Monthly Archives: March 2017

Mother of all Living…


The Spirit planted a garden on its holy mountain in the east.

It was sown with trees whose fruits were blazing jewels:

diamond, sapphire, and agate, emerald, sardonyx and cornelian, opal,

beryl, and topaz, malachite, garnet and amethyst.


In the centre of the garden grew the tree

of life; four streams, of milk, honey,

wine and oil issued from its roots.


The golden leaves and bright, crimson jewels which adorned

its branches, surpassed in beauty all the other created things,

and its glorious crown threw a radiant shadow over the garden.


The garden in the east was tended by Yva, the mother of all living.


Exit in Trance…


…Face of moving water

Breathing in water

The water a breathing face…


Today I will speak to you

For, today, we hold a race

A sprint to the death

Whose spirit yields to the swiftest

The fleetest of foot…


He, who with the most fateful

Imagination of mind

Can picture the year

Bearing fruit

through a carnival of fear…


It is he whom we call great

He, who grants freedom to stars.

Running on Empty? #writephoto…


Yva followed on Abadam’s heels, “O Abadam,”

she cried, “you have walked in the garden in the

east, where every precious stone was your covering.


You were a sealer of the sum, whose works and trappings were

prepared, and set all about you, on the day you were created.


You were a guardian of the Holy-Mountain,

anointed in the shadow of the Sacred-Tree.


You were perfect in wisdom and filled with beauty,

and you walked with the Spirit amidst the stones-of-fire.


Yet, for me, you have relinquished all of this.

I will come with you, wherever you may go.”


Deep #writephoto…


The smoke which moments before had billowed hundreds of feet into the darkening sky finally cleared to reveal the Maw of Hell…

From its deep red interior two impossibly tall, dark, slender figures moved together unconsciously…

Eyeless, they emerged into the light of day…

Opening their wide mouths simultaneously, they spewed forth living flame.



Horizon #writephoto…


Another milestone of time.

There is no youthful compassion

to commiserate with me.

There is no “Surprise!” party.

Just a cold, cold dawn…

and the inevitable tide

washing away a little bit more

of that ragged edifice.

At the start of this, our longest day.

We are on the way…

to greet a Saint.



Spring #writephoto…


…They do have something of the ‘other-world’ about them these places.

‘No un-authorised person beyond this point,’ said the sign.

‘But we are more authorised than anyone ever could be,’ said Wen.

It is difficult to disagree but then the village of Cerne Abbas is in itself quite otherworldly too.

I got exactly the same feel from it as when I first went to Glastonbury.

It felt like we had left England and gone abroad, perhaps to France…

‘Albion!’ smiles Wen, ‘the whole of these Blessed Isles used to feel like this…’

The Heart Of Albion



Thursday photo prompt – Spring #writephoto


The Lord of all Proud Beasts…


His skin is hard as rock.

His heart huge as a boulder.

His belly thick with spikes.


His eyes glow like dawn.

He sneezes and lightnings flash.

Flames leap from his mouth.


Smoke pours from his nostrils

like steam from a boiling pot.

His breath sets coals ablaze.


He looks down on the highest

and watches terror dance before him.

Is nothing on earth his equal?


Tee-Pee Tales IV: Each to their Own…


One day Turtle made ready to go on the war-path.

His comrades Live-Coals, Ashes, Bulrush, Grasshopper, Dragonfly and Pickerel determined to go with him.

They set out together in good spirits but on the morning of their first camp a strong early morning wind arose and blew Ashes away.

“Iho,” said Turtle, “Ashes was no warrior!”

The war party continued on its path and came to a river.

Live-Coals perished in the crossing.

“Sh-s-s-s,” he said before leaving.

“Ah,” said Turtle, “no fight in him!”

On the far side of the river they all looked back and found that Bulrush had stayed behind.

Standing upright he waved at them from the river bank.

“No true brave, that one!” grumbled Turtle.

On went the war party until they reached a swamp in which Grasshopper stuck fast.

In his struggle to escape from the bog he pulled both his legs off.

Dragonfly mourned for his friend.

He cried bitterly and at last blew his nose so hard his neck broke in two.

“Pah!” said Turtle, “better off without the weaklings.”

Pickerel and Turtle advanced together into enemy land.

At the head of a lake they were met and quickly surrounded.

Pickerel dived into the lake and swam away but Turtle could not swim fast enough and was caught.

He was taken to a village  where the Head-Men held council to decide what should be done with him.

“We should build a fire and roast him alive,” said one.

“Hi-i-i,” cried Turtle, “I shall trample the fire and scatter live coals among your people!”

“We should boil water and throw him in the pot,” said another.

“Hi-i-i,” cried Turtle, “I shall dance in the boiling pot and clouds of steam will blind your people!”

“Why, not take him out into the middle of the lake and drown him,” said a third.

Turtle drew his head into his shell and remained quiet.

So he was taken in a canoe to the middle of the lake and dropped into the water.

He sank like a stone.

After the enemy had rowed away he  swam up to the surface of the water.

“Hi-i-i,” he cried, “now I am at home!”

Then he dived and swam wherever he liked.