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PostPosted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 11:26 am
by Saturn
Inspired by a programme I watched about the Celts and a walk I undertook later the same day in a local forest-park.

It's very derivative I know but I'm just starting to write again after years almost of writers-block:?

Hope you all like it.


I traversed along the shady walks
Mystical and strange they seemed.
Like a conclave of solemn priests:
Ancient Druids in grave debate
Wooden ministers pensive leaned
Whispering overhead, swaying
With spindly arms tight crossed
In some long-forgotten conference.
Oaken breasts protruded out
Into the path, as if they felt
The vigour of argument still.
Each breeze that moves them
Seems like the airy breath
Of now ancient bendection
Granted to all who pass by.
Their mossed robes snugly
Shrunk to their twisted forms
Half revealed at the waist.
Walking near I can almost hear
Ancient poesy, curse or spell
Once uttered in weighty tone
And hope their potency is lost
With their lore and strange gods.

Sunday 19th February 2006.

PostPosted: Tue Feb 28, 2006 6:45 pm
by Malia
Great poem, Saturn :) You painted a great scene--I could really see the forrest and almost feel the spirits haunting the trees.
Glad you're feeling your muse again--keep up the writing!

PostPosted: Wed Mar 01, 2006 12:48 am
by Saturn
Thanks Malia

- I have a few other things in the works - this forest has been a great inspiration to me lately in dark days.