Another blog that people who like mine might like – if you see what I mean.
.
Beyond the hawthorn, lies the wild wood
“cuckoo, cuckoo”
.
.
over the threshold
forms and colours
of the Otherworld
.
.
… snake-eye stirs
.
‘
jaw click, snout
and a slither
of tongues
.
.
threat or supplication?
paw or claw?
who hears the cry
of the wild wood?
.
.
no-one here
.
anyone?
.
.
the oracle
of the wood
whispers:
.
.
… always the leaves
.
.
… always the light
.
≈≈≈
.
Hawthorn bushes and the call of a cuckoo conjure up the tale of Thomas the Rhymer a thirteenth century Scottish mystic, wandering minstrel and poet. Folklore tells of how Rhymer meets the Faery Queen by a hawthorn bush from which a cuckoo is calling. The Queen takes Rhymer on a journey of forty days and forty nights to enter the faery underworld. Some versions of the tale say Rhymer was in the…
View original post 109 more words
