Sunday, June 25, 2006
The Monument Commonly Called Long Meg and Her Daughters, Near the River Eden
A weight of awe, not easy to be borne,
Fell suddenly upon my Spirit -- cast
From the dread bosom of the unknown past,
When first I saw that family forlorn.
Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn
The power of years -- pre-eminent, and placed
Apart, to overlook the circle vast --
Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn
While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night;
Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;
At whose behest uprose on British ground
That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round
Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite
The inviolable God, that tames the proud!
William Wordsworth
Fell suddenly upon my Spirit -- cast
From the dread bosom of the unknown past,
When first I saw that family forlorn.
Speak Thou, whose massy strength and stature scorn
The power of years -- pre-eminent, and placed
Apart, to overlook the circle vast --
Speak, Giant-mother! tell it to the Morn
While she dispels the cumbrous shades of Night;
Let the Moon hear, emerging from a cloud;
At whose behest uprose on British ground
That Sisterhood, in hieroglyphic round
Forth-shadowing, some have deemed, the infinite
The inviolable God, that tames the proud!
William Wordsworth
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Who put 'em there
I will not forget, the stones that are set
In a round, on Salisbury plaines,
Though who put 'em there, 'tis hard to declare,
The Romans, or Merlin or Danes.
Walter Pope (1630-1714)
In a round, on Salisbury plaines,
Though who put 'em there, 'tis hard to declare,
The Romans, or Merlin or Danes.
Walter Pope (1630-1714)
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Friday, June 09, 2006
The still heady smell of elderflower
Coming up to midnight
Friday, 2005.
Car loaded, water and a sandwich in the fridge for the journey down tomorrow.
Leaving Essex a little after 4am.
Lock the doors, climb into the cockpit.
First stop Mum and Dad at the back of Pewsey churchyard
safe now in their circle and mine.
Fresh flowers and a solstice smile to them and all that went before.
Then gently into the Vale of Pewsey.
Windows down, wind blowing a year's worries away.
Skylarks and the still heady smell of elderflower.
And before the people gather there
a quiet stroll around my favourite Avebury stones and secret bank
still mist-surrounded and expectant.
LS
Friday, 2005.
Car loaded, water and a sandwich in the fridge for the journey down tomorrow.
Leaving Essex a little after 4am.
Lock the doors, climb into the cockpit.
First stop Mum and Dad at the back of Pewsey churchyard
safe now in their circle and mine.
Fresh flowers and a solstice smile to them and all that went before.
Then gently into the Vale of Pewsey.
Windows down, wind blowing a year's worries away.
Skylarks and the still heady smell of elderflower.
And before the people gather there
a quiet stroll around my favourite Avebury stones and secret bank
still mist-surrounded and expectant.
LS
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Unborn dreams
The lady sits
circle centred and sublime
while past, present and future
revolve around her ordered perimeter.
Saint Geneviève
with your so obedient flock
and your black devil to hand
what do you offer us
on our weary way?
Do we need to notice you?
Do we even care to look?
And the angel to your left
fast hurrying on.
Flurried messenger on a
secret silent road
to god knows where.
Saint Geneviève
with your flickering light and undisputed piety
what exactly is your message here?
Would you have us stay or have us go?
Will you deny our unborn dreams?
Will you release us from our destinies?
Silverfox
circle centred and sublime
while past, present and future
revolve around her ordered perimeter.
Saint Geneviève
with your so obedient flock
and your black devil to hand
what do you offer us
on our weary way?
Do we need to notice you?
Do we even care to look?
And the angel to your left
fast hurrying on.
Flurried messenger on a
secret silent road
to god knows where.
Saint Geneviève
with your flickering light and undisputed piety
what exactly is your message here?
Would you have us stay or have us go?
Will you deny our unborn dreams?
Will you release us from our destinies?
Silverfox
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Carnac
From the midst of the menhirs
It seems that the world
Was born right here
And here returns.
Eugene Guillevic
It seems that the world
Was born right here
And here returns.
Eugene Guillevic
Thursday, May 18, 2006
A time of dry and empty silence
Come stone
gently now down through your ages.
Down to a field of warm barley and soaring larks
whispering willows along a dying bourne.
She remembers the evening of river stars
each one slipping quietly towards the closing horizon.
She remembers the smell of rain drenched grass
and the cold crackling mornings of winter frosts.
Come stone
let us see your century shadows now.
Cast secretly before and after
the searcher by your side.
She remembers the leaf mould
gathering at her skirts.
And the lichen dripping wet
fresh again for another autumn day.
And where is the spring in all of this?
And where is the beginning of the new time?
Perhaps there was a time when spring never came.
Perhaps there was a time of dry and empty silence.
She remembers clear rivers rushing
and the blue and green of the fisher king.
She remembers the gush of the Swallowhead
fresh, wondrous and bountiful.
And where is the spring in all of this?
Perhaps there was a time of dry and empty silence.
Anon
gently now down through your ages.
Down to a field of warm barley and soaring larks
whispering willows along a dying bourne.
She remembers the evening of river stars
each one slipping quietly towards the closing horizon.
She remembers the smell of rain drenched grass
and the cold crackling mornings of winter frosts.
Come stone
let us see your century shadows now.
Cast secretly before and after
the searcher by your side.
She remembers the leaf mould
gathering at her skirts.
And the lichen dripping wet
fresh again for another autumn day.
And where is the spring in all of this?
And where is the beginning of the new time?
Perhaps there was a time when spring never came.
Perhaps there was a time of dry and empty silence.
She remembers clear rivers rushing
and the blue and green of the fisher king.
She remembers the gush of the Swallowhead
fresh, wondrous and bountiful.
And where is the spring in all of this?
Perhaps there was a time of dry and empty silence.
Anon
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Words pattering like rain in the leaves
Small and fleeting, hidden away down leafy lanes, poetry was spoken to a few rather than many, or it starred briefly in a crowd before moving on. But I like to think some of it will linger. A lot of poetry books left the shelves and I imagine the poems now, still flying around someone between Norton Malreward and Chew Magna, going at dusk up Gibbet Lane and crossing Pagan Hill to find the stones at Stanton Drew. Words pattering like rain in the leaves.
Rose Flint
Rose Flint
Friday, May 05, 2006
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Wiltshire Memories
This County of Wiltshire
holds many memories,
Of old standing stones, and
avenues of trees,
Rolling green hills that are
topped with old sites,
Where battles were fought,
or Druids practised their
rites.
White horses carved in
chalk, gaze down
Onto valleys beneath, or over
an old town,
Keeping silent guard over the
White Horse Vale,
And ever-watchful, over a
long lost trail.
On the plains, old barrows
stand in silent array.
Clasping their secrets of
long-ago day,
Chiefs buried here, or even
an old King,
Celtic, Roman, or could even
be an Old Viking.
Many old roads criss-cross
over the downs,
That led from old villages,
and on to the towns,
Where chariots used to
race, and Legions did
march,
Through avenues of Elm,
Yew, Beech and Larch.
Villages scattered, each
side of the Avon,
Set in wooded valleys, the
home of the raven,
These homesteads have not
changed much in all of their
years,
Since village life began, with
landlords and overseers.
And so it is, in this County
of ours,
You can wander at ease,
and while away the hours,
Dreaming of days long ago,
of what it used to be
To be living in a paradise
such as our own County.
Dennis Cannings
holds many memories,
Of old standing stones, and
avenues of trees,
Rolling green hills that are
topped with old sites,
Where battles were fought,
or Druids practised their
rites.
White horses carved in
chalk, gaze down
Onto valleys beneath, or over
an old town,
Keeping silent guard over the
White Horse Vale,
And ever-watchful, over a
long lost trail.
On the plains, old barrows
stand in silent array.
Clasping their secrets of
long-ago day,
Chiefs buried here, or even
an old King,
Celtic, Roman, or could even
be an Old Viking.
Many old roads criss-cross
over the downs,
That led from old villages,
and on to the towns,
Where chariots used to
race, and Legions did
march,
Through avenues of Elm,
Yew, Beech and Larch.
Villages scattered, each
side of the Avon,
Set in wooded valleys, the
home of the raven,
These homesteads have not
changed much in all of their
years,
Since village life began, with
landlords and overseers.
And so it is, in this County
of ours,
You can wander at ease,
and while away the hours,
Dreaming of days long ago,
of what it used to be
To be living in a paradise
such as our own County.
Dennis Cannings
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Tara abandoned by a generation who prefer soulless symbols
TARA, here I am. I have come all the way from Kerry to be with you before the vultures, with bulldozers and JCBs, open your lower belly. They are impatient to inflict the wounds.
You are abandoned, forsaken and rejected. All the powers that be - Meath County Council, the Government, NRA, An Bord Pleanála and the High Court - have walked out on you. We pay them to protect you but they betrayed us. We trusted them too much.
Tara, I know you sympathise with the people who are forced to commute to Dublin five days a week. But why are they not angry with Meath County Council for not putting in a bypass at Dunshaughlin and a proper one in Navan 20 years ago? They allowed them not only to close down but also to rip up the Dublin/Navan/Trim railway line over 30 years ago. And they still trust them. There were so many other options for this road. Are you the same Tara who was magic for Master O'Connell, the principal of Tarmons National School in Tarbert? He instilled a love of you into our hearts, and I can still see the face of Fr O'Flaherty (our history teacher in St Brendan's, Killarney) come alive at your name. But that was a different generation, other times. You are no longer in fashion. This generation prefers soulless symbols - motorways, shopping malls, four-wheel drives, big trucks and, of course, the euro. I expected all the people in Ireland to have run to protect you. It would have been unacceptable, I thought, to run a motorway through the Tara/Skryne Valley, opening up a wound that no plastic surgery can cure. But this generation was not touched, nor incensed. How sad. Will you forgive us?
The day Environment Minister Dick Roche sanctioned the motorway, I was watching the evening news in a pub. One man said, when he saw Mr Roche on TV, "Isn't he a pity? I wouldn't ask him to mind my chickens, and Bertie Ahern put him in charge of our heritage and environment. He has no bottle, afraid of the hawks." Poor Mr Roche. Maybe he has no power. An Bord Pleanála, which is not comprised of elected representatives, makes all the big decisions. Or does it? Who has real power today?
Democracy, the people's participation in the ordering of their own lives, is now perceived as a meaningless facade that hides the ruthlessness of corporate self-interest. The suspicion that political ideologies and institutions are becoming irrelevant because politics is being reduced to following 'the laws of the market' is creating political unease among people and cynicism among the young about voting. Tara, what else can your support groups and friends do now? Are all avenues closed? Has your hour come? Will we call the lone piper to play a dirge?
Tommy O'Hanlon
Tarbert
Co Kerry
You are abandoned, forsaken and rejected. All the powers that be - Meath County Council, the Government, NRA, An Bord Pleanála and the High Court - have walked out on you. We pay them to protect you but they betrayed us. We trusted them too much.
Tara, I know you sympathise with the people who are forced to commute to Dublin five days a week. But why are they not angry with Meath County Council for not putting in a bypass at Dunshaughlin and a proper one in Navan 20 years ago? They allowed them not only to close down but also to rip up the Dublin/Navan/Trim railway line over 30 years ago. And they still trust them. There were so many other options for this road. Are you the same Tara who was magic for Master O'Connell, the principal of Tarmons National School in Tarbert? He instilled a love of you into our hearts, and I can still see the face of Fr O'Flaherty (our history teacher in St Brendan's, Killarney) come alive at your name. But that was a different generation, other times. You are no longer in fashion. This generation prefers soulless symbols - motorways, shopping malls, four-wheel drives, big trucks and, of course, the euro. I expected all the people in Ireland to have run to protect you. It would have been unacceptable, I thought, to run a motorway through the Tara/Skryne Valley, opening up a wound that no plastic surgery can cure. But this generation was not touched, nor incensed. How sad. Will you forgive us?
The day Environment Minister Dick Roche sanctioned the motorway, I was watching the evening news in a pub. One man said, when he saw Mr Roche on TV, "Isn't he a pity? I wouldn't ask him to mind my chickens, and Bertie Ahern put him in charge of our heritage and environment. He has no bottle, afraid of the hawks." Poor Mr Roche. Maybe he has no power. An Bord Pleanála, which is not comprised of elected representatives, makes all the big decisions. Or does it? Who has real power today?
Democracy, the people's participation in the ordering of their own lives, is now perceived as a meaningless facade that hides the ruthlessness of corporate self-interest. The suspicion that political ideologies and institutions are becoming irrelevant because politics is being reduced to following 'the laws of the market' is creating political unease among people and cynicism among the young about voting. Tara, what else can your support groups and friends do now? Are all avenues closed? Has your hour come? Will we call the lone piper to play a dirge?
Tommy O'Hanlon
Tarbert
Co Kerry
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