Poems and Poetry

Ancient Bluebells (Neolithic fogou, Cornwall, England) | A Poem by Roy K. Austin

A cuckoo in the air! Fresh bluebells
following the path the ancients trod
round granite, glacial debris;
imagined, living here
in these stone hut circles
not knowing what time resolved,
how in the ancient mind
that stone gruelling quern
evolved to move by wind, –
abandoned, quiet compounds
to today’s modern cities!
Early humans under naked stars
above their campfires,
bewitching modern man
who longs within his spirit
for such simplicity;
bending down into a dark hole
another mood emerges,
to stalk with a flat profile,
moving with the underground –
a lion of a thing, defending
the dark nooks of time,
of recess and mysterious redoubt,
against what I wondered
following the fogou’s blinding corridor,
slipped on stones from leaking water
where moss – joints, drip
from buttress and boulder,
breathing the brewed air
of many centuries.
Climbing out into the light
I felt that link of kinship,
imagined through half closed eyes
I gazed at neolithic skies,
fancied I heard their broken
voices, carried on a breeze;

procession of stars- I thought,
they only move one way,
I’d like to but I cannot stay
to pick their ancient bluebells’.

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