Tuesday, 28 March 2017

The Colpexies of Colmers Hill

With its iconical conical shape and crown of nine perching pines
Colmers Hill has long been known, since golden, olden times,
As a favoured place for festivities of the faerie folk:
The Little People, The Good Neighbours, The Shining Ones, The Others…

All dressed in red and green, with feathers in their caps,
But rarely seen as they make merry on hallowed hilltops
At special, spiritual times of year, such as Beltain and Midsummer’s Eve,
When God-fearing folk believe it’s wiser and safer to stay inside,
With salt sprinkled on the doorway, for fear of being pixy-led:
Involuntarily taken on a dangerous dance; a dalliance with doom!

And of all the varied array of faerie folk the most secretive and shy,
Hardly ever caught by human eye, are the Colpexies -
Digging and picking in the sandstone sides of Dorset’s hidden holloways.
And perhaps you've seen their strange symbols and stone-carved runes,
Or perchance you’ve found one of their dislocated digits -
Colpexies' Fingers - which those of rational, reductive minds call Belemnites.

Great good luck for those who find their fingers – wealth and health and lustrous long life;
But the Colpexies are tricksy, treacherous folk, not to be taken lightly or joked about,
And to interfere with their habitations is to invite trouble into your own home.
So be warned and beware: lest you find yourself bewitched and betwixt...
...this world and the Others' world!

Tuesday, 21 March 2017

Taking myself for a walk

I never see another walker
When I go for a walk
Except a walker with a dog -
A dog taking a walker for a walk
But I don’t need a dog
When I go for a walk
I can walk all by myself
Without a four-legged friend
Who lives in my house 
To take me out for a walk
But I, like a dog, need to walk
Every day, because if I stay
In my house without going out
I feel sad and start acting badly
So I do daily take myself for a walk
Perhaps I am a dog?
A dog and a walker rolled into one
Or perhaps I just don’t need one,
A dog, to go for a walk
But like a dog on a walk
When I go for a walk I don’t walk
I bound along, like a happy song,
Until suddenly I stop
In my tracks
In the middle of the path
For no reason, other than to listen
Or to stare at something
That catches my eye or reaches my ear
Or better still I sniff the air
And wonder what it is
Until I’ve forgotten why it is
That I’m still standing there
And so once more I walk on, on my walk
My inner dog taking his walker out for a walk
And I when I go for a walk
I never meet another walker
Except a walker with a dog…

Tuesday, 14 March 2017

For Jude

A poem for a departed friend, whom I didn't know that well, but whose positive actions and attitudes were interlaced within the place where we shared a home:

Rambling around the ancient hill
In the thickness of the mist
Turned into tears by the dripping of the trees
I stumble across a patch of pale primroses
That suddenly seem to glow:
The brightness of their immanence
Marking the impermanence of the seasons
And I am glad to have see them; there and then.

Chiffchaff chiffchaff
Sing spring sprung!