TALIESIN

Inspired by The Book of Pheryllt.


Otherworldly Bard to Elphin am I:
shape shifter from the region of the Summer Stars.
Many have confused me with Myrddin,
but I was once his teacher.

I have lived countless lives
in a myriad of forms:
I have been king, queen, noble and prince;
beggar, slave and condemned man...

I have been a savage lion and a domestic cat.
I was once a Viking longship upon the ocean.
I have been a blade of grass growing in a meadow
and a snowflake falling upon Stonehenge.
I have been a moonbeam and a new-born lamb;
a spider in her web and a dew drop in the morning.
I have been an Oak Tree in a Forest,
a scorpion in the desert heat.
I have been a wave breaking on the shore
and a single grain of wheat eaten by Ceridwen...

Then for nine months I was little Gwion
growing inside her womb -
to be born as Guardian of Tradition.

I have passed through the Web of Ariadne,
have dwelt within Avalon's Hill.
I was fluent before being gifted with speech.
I have tutored all intelligences.
I alone built Nimrhod's Tower.

I am the tetragrammation.
My origins predate The Creation.
I shall exist when the Universe is no more.
It is not known whether my body
is of flesh or of Spirit,
for I am legion.

Simultaneous participation
in every aspect of Creation
has rendered me omniscient:

I have lived your past,
I share your present,
I am your future
because I am learned Druid...

I am Taliesin.

THE BLUE BELL HILL GHOST

As the shadows lengthen across Blue Bell Hill
a ghost drifts - a shard of refracted light at the road's edge
that merges into a hedgerow.

Rising in the steam
from an under-road drain.
Trapped in eternal catastrophe.

You could mistake her for the strobe
of headlights through fencing posts,
if it weren't for the sudden chill...




There are no kind motorists tonight -
no-one to stop for the hitch hiker
and drive her safely home.
They all pass clean through her.

No traces of how she met her end
on this lonely stretch of road:
A fatal aberration of concentration.
A step into the road.
A beautiful blood-red sunset
that momentarily blinded a driver.
Blue metal that lifted her like a baby.
SHOCK WAVE..................................
A skull shattered.
Suspended time as rainbows struck asphalt
that heaved to her last breath.
Then her brain could no longer think -
the bone was too far in.
She died before her time,
a masterpiece unfinished.




The Blue Bell Hill ghost
still tries to reach home.
She knows her mother will be devastated
because there was no time for goodbyes',
nor to soften the blow
of shocking bereavement
with comforting words -
and because premature death is disrespectful
to the womb that nurtured her.
I MUST GET HOME...

A sensitive psychic
slows his car to pick her up.
He drives her all the way home.

He pulls up at the gate.
She opens the door and steps out...
into the lengthening shadows
of Blue Bell Hill.

TEENAGE SON

He rests on pillows all askew,
beneath duvet tied in knots
and peers with bleary eyes at you,
as he tells you he loves you lots.

It's just his way of placating you
in case you've tripped over the mess
and through the air headlong flew
like the nine-fifteen express!

'Mind my I-Pad!' he mumbles in
that familiar half-asleep way.
You want to scold, but hold it in.
'Are you getting up today?'

But there's no reply as he's back to sleep.
So you pause to gaze around
at the shambles of a massive heap
of technology gone to ground.

His clothes are discarded in disarray
all over the beer stained floor
and so you tidy them all away,
then head for the bedroom door.

But your foot becomes entangled in
a spaghetti junction of cables
that make up an assault course within
the arc of his play station tables.

You stumble and land upon the bed,
waking him up with a start.
'Mum! Please be careful where you tread!'
he implores you from the heart.

But all you see are the coffee stains -
noodle and curry too,
splattered over duvet cover. How it pains
you, for this one you've just bought new.

He's exasperating, he's the bane of your life.
He drives you to distraction.
He brings you nought but anxiety and strife -
yet a certain satisfaction.

For in spite of his faults, he's all you have:
your friend, your inspiration.
He's the child you thought you'd never have -
your miracle of creation.

JUDGEMENT DAY

And many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake,
some to everlasting life, and some to shame
and everlasting contempt.
Daniel 12:2


The heart will be judged first,
So of all your deeds, which is the worst?

For murder or manslaughter, it's destination hell:
For rape or torture, it's there as well.

For misdemeanours minor, like thieving and lies,
It's rebirth in lower forms, such as flies.

But for the heart full of love it's a different story.
This one will surely ascend in glory.



Secondly, the mind will be on display,
For there'll be no brain to hide thoughts away.

So if you've been thinking of revenge and hate,
Then I'm sorry to say for you It's too late;

For I clearly hear Lucifer stoking his fire
As he waits for you - your situation's dire.

But if you've focused on loving and giving,
Then your Soul in paradise will soon be living.



Last to be assessed is your Spirit's progression -
It's best if your lives have been free of obsession.

If divine intuition has moved you along
Your designated path with a cheerful song,

Then I can honestly say I'm happy for you:
Incarnation's harsh lessons are finally through!

STOLEN STRAWBERRIES

That July
the strawberry pickers
touched Souls

as they laboured
side-by side,
wearing fingers to the bone.

They discovered, then,
a new dimension
within the berry.

The voluptuous redness
of swollen fruit
which filled the baskets
set fire to their hormones:

what just moments ago
seemed a humdrum
means of survival,

now brought the revelation
that even here,
in a humble strawberry field,
such passion could take root.

The fruits glistened in the afternoon sun.
It had taken such energy
to collect and pack so many.

United by a single thought,
urgently, in silence,
they stole a basket and slipped away
into the coolness of a hedgerow
that bordered the field...



At dawn, a half-empty basket
alone knew the secret of their frantic screwing
in the prickly undergrowth.

Concealing scratched skin beneath coveralls,
they took their places
on opposite sides of the field,
where they waited patiently
for the morning shift to begin.




 

LAND'S END at 11a.m.

 

 

 

Human feet have trampled this land

down to bare, uneven stone

the colour of ageing bone.

 

Rocks jut out into choppy sea:

a jagged brownness bathed in sun,

rising steeply from deepest blue.

 

Seagulls fight over crumbs

the tourists drop, their constant laughter

mocking the folly of mankind

 

who'll part with a small fortune

just to prove they've been here:

to stand beneath the sign

 

and have their likeness captured,

then buy mug, tea towel or postcard

to commemorate this day forever;

 

along with stories they'll tell back home

in native tongue, while fingering their treasures -

matching each with a memory

of Land's End that day, at 11a.m.

STIGMATA

You swear at your neighbour and threaten to maim him
because he fails to see your point of view.
You're filled with anger,
                                       intolerance,
                                                          hatred.
Let him stand up for himself - if he dare:
He'll be sorry if he does,
                                       because you'll kill him..
Politeness,
                 charity,
                             kindness:
                                            they're alien.
Inside you, rage burns,
                                    spite devours.
Somebody else's face
                                  drawing your fist,
and your face,
                       like a death mask,
is menacingly calm above all this seething
with savage compulsion to destroy.
He mumbles something
                                      unintelligible.
You throw a punch.
                                The agony...
as unseen knife shoots clean through your hand.
You raise the other
                               in self defence,
                                                       and that's pierced too.
A six inch
                nail
                      out of thin air
                                            through the palm.
Now barbed wire tears: feel
the blood running down your cheeks
as you stumble through a thorn bush.
Is that broken glass
                               you just stepped on,
embedded there in the soft earth?
Sad, celestial music
                               playing in your head.
There is blood
                       oozing into your footprints.
And lilies:
the overpowering scent of lilies
                                                  permeating the very air around you.
JESUS -
you feel your heart breaking: yes - you,
feeling...
emotion,
              compassion:
oh, the excruciating agony
of everything
                 ever experienced
                                            since the dawn of humanity
becoming personal.
You,
        who have never set foot
                                              inside a church,
desperately needing one...



In calm reverence
you kneel before his effigy
                                           on the Cross,
feeling the blood
                          drip,
                                 drip
from His sacred wounds.
And now,
               finally,
you begin to understand.