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A Poem
Child of Light
The Grove
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The Grove
Umber leaves snapped crisp beneath my tread
trees o'erhanging branches hid the sun
gusting breezes swirled around my head
the elemental forces not yet won
the track wound on and disappeared from view
i tugged my scarf more tightly round my ears
and followed close where thorns and thistles grew
journeys end came nearer through my fears
Within this dark and gnarled oaken wood
my aim to find the ancient hidden grove
visions of men with cloak and updrawn hood
weavers of dreams and near, the place they wove.
and now, before me lay a risen knoll.
a clearing void of trees and thorns.
a carpet of silken moss, here's my goal
at last the grove and there!..the magic horns!
within this sacred hidden emerald bower
i sense the past and know the men of old
i feel the vibrant pull of Natures power
and visions dance to show the tales untold
i see before me offerings tied to limbs
a tree bedecked in wondrous glinting gold
i hear the chants of ghostly haunting hymns
and children laughing, tears of joy unfold
The King of the dance appears with horns upheld
the folk around him jump and cry with glee
A throng of voices greet and arms meld
as round and round they skip alive and free
then suddenly a call and panic spreads
the people flee from dark and unseen foe
children run and parents call with dread.
horror, screams, as blood begins to flow
'Oh waken now', i cry within my mind.
'take me from this cursed and sodden ground'.
eyes closed tight i clench my teeth and grind
but still i see and hear the awful sound
I saw the black robed priest who led the fray
with swords they struck and felled the fear filled flock
the lambs they slew pleaded but had no say
the man of Christ felt nought for those who mock
Then silence filled the air like drizzling rain
no more the laugh of children running free
no more the people dance, no sweet refrain
The King lay dead and dying too, the tree
The magic horns were found by some lone bard
who secretly returned to this dank glade
he hid them on the knoll, the leaving hard
but left the lonely place his forfeit made
and so I found the grove in later years
this magic place of charms and woven dream
so sad to think that flowed here blood and tears
and died here once the King without a Queen
But time moves on, the wheel turns once again
and here i am who was here long ago
i close my eyes and hear the sweet refrain
of the spirits dance and the waters gently flow
this place is sacred, here i feel at home
I sense the presence of the whirling throng
as round and round they dance and freely roam
and singing fills my ears with natures song
Copyright Marshall Blackett 2001
magikmars39@hotmail.com
And yet another poem..........
Good and Evil
These terms are used by priests and nuns
to fill the folk with fear and dread
'give me your cash, in this world friend,
you'll go to heaven when your dead'
from age to age they've done the same
they conned the weak and fleeced the lame
they promised much to all and sundry
and so their plate was full on Sunday
The folk were conned, that is so sad,
but twas the clergies fault, was bad?
The people gave their power away
and so the blame is theirs, some say.
consciousness alone is good
what keeps us from it, evil food.
awake, awake my cry goes out
to all on Earth i gladly shout
No need of clergy has any man
to mediate or plead his case
think for yourself and see the plan
to stay asleep is a disgrace
Open your mind and see the light
arouse yourself, look in your heart
Then you'll find you'll win the fight
We are all one and play our part.
Marshall Blackett
Copyright 2002
Magikmars@altavista.co.uk
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