The White Spring

Well House Lane
opposite the Chalice Spring
there sits
an ediface of ancient stone
crumbing as befits
an ancient pagan monument
it quietly manifests
a soulful wistful aura
and therein, it rests
a haunting apotheosis
a raging rasping stream
that rushes from the icy bowels
creating a power theme
sad blue doors locked
haphazardly
a rough totem of sorts
ancient brackets broken
a token knots and warts
dilapidation offers
a chance for eyes to try
and clean up the exterior
not to wonder why
just to clean the eddies
just to edge the front
brighten up the aura
and really to confront
the wild plants taking refuge
within the mortar edge
a little bit of clearing
dandelion and sedge
the water out of copper
is fresh and icy cold
filling up our bottles
quite uncomfortable to hold
well house lane climbs steadily
towards the meadow greenery
and up onto the reaches to the Tor
up to the Isle of Avalon
where ancient spirits lift the spirit
to where many souls have gone
out across the vast extent of countryside
beyond the eye of man the sweep and sound
the wind that pulls the hackles from ones
body
and brushes violently across the ground
inside and high it whistles
a lone drummer sits and pounds his beat
sucking in that frosty breath remembering
the wisdom of the wild witch who is fleet
of foot and ready to take off
her besom at her side
the curling of the shadows
and the swirling of her ride

back down paths are slippery
there’s water in them hills
ancient roots leap forwards
the walker needs her skills
so easy it would be to fall
and tumble far too far
so easy it would be to fall
a knee or head to scar
on the tarmac once again
we reach the old White Spring
some chortling singers seated there
trying hard to bring
the spirits out of hiding
they’re sleeping and prevail
some jollity and some respect
the throats accept the ale

that thrusting ghostly stream
that clutches all within its length
splashing into our world with
all that power and strength
put you ear up to the doors
and soak up all that sound
its coming through the building
deep from underground
the spirit of the pagans
creatively transcends
and captures those now seated
a few toe tapping friends

we bade farewell as warriors
over the cattle grid
and into true reality
the trucks and lorry skid
narrowness apparent
The Chalice Well was there
being passed by pantecnicon’s
that rumble everywhere
Glastonbury knows the modern
age and hears it too
but sits back in its ancientness
and tries to really do
its own thing laced in mystery
spiritual and more
the angst is clearly surfacing
from up there on the Tor

many souls are coming
brought here by the feel
sensitively sentient
soulful to reveal
the magic that abound’eth
that wells up from inside
that stunning auric treasure
that’s felt with every stride

# a copy sent to Glastonbury Town Council with a view to reminding them of the clearing up on the walls edges down to the end of the road by the cattle grids a short amount of work but something well done would be seen in a better light by the thousands of tourists who come here.

About Rex Tyler

I love animals. I enjoy writing poetry and delivering speeches.I like to mentor people who need help in preparing speeches and evaluations.I enjoy travel although it is much harder for me these days.I so enjoyed the Andes Mountains and Volcanoes and the Quichua people who live and thrive there.I have lots of friends around the world.
This entry was posted in Glastonbury where mystery and realiity meeton the crossroads of benevolence, The Sabbats and the old craft. Bookmark the permalink.

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