nothing is carved in stone, they say,
time and weather wear all away
but some of us will remember
the words that were written there
and even the stone is aware
stone
In Narnia
Narnia, where we used to go,
Through the door beneath our stairs
That took us down the hidden lanes
To open fields of snow again
Icicles and winter fires
Breathe of horses in the frost
Snow drifts formed enchanted spires
Terraces and palisades
Tumnus hiding from the Witch
Down beside the darkened wood
We huddled close to hear the bells
Jingling silver on her sleigh
She never came to catch us there
We were young and innocent
And far too brave for one as she
We were free and happy then
All the ways we understood
Now we understand them all anew
No witch will ever make us stone
She never could, she never will
No victims of her wicked arts
The sunlight comes to bring the thaw
The lion shines within our hearts
Our magic lives here as before
Cherub
In the street
a little boy
bends down.
He found a pebble
”Stone!”he cries,
in sheer delight,
reacting as an angel might,
his face illuminated
”Amazing news!”
his mother says.
She smiles at him,
thinking she’s the wise one
In the Museum
The museum is full of wonders
Egypts’ grandeur, ancient glories,
glittering gold and precious gems,
classical Greek curves and lines,
expressing divinity,
intricate windings of Saxon silver
with the feel of a faerie glen
My eyes become tired of looking.
My feet start to ache from the floors
by the time I pass through the Celtic collection
where a tiny treasure catches me,
grips me, shackles my steps.
Entranced and longing to hold it
smoothed in the palm of my hand,
so small, so simple, so pure,
so emotional and loving,
grey stone, the size of a pebble,
two lovers intertwined,
in eternal, lasting embrace.
Wayfarer
when i am fire
i burn away anger
when i am tree
i bend with the wind
when i am water
i wear away stone
and know all the wise ways of flowing
when i am cat
i narrow my eyes
when i am dog
i am joyfully willing
when i am horse
i turn with the wind
this is my freedom in going
when i am hare
magic is mine
when i am raven
i watch still and clear
when i am wolf
i see who you are
this is the seeing of knowing
i will leap, bend and flow,
run, turn and go
return as i please
see what i see
magnetic paths pull above treetops
clouds cap the mountains that hide me
dark cool shadows in water
hidden things amongst leaves
as i make my own journey
i follow these old ways alone
water is a life giving blessing
the trees shelter us, breathing
the lone wolf protects the pack
energy runs with the horse
the world is mirrored in the eye of the raven
hidden, unhidden, bidden, unbidden
the hare runs the path of the circle unbroken
running fleet foot in pastures and hills
on horseback i chase the illusive hare
while the raven sits still in the oak
and watches, waiting for me
tumbled
transformed by strong waves
cragged rock is smoothed to round stone
grit becomes pure pearl
The Hidden Ones
Our people were warriors, they journeyed far.
They followed the sun, the moon, the stars.
They honoured their dead who dwell with the living.
They left their mark on hilltop and moor.
They farmed the land to suit the seasons,
Skilled in crafts and rejoicing in song.
They sailed the seas and carved the stones.
They run in the blood, remembered in bone.
In spoken words, with no need of books,
Their stories passed from heart to heart.
Power and land they may have lost
But their thoughts and truths were not overcome
They have no followers yet are followed still,
With origins lost but stories repeated,
In the great glories of poetry that still lives on,
They are amongst us here, the hidden ones.
The Dreaming Path 