our baths,

to warm our bodies,


in so doing,

up our carbon footprint,

even more.

And worse than that,

we couldn’t care less,

not now,

not ever,

or at least,

until death itself,

threatens our very lives,

and the shadow falls across,

our own front doors.







Whisper of Spring

june 2010 069Today I wanted to write a poem.

Whisper of Spring

Dance maiden dance,
let your feet bring the ground to life,
may your hair fly behind you,
that the web of life may be brightened with your sparkle.
Sing sweet maiden, that the birds might echo your song,
whisper to the wind, that it will blow away the winter cold.
Dance dear maiden to the song of the earth and the sun,
and the seedlings just beneath the soil.
Make music, oh maiden of the spring,
that the land will come alive with your brightness,
cover it with your mantle of green,
and where you tread may flowers grow.
Dance dear maiden, the dance of spring,
that we might breathe with hope again.

allsorts including Dartmoor 241

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