Best Barrows Poems
Written for the Avebury Gorsedd, 24th September 2016
I wish you well...
I’m here, again…
Come riding in, upon the western wave
My hair all wove with golden leaves, my breast
As pale as moonlight on a hidden grave
And all the sins of summer long confessed
I come, again…
In sweeping skirts, with white swan feathers strewn
To brush the summer dust from weary grass
Make ash of aspen, damp the flame of noon
Before the frost freeze water into glass
I bring, to you…
Windfallen apples, berries from the hedge
Long shadows on the barrows, and the chalk
Wild winds to stir the willows and the sedge
And mist, and myth, down every path you walk
I’m here, again…
The promise of the harvest to fulfil
The energy of autumn, streaming through
The swirling springs that spiral round the hill
To drench the land in red and russet hue
I come, again…
Between the longest day and shortest night
To fill the blood and marrow of your bones
With all the orange glory of the light
Before the dark descend upon the stones
I bring, to you…
A cornucopia of ripened fruit
Dark juices of the vine in bottles bright
To nourish soul and body, to transmute
Your thought to dream, your dream to second sight
For I am She…
Am Autumn writ, in every field and tree
Am mistress of the Owl and running Hare
So yield unto my kiss, and blesséd be
And dance with me, oh Druid, if you dare…
@ Gail Foster 23rd September 2016
***Dedicated to a wise old man
I once knew***
-----" There is no such thing
as death..."
------ an old friend
'O desolate wasteland,
filled not with flowery rushes,
threshing green fields silted,
earthy and ether months;
there can be no solstice,
no progress ----
where the tides are naught
The barrows long for life,
the painter's easel and stroke;
yet not even rainbow shadow
could colors so evoke,
life into thy nostrils -----
English barrow grave;
the dead are not there.....
Saxon King no more.....
Though they are not gone,
for very long;
our hearts be all we have,
among memories,
tides, and song
So do they hearken
TRACKS THROUGH TIME
The Sand and pebbles of this stoney
way
Once made a shore on warm Jurassic sea
High dunes in desert, by great ocean bay
Now heathland slopes and barrows that we see
These tracks between the heather fronds
touch light
Cross pine tree hurst with gorse in blossom gold
Once paced by tiger, brazen eyes burned bright
And swarthy hunters skilled in ways of old
O’er neat home gardens - flowers bloom in line
Where thrush and warbler each a sweet air sings
Within a span of geologic time
Great pterodactyls soared on scaly wings
Our world, perceived by some: in dire decline
Goes on with little care for our brief lives
Yet we may play a part in its design
At least as wardens - lest it be our shrine
Times such as these test body soul and mind
So should our thoughts be pain and dark confined
Or loosed to concentrate on brighter things
Like furry puppies, flowers and girls on swings
In this bright morning sun as I roved out
Past village houses waking to their day
With little gardens, blossoms all about
As all across this England’s pleasant brae
In scepticism native to my heart
With self restraint on humour that’s sardonic
Ever seeking inspiration to my art
I crossed heath margin gloomy and achromic
Then onward later passing black swamp marsh
Of putrid mud and roots round dead stumps curled
As sunlight penetrated tree top arch
I found myself in new and magic world
Tread higher then, along the wooded track
The earth grew ever brighter to my eye
The canopy now thin, then folded back
Til nothing seemed above me, only sky
A single buzzard circled in the blue
Then as my eye adjusted, were revealed
Another, then Red Kites made patterns
new
With searching eyes they scanned the sunlit field
In echelon of helix high then higher
More birds soared in great three dimensioned bowl
In choreographed flight dance; did they require
Direction by divine traffic control?
All Carnivores! life based upon life cycle
Thus nature’s way is seen in rhythm born
Seasons and the land each follow pattern tidal
(These barrows once stood bare in sand dune form)
In crisis deep we face a time of trial
Could nature’s message give a way to vow
Whether raged against or treating with denial
All cycles shall complete; as then - so now
25 March 2020
He runs to another world to seek comfort for his weeping soul
He cannot find a place to hide except inside the oracle of his mind
The world is getting too large for him and he cannot find a place to live
The streets are bare and empty and the lamp posts are dangling in the wind and something tells him that heaven is watching and the mountains are listening
He traveled from the Middle East to appease his mind but the thoughts he entertained are sometimes strong enough to drive him insane and when the music starts to play courage stands up right in his way and his spirit began to sing. How much I have tried desperately to help him but he continue to follow his own foolish ways and my heart began to pound with a profound message from the sky with a choice for him to live or die.
Sometimes I watched him goes off into a daze as if he had a mission
to travel in space and I watched him relive the moment, gliding like a missile through the clouds and his purpose kept steadfast to the ground and he locked inside a world that is reserved for the dead and a pillow of clouds stand up exactly over his head. It is a strange world that is spinning around in his head. it is the world that deprived him of his daily bread.
The world beneath the ground is cold empty and brown
The corners are sealed and the middle is covered with a shield and its core is stuffed with seeds, I can hear the daily counting and shouting and the barrows around the ant nest will take you into the inner depth
Just follow the lines wherever it leads and you will find his world
Wrapped up in a seal.
Once upon a time Great Wall of China was created
But there are conflicting stories about how it was generated
It is known it was to be defense against Mongols Chinese dreaded
Created by stones that unto barrows were loaded
But the myth different story telling us is
The story that history would dismiss
That great dragon flew from aerial abyss
With supernatural presence, glowing eyes and fearsome hiss
The dragons’ serpentine body turned into the wall
I would add to that that in doing so dragon swallowed his own soul
Giving understanding to greatest continuity that of the soul
Right before it turned into the Great Wall
That is why the wall might be a magical place
Seen even form the orbit in space
It is dragons awe inspiring countenance
But day there is no more war he will fly back to celestial place
That day when dragons spirit will be free
There will be justice in this recipe
Yet none of the nations at war will be
Hopefully it is also Earth’s destiny
For if it’s not before long
We destroy our world and our song
Will be as empty as vacuum that between stars would belong
And by glory of dragons’ soul this would just be wrong
The Maiden of Carbury Hill
I remember a story told of a red-haired girl who never grew old,
who died when there came a great famine.
In one pale hand she owned a sheep's knucklebone,
the other a sprig of winter jasmine.
Though her kin all left for distant shores she still lies in repose,
near the ruins of Carbury castle in Ireland.
Irish lore has it written that the lass was once smitten,
with a young lad who went off to war and then died in.
Alas, it's been long that she's been dead and gone,
listen.., you can still hear her mournful tune.
She sings when gales blow near two barrows of old,
o'er the green heath nestled 'neath Carraigdhoun.
Crestfallen, he sails through still waters where dwells, Kilcullen's lost daughters,
well preserved in the dark peat bog of Carbury.
Be careful where your feet fall lest you join them in the deep halls,
where the lost maidens of Own na Buidhe lie buried.
The night before the longest day a man
Went walking on the chalk path on the hill
Collecting stars. He had a little pan
To sift them as they fall, for fall they will
Some crumble quickly into silver dust
But others do remain, and of them rings
Are made, and spells to satiate the lust
Of wild priestesses and of summer kings
He sifted them, and as he sifted sang
A song of summer roses soft as smoke
And mists that in the early morning hang
Above the barrows and around the oak
The oak. He felt the roots before he saw
The leaves, and felt the leaves around his head
Before he saw that he was stood before
The wild priestess. 'You summoned me' she said
Her skin was light and luminous, her eyes
Were blue as sky with flecks of rose and gold
Her dress was made of silk and butterflies
With meadow flowers slid in every fold
And she was old and wise as was the wren
That sat upon her shoulder, and as young
As any maiden had appeared to men
Who had their songs of love and longing sung
He gazed in awe. So bright was she that he
Could barely see his hand before his face
What was that feeling? Electricity?
That caused his blood to round his body race
And that, that buzz, that buzzing like a bee
But louder, buzzing outside and within
And beating, like a drum within the tree
Within his soul an old and holy din
She took his hand. The last thing that he saw
Was her in all her glory as her dress
Of butterflies flew slowly to the floor
His fingers on her body, her caress
She laid him down. The last thing that he heard
Was sizzling, and the fizzle of a flame
And high above the whistle of a bird
A song about a King who had no name
'It was the lightning done for him' the folk
Did whisper, 'and so say there was a swarm
Of bees around the oak before the smoke
And some do say they saw a figure form'
'A woman?' 'So they say. And with a wren'
The old man nodded wisely. 'That was She
The wild priestess, and He the king again
And all is well as ever. Blessed be'
© Gail Foster 17th June 2022
She walked with grace through grassy meadows
pausing to smell the sensual fragrance
watching the rabbits dart down their barrows
their white tails flashing creating a drama
Azure skies blazing, making perfect the day
she laid in the grass. dreaming of her lover
handsome and very tall he was her mainstay
he set her alight making everything brighter
She remembered the way they spun around
as they danced together through the night
gay garlands hanging down they were spell bound
silhouetted in the dazzling firelight
That perfect night when all the world stood still
their last dance that night was a quadrille
Economic woes I dread
To feed my family I sold the toupe off my head
Went to the shop
Where I fainted with shock
It costs two wheel barrows of money to buy a loaf of bread
Xiou Xue
‘Little Snow’ her story. ( my son's family 'home helper)
Ma wars, with earth to conjure a meal, Made in a kitchen which all pests have vacated.
Weariness blinkered, Pa contends, In a haze for contentment, in tobacco & drink.
A vision become probable, neon signs wink to her, Negative gains still seem to offer fulfilment of dreams.
Desolate in the dark room, prospects evaporate. Scenes of homely environments bridge bitter memories.
Jesus answers, She phones, They touch, Tobacco fades, Hopes rise, Christ lives.
Beijing Hutongs.
(Old alleys & narrow streets.)
Grey dust over all the piles of food waste, Snow Bikes & barrows. No flies no smell!
Wind chills’ no deterrent to sellers or window gazers. The tourist shivers alienated by culture.
Shoes happily shinned, smiles warm. The barterers laugh. Do half-hidden homes reflect the same?
Guernsey, How Great You Are
Instead of Romeo and Juliet. it was Kit;
Were such a pair who never would quit
Being present in each other's midst;
Talk about Guernsey was hard to resist.
There are also two other islands adjoining;
And ocean with water had been anointing
Surface of beaches and sides of each ship
So to Guernsey we had to plan a nice trip.
Once we stopped there did sit and stare
At the elegant beauty we saw everywhere;
Down in a valley or on top of a high hill
Wherever we went was always a thrill.
Living on Guernsey, what will it be like?
How about bright-colored bike or a hike;
Maybe great tour guide down should hale
Who will please us greatly without fail.
Saw friendly faces standing in front of her
Talking of Guernsey and what it did endure
Which to all of us was well worth knowing;
Now back to ship we had better be going.
James Thomas Horn
www.poetrysoup.com
www.story-telling-around-the-world.com
We are going on a cruise on Royal Princess
from South Hampton, England to Guernsey,
Ireland, Scotland and Normandy and return.
This will be late in month of May. Annette
Henry Tours will be in charge of our tour
through Guernsey Island. This is really
going to be a great trip. This whole trip
kind of was perpetuated by the book,
"Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel
Society" written by Mary Ann Shaffer
and Annie Barrows. Jim Horn
With his go-go soul and sultry sound, he kicked out many lyrics and spat out many rhythmatic rhymes…they in the main stream at first rejected and disrespected his sound. They said it would corrupted the youth! Don’t mean a thing, he might say to them, if it ain’t got that go-go swing! With his trade mark glasses he sported with his guitar in tote as he strutted across the stage sporting that familiar treasure cat smile…as the black young youths on the dance floor…grinded out and sweated to his almost hypnotic beats and lyrical remixed of a restructured hit song …in a blacked out hole in some night club in the back streets of DC the former murder capital of the world! As he hollered out individuals names of people that seem to always follow him to just about ever one of his sold out shows…he even called out segments of each DC barrows as a show of appreciation for their loyalties and support. It took the main stream awhile to catch onto his different take on music…but he was not just the father of go-go music, he was an ambassador of all who truly love music and the lyrics of a song…he just remixed with his own flavor and called it the Chuck Brown and The Soul Searchers sound! Rock on Chuck, cause we know you got Gods Angeles grinding out to one of his sultry Go-Go songs! Even though we will all miss him, I know he got God even shaking his head to his Bustin Loose song!
before the beginning,
aches burnt slow fuses
in blood shrapnel'd fog,
salted feet tread spattered rain,
as men held spent while veiled mothers wept;
growth rings sat lonely on soot tarnished walls,
regrets wrung young necks snatched in flight down dank halls;
tho' faithful bones preach virtues of battle,
good soldiers pray not for eager roots,
duty once burnished brave Pericles' helm,
now under hill barrows form shadows for muster,
feeding shot powder thurible blessings;
as the fiddle fears the concerto's note,
unbaptized souls flee the thieving stoat;
under the moral eye,
sabers eased in tin, in sighs,
engendered discourse with the Other,
shattered friends, splintered foe,
remnants of another time;
desperate for the author's joke,
unbidden blades pierce tattered cloaks;
once upright men, wounded grimace men,
hobbled yet heroic still,
would dare yet to delve the authentic heart,
and wake the sleeper, sharpen pen, for
without ritual, gods survive war.
Message for Yuletide
As end of the year draws nigh,
We look on to the New Year.
Glorify he, who is on high,
And in all things, be of good cheer.
He did not fail with the gift of rain,
Neither did he fail with shine.
He always ensured there was grain,
And meat for us to dine.
Open your barns for all to come merry,
Including the friend who lacks and borrows,
You were blessed to be his fairy,
Which will, with grain fill his barrows.
Let your lips spew forth his praise,
And good prophecies for all.
That the New Year will come only with a raise,
And in health and wealth, we’ll all grow tall.