Poem due Jan 11th

Tales of the Tor Down Glastonbury Way



In ancient days, in times of old
well before young Arthur breeched,
the Fairy King did sit his throne
upon the Tor, where worlds did meet.
Gwyn ap Nudd, the hero of hosts
did guard the Tor, did wend his way
between winter and summer,
between night and day.
Summer, winter back then would fight;
supremacy to reign supreme;
o're what was good and what was right,
what was blackened and what stayed green.


Even back then in days of yore
strange feelings followed travelers there
for earthen lines drawn before the gods were born
linked celestial pathways: be magic there.
The druids came to climb the Tor,
mystic murmurings of light and dark,
wherein the hollow hill bequeathed
its power and left its mark.
Thus tales did grow as tales are told
of warriors and armies bold,
of missing grails and hollow bowers,
of merlin's wand and vanishing towers.

For some did seeks and others fell,
to the power left behind;
whence came ye then to top the Tor
could cost your strength, indeed, your mind.
Some felt compelled to climb its crown
yet others shied away in pain
for it be the mountain's call to make:
suffer loss or untold gain.
A labyrinth appeared,
no path so straight nor convoluted;
there be no shortcuts in this world
if ye danced where voices are muted.

Near to the tell, nearby the Tor
once massive oaks did give direction,
to this place of mystic auras,
to this place of self reflection.
Magog and Gog the king trees names:
once men of earth, who widely roamed,
be-vined, enrooted by druid queen,
forced to meld with bark and loam.
Nigh on three t'ousand cycles they grew there,
as eons passed and kingdoms waned,
as the world waxed fluid with its changes,
as truths reflected who was to gain!

Ley-lines trace primordial arrow,
set a line to date the sun,
solstices are marked and measured
since past immortal gods have run.
Since star-told times and faery kings
gave way to swords and bloodied lance,
still prime the course sun arrow flies,
still straight and narrow all men's path.
Yet man will question how came these things,
from whence the knowledge came to be,
yet the old ones knew instinctive:
ere the druids first bent knee.


Magic reigns, there's been no doubts
ere Avalon or Gwyn ap Nudd stand,
in Glastonbury and all there 'bouts
ask any traveler to the land.
Christianity tried to silence the Celt,
to drive the druids underground,
where the magic did meld together
what was right and what was sound.
Still stands the Tor, still lives Magog
still man does walk labyrinthine trail,
for man shall ever seek its wisdom,
forever seek his inner grail.