The Bull of Conflict

‘I come from battle and conflict
With a shield in my hand;
Broken is the helmet
By the pushing of spears.’
The Conversation of Gwyn ap Nudd and Gwyddno Garanhir

On an empty day automata drift,
Wending suit shapes through the mist.
Touchless I fade like a symbol unhitched.
The spoils of war quake in the museum.
Piercing the grey wearing horns of a bull
A white warrior blackened and bloodied
Disguises his limp in an infinite gloom,
On his spear leans, softly says:
“My comrades are slain and yet I live,
I come from battle and conflict.”

His dire avowal brings howling winds,
Chill clutch at my shoulders their lament dins
Of hero light fading from mortal skin.
In glass cabinets swords clash savage,
Raging figures thrash on ragged pages
Chanting the desolate past of ravaged war bands.
With war-torn wisdom, sombrely he whispers:
“These gathered memories to you I give.
Gone are the days I crossed this land
With a shield in my hand.”

His barrage of sadness barks in my mind
Like hapless hounds on a winter’s night.
Fierce their madness, dark their plight,
For the perishing souls they collect,
The past’s great spirit protect.
Like thundering wind obligation overwhelms me.
The blade of futility threatens to unfasten me.
“How do I cherish and defend these memories
When like the kingdoms of Rheged and Elmet
Broken is the helmet?”

I ask the Bull of Conflict.
His tears run bright with the passing of time,
Chariots wheeling in multihued light,
Victims reflected in star lit skies.
He says, “This shadow land needs enchantment
To banish the blight of despair.
Nurture the memories with magic
And they’ll sing a blessed new year.
Do not be pressed into fear
By the pushing of spears.”

When You Hunt for Souls in the Winter Rain

For Gwyn on Nos Galan Gaeaf

When you hunt for souls in the winter rain
With your snorting horse and hound unleashed
I shall listen in the gaps between towns knowing
Through trembling years you come in many guises.

When you hunt for souls in the winter rain
I shall listen in the gaps between towns knowing
Your face is the night storm of the underworld
And you shall bring terror to end all terror

With your snorting horse and hound unleashed.
Knowing through the years you come in many guises
I shall not only hail you as a warrior or medieval king
On the corpse roads I walk to ancestral graveyards.

When you hunt for souls in the winter rain
I shall listen in the gaps between towns knowing
You shall not only lead the hunt or coffin bearers
To the toll of bells casting your glamour

With your snorting horse and hound unleashed.
Knowing through the years you come in many guises
I shall be wary yet ultimately know you bring peace.
Beneath these catacombs is something beautiful.

~

Winter King

you take me back to what is raw,
glacial plains of horror,
the obnoxious beauty of it all

to beyond the ice age
when millennia ago we met
when the universe drew breath,

when the binding song coalesced.
You came as cold wind
and your inspiration was death.

You are the muse that moves the forest,
the ice that strips the hills,
the hunt that runs without flesh or bone

by the force of its boreal will.
Your voice is the chill that keeps me alive,
the poem that sparkles when all else dies.

When frost rimes my window I cannot forget
you were there at my beginning
and will greet me again at the end.

~

If I Had To Fight Your Battle

For Gwyn on Nos Galan Mai

If I had to fight your battle
could I wake every day
and live with growing trepidation
about the coming of May?

If I had to fight your battle
could I prepare every year,
knowing the inevitability of cycles
still face my rival with honour?

If I had to fight your battle
could I do so, wind, rain or shine
or would I flee the harsh rule of these islands
and head for sunnier climes?

If I had to fight your battle
would I do so for woman or man,
stature, sovereignty,
or the broken heart of this land?

If I had to fight your battle
would I do so with sword and spear
or resort to guns and nuclear arms
to blast away this deadlock with my fear?

If I had to fight your battle
could I do so until Judgement Day?
If I lost could I let go,
knowing love will never die?

~

Gwyn’s Hall

Summer here and winter there
My longest day your darkest night
Hoar frost drapes your haunted fortress
Whilst swallows ride my glowing sunlight.

Summer here and winter there
My brightest day your longest night
Whilst blackbirds sing my endless fanfare
Crazy owl streaks across your vaunted midnight.

Winter there and summer here
And I between them like the song
That lies unsung between the years
Between your hall and my brief home.