Well House Lane
\nopposite the Chalice Spring
\nthere sits
\nan ediface of ancient stone
\ncrumbing as befits
\nan ancient pagan monument
\nit quietly manifests
\na soulful wistful aura
\nand therein, it rests
\na haunting apotheosis
\na raging rasping stream
\nthat rushes from the icy bowels
\ncreating a power theme
\nsad blue doors locked
\nhaphazardly
\na rough totem of sorts
\nancient brackets broken
\na token knots and warts
\ndilapidation offers
\na chance for eyes to try
\nand clean up the exterior
\nnot to wonder why
\njust to clean the eddies
\njust to edge the front
\nbrighten up the aura
\nand really to confront
\nthe wild plants taking refuge
\nwithin the mortar edge
\na little bit of clearing
\ndandelion and sedge
\nthe water out of copper
\nis fresh and icy cold
\nfilling up our bottles
\nquite uncomfortable to hold
\nwell house lane climbs steadily
\ntowards the meadow greenery
\nand up onto the reaches to the Tor
\nup to the Isle of Avalon
\nwhere ancient spirits lift the spirit
\nto where many souls have gone
\nout across the vast extent of countryside
\nbeyond the eye of man the sweep and sound
\nthe wind that pulls the hackles from ones
\nbody
\nand brushes violently across the ground
\ninside and high it whistles
\na lone drummer sits and pounds his beat
\nsucking in that frosty breath remembering
\nthe wisdom of the wild witch who is fleet
\nof foot and ready to take off
\nher besom at her side
\nthe curling of the shadows
\nand the swirling of her ride<\/p>\n
back down paths are slippery
\nthere’s water in them hills
\nancient roots leap forwards
\nthe walker needs her skills
\nso easy it would be to fall
\nand tumble far too far
\nso easy it would be to fall
\na knee or head to scar
\non the tarmac once again
\nwe reach the old White Spring
\nsome chortling singers seated there
\ntrying hard to bring
\nthe spirits out of hiding
\nthey’re sleeping and prevail
\nsome jollity and some respect
\nthe throats accept the ale<\/p>\n
that thrusting ghostly stream
\nthat clutches all within its length
\nsplashing into our world with
\nall that power and strength
\nput you ear up to the doors
\nand soak up all that sound
\nits coming through the building
\ndeep from underground
\nthe spirit of the pagans
\ncreatively transcends
\nand captures those now seated
\na few toe tapping friends<\/p>\n
we bade farewell as warriors
\nover the cattle grid
\nand into true reality
\nthe trucks and lorry skid
\nnarrowness apparent
\nThe Chalice Well was there
\nbeing passed by pantecnicon’s
\nthat rumble everywhere
\nGlastonbury knows the modern
\nage and hears it too
\nbut sits back in its ancientness
\nand tries to really do
\nits own thing laced in mystery
\nspiritual and more
\nthe angst is clearly surfacing
\nfrom up there on the Tor<\/p>\n
many souls are coming
\nbrought here by the feel
\nsensitively sentient
\nsoulful to reveal
\nthe magic that abound’eth
\nthat wells up from inside
\nthat stunning auric treasure
\nthat’s felt with every stride<\/p>\n
# 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.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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 … Continue reading