In the Sky

 

Life is living all around,

In the sky and underground.

 

Underground and in the sky

While flowers dance and shadows fly.

 

Life is living as we breath

In every spindle that we weave.

 

Death is living all around,

In the sky and underground.

 

Underground and in the sky,

While owls swim and fishes fly.

 

Life is dying as we breathe –

As soon we come, so soon we leave.
 

 

Barbara Ann

 

Where are the stars tonight, Barbara Ann?

Where is the wanting moon?

What is that stone that you wear at your neck

and why have you lain here so long?

 

Where is the westering wind, Barbara Ann

that blew through the folds of your cloak?

What is that potion that clings to your tongue

and seeps sweet as breath down your throat?

 

What is that look in your eyes, Barbara Ann,

as if you see more than you tell?

What are the seeds that you sowed in the field

and what was cast into the well?

 

Come to me now, Barbara Ann -

ride the grey horse to the dawn,

through meadows and streams,

through shadows and dreams,

till the veil of silence is torn.

 

 

Smoke Road

 

He took the old smoke road

down to the coast,

down where the snake wind crawls;

down where tattoos of silence

wash empty along the shore.

 

He took the old smoke road

back to the hills,

back where the hard fires lures;

back where the track near crumbles away

in the mist as the ghost eagle calls.

 

He left the old smoke road

deep in the night,

dark behind unbolted doors;

deep in the sound of loss turned around,

laid in a cradle of thorns.

 

 

The Petals of the Moon

 

The petals of the moon are edged with red

As Binnory Hawthorn turns in her bed.

 

The petals of the moon are edged with white

As Binnory Hawthorn follows the night.

 

The petals of the moon are edged with grey

As Binnory Hawthorn fades away.

 

                        She walks the wood,

                        The paths and streams

                        As she follows the ribbons

                        Of her dreams.

 

                        She sits by the pond

                        And gazes down

                        At the moon which watches

                        Pale and round.

 

                        She dives to its arms

                        So silent and strong,

                        No more to hear

                        Her mother's song.

 

As Binnory Hawthorn fades away,

The petals of the moon are edged with grey.

 

As Binnory Hawthorn follows the night,

The petals of the moon are edged with white.

 

As Binnory Hawthorn turns in her bed,

The petals of the moon are edged with red.

​

 

The Green Man Dances

 

The Green Man dances in the wood

By withered nettles where the oaks once stood

The Green Man dances in the wood

But the trees scream murder

As we burn them down

 

The Green Man has danced out under the stars

Under changing skies for a million years

Silver in the morning and the coal black night

Waking again for the last long fight

 

The Green Man dances in the wood

By broken glass where the tall cedar stood

The Green Man dances in the wood

But the trees wail murder

As we axe them down

 

Now the Green Man grieves by the poisoned stream

Weeping bitter scalding tears

The badger, the otter and the hare lie dead

Dark rooks drift in circles as the sky turns red

 

The Green Man dances in the wood

By barbed wire fences where the elm once stood

The Green Man dances in the wood

But the trees weep murder

As we hack them down

 

The Green Man danced wherever he chose

Before forests were stolen and fields enclosed

The Green Man danced before winding lanes

Twisted into the madness of motorways

 

The Green Man dances in the wood

By dark choking shadows where the larches stood

The Green Man dances in the wood

But the trees whisper murder

As we rip them down

 

The hounds bay blindly where foxes used to run

But the hunt for the Green Man goes on and on

The ring of shrinking woodland tightens in a snare

As the Green Man tracks frantic as a frightened hare

 

The Green Man dances in the wood

By brackish water where the broad beech stood

The Green Man dances in the wood

But the trees breathe murder

As we smash them down

 

We'll catch him and beat him

And twist a jagged wreath

We'll whip him and scourge him

And nail him like a thief

To the highest branch

Of his last oak tree

With blackbird, dunnock, jackdaw and crow...

But when the Green Man dies,

We all die too.

​

 

The Tides that Turn

 

I know the tides that turn in me

drawn by the silent moon.

 

I know the steps that lead away

to the lilt of a fiddler’s tune.

 

I know that on a mist-dark shore

a boat waits there for me –

and we will ride the yearning night

across unfathomed seas.

 

We never know where journeys end

and where the next begins –

we only know the restlessness

that aches through fettered limbs

 

and take the steps that lead away

to the lilt of a fiddler’s tune

 

down to the tides that turn with me

drawn by the silent moon.

 

 

Molly Mawkaby

 

The river is wide, I cannot get over,

over to the other side -

but there lives Molly Mawkaby

who I mean to be my bride.

 

                        ‘The river is deep, he will never find me,

                        though he leap and swim in vain.

                        The river is deep, but it will save me

                        from ever seeing him again.’

 

I knew that I would always want her,

swore that she would be my wife -

but now I’m deep in drowning water,

for I need her more than life.

 

                        ‘I know he is a feckless chancer,

                        roaming round from fair to fair.

                        He’ll never lead me to the altar –

                        for certain I won’t meet him there.’

 

The river is wide and flowing faster

and I won’t make the other side.

Tell sweet Molly if you find her –

it is for her that I have died.

 

                        ‘He had no need to cross the river -

                        he was a fool to take that risk.

                        The sky grew dark at our first meeting -

                        one fleeting glance has led to this.

 

                        Do not tell me of the currents.

                        Do not ask me if I cried.

                        Do not tell me how they found him -

                        I only know, the river is wide.’

                       

 

The Dream-Walkers

 

Late at night when the dream-walkers wake,

Nobody hears the sweet songs they make,

Nobody follows them down to the lake

Where they bathe in the shimmering moonbeams.

 

Nobody sees their silken scarves

Snagged on brambles along the paths;

Nobody shares their gentle sighs

As they climb from the water before sunrise:

 

Nobody hears them run through the mist

Gathering dewdrops smooth as a kiss,

Trawling the meadows with gossamer nets

To fill silver cups with the new dreams.

 

 

The Burning

 

Black smoke from the back woods -

black smoke by the briar.

 

What do you burn at dusk, my child?

What do you burn in your fire?

 

Is it the bones of your good man true?

Is it a deed so dire?

Why do the embers burn bright and long?

Why do the flames rise higher?

 

We have not seen him for many a day,

not since the year it was turning.

Why do you gather the blossoms of May?

And what is it you’re burning?

 

It is not the bones of my good man true.

It is not a deed so dire.

It’s the memory of him that burns so long,

that’s why the flames rise higher.

 

I gather up the blossoms of May

to remember the first day we kissed.

He plaited daisies about my neck

and slipped his arm around my waist.

 

But now he is for a soldier gone

to fight in battles lost and won -

that’s why each night I burn this fire,

to light his long journey home.

 

That’s why I stand out here at dusk.

That’s why I burn my fire.

 

Black smoke by the back woods -

black smoke by the briar.

​

​

Flowers that Bloom

 

There are flowers that rise pale in the spring-time

and fade as the autumn leaves fall,

but the flowers that bloom in the winter

hold the reddest blood of them all.

 

            There's a path that crosses the meadow

            that leads to the banks of the stream

            where the water runs clear through the shadows

            and lovers are lost in their dreams.

 

There are flowers that run wild in the summer

and sing loud as the blackbird's sweet call,

but the flowers that bloom in the winter

hold the reddest blood of them all.

 

            The road that leads to the forest

            is dark and lonely and long

            but the leaves and the buds and mosses

            nestle there at the waking of dawn.

 

There are flowers that open at twilight

wrapped in the moon's silver shawl,

but the flowers that bloom in the winter

hold the reddest blood of them all.

​

 

Slow The Dark Wind Blows

 

In the field a lone boy stands,

a knot of thunder in each hand.

 

                        The cart comes rattling slowly.

                        Slow the bone cart comes.

 

Cold lightning clenched behind his eyes,

as in his head the wild geese fly.

 

                        The grey horse hobbles slowly.

                        Slow the old horse groans.

 

The sky cracks wide, a dance of fire.

His feet root deep into the mire.

 

                        The hanging air sways slowly.

                        Slow as silent stones.

 

Lost voices twist his bitter tongue

and will not heed the distant drum.

 

                        The dry dust rises slowly,

                        and slow the dark wind blows. 
Jenny-Many-Names

 

They called her ‘lack-wit’, called her ‘frit’,

they called her Jenny-Many-Names.

 

She watched them chasing on the green

but would not join their many games.

 

When thunder rolled and storm clouds broke,

she stood out laughing in the rain.

 

When black smoke choked as hay-ricks blazed,

they said was Jenny lit the flames.

 

When milk turned sour and rats stole flour,

they chased her out down miry lanes.

 

But she came back, again, again,

bearing flowers of many names.

 

She brought back comfrey, brought back rue;

she boiled up ragwort in a stew.

 

Now who do they visit when their babes get sick,

when they need a potion quick as quick,

to cure their fever, ease their pain? –

 

They seek out Jenny-Many-Names.

​

 

Kiss Me with Silence

 

Throw me a shadow

                                    that's lighter than air.

                        Throw me a shadow

                                    that will run anywhere.

                        Chase me through sunshine

                                    then hide in the shade.

                        Kiss me with silence,

                                    slip slowly away.

 

Wrap me in shadow

                                    that's closer than night.

                        Wrap me in shadow

                                    that swallows the light.

                        Follow the darkness

                                    till dawn brings the day.

                        Kiss me with dreaming -

                                    chase sorrows away.

 

Cry me a shadow

                                    that lies in the dust.

                        Cry me a shadow

                                    that creeps into dusk.

                        Under the twilight

                                    where hunger is laid,

                        Kiss me with secrets

                                    till the tears fade away.

​

 

Tie me to the wind

 

Tie me to the wind.

 

I’ve cast away all my blankets of dreams

wrapped thin as dawn mist twisted round me.

 

Tie me to the wind.

 

Each morning I fly, with my eyes open wide

and a fire blind as night deep inside me.

 

Tie me to the wind.

 

No more dull roads to travel, no grey dust in my head,

no more chains of frail twilight to bind me.

 

Lost birds are my voice, and their wings steer my course

with maps of dead planets to guide me.

 

Tie me to the wind…

 

 

Elven Boy

 

He did not seem an elven boy,

just some lad like any other.

 

He stood alone at the edge of the fair,

but then would go no further.

 

She said she’d meet him for a dare,

where the other girls could watch and stare.

 

Her fingers combed his ragged hair –

his shirt was torn, his arms were bare,

 

but he did not seem an elven boy,

just some lad like any other.

 

She placed one arm around his waist

and brushed the down upon his face.

 

She led him from the fair’s bright lights

into the dark of the waiting night.

 

She kissed him once, but he turned away

and as she begged him twice to stay,

 

he smiled as he took her arm

and said they could not come to harm

 

but when the others searched next day,

both the girl and the lad were gone.

 

​

The Grey Light

 

When I wake up in the grey light

And my hands are stained with rust –

I don’t know if I should go there

But something tells me that I must

 

Go down to the empty quayside

Where the big ships come no more,

Go down to the harbour office

And knock upon the door.

 

When I wake up in the grey light

And my eyes are blind with rain –

I don’t know if I should go there

But they want me back again

 

To unload boats that never come here

With their cargoes of disease,

To open up those broken crates

Of nothing that you need

 

And take it to the miller’s trail

To hawk from door to door –

Blind wisdom in an empty box

And dust to feed the poor.

 

When I wake up in the grey light

And my dreams are locked and chained –

I don’t know if I should go there

Now there’s nothing left to gain,

 

But when I wake up in the grey light

And my hands are stained with rust,

I know I have to go there –

Something tells me that I must

​

​

Which Way is the Wind?

 

Which Way is the Wind?

Which way is the wind

Who runs with the sun?

Soon as you find her,

You know that she's gone.  

                       

Soon as you find her,

She turns to a stone

That shrivels to dust

When the long day is done.

 

Where is the shadow

That follows the wind?

Who knows where she goes to,

Who sees where she's been?

 

Soon as you find her

She turns to the sun

Which holds you so tightly

When you are alone.

 

Which way is the sorrow

That dwells in the shade?

Who knows where she comes from,

Who sees where she strays?

 

Soon as you find her,

She laughs like the wind

And hides in the days

Where no-one has been.