Short Avebury Poems

Cold, grey stone in formation stand,
Old standing stones, they gathered round,
Around the magic close to hand,
Old hands that grasped the Pagan ground.

The joyous come to dance and sing,
They sing the tales the ancients told,
The stories told by bards of spring
That spring shall come end winter’s cold.

All seasons turn upon the wheel,
The wheel of life that never ends,
At winter’s end the warmth we feel,
All feeling the path springtime wends.



Form: Wreathed Quatrains...

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Round goes the spiral
looping the path.
Straight stand the stones
high in green grass.

Round goes the moat
circling the tor;
solitary stanchion saracens
high altars they bore.

Round goes the blood
red twining the past
tall stand the grave stones
memories n’er made to last.

Round goes the gate
in the churchyards mall
through walks the sacred
peacocks ashen white pall.

Round go the penitents
lead through the hatch
lonesome lost lifetimes 
Avebury’s dispatch....

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