The wild wood

I love this blog fifepsychogeography and this post particularly gripped me with its magical images that capture the wonderfully liminal quality of nature and even tumble down buildings being reclaimed slowly by the earth and it’s vegetation. The poetry has also distilled the intensity of the atmosphere – I found it to be of much comfort and inspiration as I struggle with some current health problems and with an awful brain fog. Thank you fifepsychogeography, I look forward to more 🙂

Murdo Eason - From Hill to Sea

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Beyond the hawthorn, lies the wild wood

“cuckoo, cuckoo”

.

.

over the threshold

forms and colours

of the Otherworld

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.

… 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

.

 ≈≈≈

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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…

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