Green Valley Christmas

Green Valley Christmas

Induction

We have to go back,

We do, my love

And perhaps you feel it is the same old ground

That I have led you on before:

The narrow hedged lanes, views of the Vale,

Iron age hill fort and burial mound,

But like Yule that is upon us now,

It is a cold and thrilling remade vow,

Of lovers vows, of poet’s vows

Of the winter season to us all.

Each time, on every different day

I take your mind’s eye’s hand

Hand written textbook of mystical geography in hand,

My pen sparkles and fizzes

As Roman Candle on Guy Fawkes Night

knowing it brings renewal and joy

and as is the way of my thought,

I have indeed begun before the start,

So take back this paper from your hand

And restart with an

Insert here

and begin anew

And as display of what I’ve got

There was , my dear, and there was not….

Both brothers expected it

And they were not disappointed.

Heavy snow on Christmas eve

From dawn to around noon.

And the surrounding soundscape slipped from

Crunchy squelches, as black rutted frozen gateways

Had their ice sheaths broken and the wet mud beneath

Made the sound mud always makes

When sucking boots and shoes off feet,

To a pregnant silence, with all noise

As faint bells or chimes, clear distant and distinct.

All baser sounds sucked into white noise,

Leaving what is left, the angel’s share

As muted beauty for her and our ears.

“No panic, love,” firm elder brother smiled,

Remembering the Endeavour and White bears

Ardent’s nose quivered wolflike

Smelling at what the snow kept for him,

“Still a few sheep out in Laggers, coming , Sis ?

We’ll leave the dogs behind, eh,

Could do with a run.”

And while the Valley Master

Surveyed his winter preparations,

Sheep and hay, and cows and sileage

And saw that it was good.

A casual observer

,Maybe you and I on winter walk,

Would have seen a brown cloaked girl

Throw snowballs and romp

With a very wolf like great big dog.

And if we were not complaining too loud

About our feet, the cold, parents staying,

In short the usual Christmas fairey tale,

We might have heard the song she sung

We might have heard the spell she weaved

And seen the rustle in far trees

As she danced and sang on Christmas Eve

Here’s Holly for my lover’s heart

Here’s mistletoe for brother

Wrapped in ivy’s open weave

So love will not be smothered

Here’s thorn the dart that Loki threw

Here’s ash that hung our Lord

Here’s forest blessing to us all

And those who dine at our Yule board

As she sang and she danced

The big dog rolled in snow entranced

Until

All stops

And four eyes are on us

,Two hazel, with hidden depths and two as amber flares,

On the hill path just

Heading for Woodmancote and the Valley road.

Silent thunderclaps send spindrifts of powdered snow skywards

All in my mind, or was it in yours too ?

Sweetheart, did you see that child clap her hands and the world stop ?

Sweetheart ,love, what is it ?

Yes it is she, of whom I wrote

I am not mad, you see her too.

You see her too.

We stare and words again trail away

That thing which cannot be seen is seen again

I’m sure we both look away in terror

Or maybe just shock

And Ardent once again stands by sister,

Mischief eschewed and now a humble welcoming man

“We’ll be a while, Sir Poet and companion,”

floats that voice from Valley floor

“Fetching a couple of stray ewes,

But take evening meal with us,

At the farmhouse, yonder.”

And starts to reel of directions

Alacrity whispers furiously in his ear

He laughs.

“You know where it is ,Sir, what you say ?”

You and Alacrity eye to eye across a valley

No animosity, just wonder

“Thank you ,friend, If I may call you that

We will be down and many thanks”

They scamper off through shallow snow

And we, stunned by fortune’s blessing,

Say such rubbish to each other as

“we wont stay for long “

“ are we dressed right”

“got a spare card in your bag ?”

Then give up on words

And kiss as reassurance in this spinning world

with reassuring passion

Ivy tendrils brush and caress us both

As we climb the style,

The one from our road down to their valley

And then slide downhill on our frozen coats

Towards that secret farmhouse in white hills.

Picking ourselves up on valley floor

Dusting snow out of clothes

And blowing warmth into hands,

Hands deep into pockets

I find a crumpled packet

And my knuckles crack.

I hold out my find in awe:

A golden ring and some frankincense

Gifts for the house at Yule

The Meal

As we approach, in some trepidation, the door,

It opens wide and before we see Ernest,

Scrubbed and worsted suited

Hair wreathed in Holly as a crown

We smell cleaned wood and the smells of cooking:

Fresh bread and mulled cider

wrench small “aahs” from us both.

He says

“Be welcome here again, Sir Poet

And companion too,

I have watched your mind from here a lot

So be welcome at our table

You too have dreamed our world,

Through reflections and your heart.

Our Poet friend quite likes you, it appears

So we all thought you should be here.”

Dare we Enter ? We think as one,

And “yes” come slowly to us

As the undream unfolds another ream,

And drags us into Delphic times.

The kitchen is not quite as I remember,

But dreams are fickle things;

There is much more darkness in dark corners,

But all else is swathed in winter Green:

Ivy, Holly,Spruce (for Wolf, he loves the smell),

And mistletoe on high.

Fresh bread, of course, upon huge and grainy table

Mulled wine and cider, hand patted  butter,

Cedar smelling wooden bowsl awaiting filling,

And beeswax candles, painted red,

Make sweet smelling smokey light.

“Party Clothes” out host solemly intones

and, with a smile well hidden in deep set eyes,

hands you a scarlet riding cloak and hood,

and me a toga and a laurel wreath.

Ardent enters, White wolf pelted as a cloak

shakes hands with me,

But kisses you on both cheeks

For maybe a second longer than was polite.

“I miss my Queen”, he says, low voiced

“You look so like her in this light,

but when the weather breaks

when spring comes

when the first green arrives”

he pauses, for a moment sad.

I think you hug him ,yes, sure of that

And hold this beauteous man

In sudden clear affection

Until he pulls away

“we all have known some loss”

he says and smiles, cheeks teared,

“tears ?” you ask, he smiles “because..”

what reply we might have had,

or made to him, you or I,

sickening as memory lurches deeper into our hearts’ myth,

is broken by an opening door

and, candelbra first, miss Alacrity arrives,

Moss green dress, trimmed with emerald and teal,

And says to all

that ceremonies

Are not to be stood on,

And that we are fools not to help ourselves,

But as is the way of Queens in their own realm,

She does things her way

And all obey

Cheeses, winter salads appear,

And a pottage pot,

From which comes the finest smell

And serves us all our soup,

Then sits down next to you

And says, as plain as the sun in summer,

“I’ve heard my dear friend loves you,

so I would also be your friend”.

I can neither hear nor remember

From where I am writing now

What deep and sweet places

Your conversations took,

But I can recall that recipes

And home made clothes,

Though mentioned,

Were not the meat of the matter.

Ernest’s Ravens, in festive mood,

Push holly berry’s with their beaks

down the table’s length

in wild and cawing race.,

then get serious with the farmhouse cat

scrabbling and squabbling for scraps

beneath the table.

The range kicks out dry heat,

Cold muscle knots unwind,

And after a mulled cider interlude,

The Master says

It’s time.

They leave.

The Mummers

Coated, gloved once again,

As we two find ourselves

Stumbling through a whitewashed passageway

And reach the yard behind, and find

Circles and spirals of sawdust lain

Soaked in some oily agent.

We are alone, it appears, until

The barn door is kicked open from inside,

A Boom reverberates and distant rooks answer cawing,

And a black face walker of the night,

Hurls high a blazing pitchpine log

Upwards upwards

Raining and trailing sparks,

As the roughest sweetest tune

That ever an accordion fought and won

Slithers out of the barn behind

In gigantic coils and loops.

In an instant , blazing spirals on the ground,

As blazing log ignites the sawdust rune

And player and walker lead a dance

A wild dance, a delicate dance,

A madman’s dance, a perfect dance

Round and through all the spirals:

Heavy boots and bells

Clump and ring

And antlers worn on every head,

Clacking together

In some old language

As others leave the barn,

And follow the leader in the dance

But in every sacred, dirty dance

The perfection is shown by one unplanned event,

The leader bends and scoops,

Fast and direct in movement,

From the edge of fire,

A watching cat, a farm cat queen,

And throws him our way to catch.

“yours I believe” booms familiar voice

and a cat we know lands in our arms .

For a moment dancers, flames, the stars stand still

And that thing occurs again,

Nausea inducing, eyeball bursting change

Between us, but we do not hurl,

As in a moment we have our Cat,

Wild haired and lovely,

And agape with wonder,

“ I fell and tripped” she began

but stops herself

As the dance bursts out in renewed joy,

At two world’s power of three

And then they stop and speak,

Framed by a freeze in time and flames,

As if threatening us with murd’rous verse.

What Gods we have among us,

If we dare look, playing as hempen homespuns

So near the cradle of Greenwood’s Queen.

THE PLAY

“Here be ,I The valley King

Part the flames I enter in,

I take My Valley to my heart

And will protect it from the dark

I have two Ravens here with me

Named after Thought and Memory,

If evil comes here in disguise

They’ll split its skin and eat its eyes”

“Here be I , half wolf ,half man

Half born in snow, half in England,

To fight, to die for love’s my thing,

So give me room, I enter in

Give me room to rhyme I say,

Love is strong, will have its day.”

“Here be I, sister of all,

I enter in and will not fall,

And though I fuss about my men

Above them I will rise again,

The sweetest ruler the world has seen

But tonight I am green valley’s queen”

So far so good, we three watch

Gods or myths at rustic play,

Some dark midwinter pastoral,

Acted out forever and a day,

Three players, musician,

in shadows more

To appear we feel,

And clutch each other in anticipation.

Round Cowsheds edge at a run

A horse’s skull on long black log black pole

Deliciously frightening,

Carried by one in black

Preceded by a man in red

Who leaps magnificently

Across the fire not once

But many times

To our cheers and appreciation,

But to silence from the players

He stops ,demands more adulation from us three

We give it, unabashed

And then he speaks,

With tones of snake and honey

“Here be I, Beelzebub

On my shoulder I carry a club

I love it when men for me shout

I enter in and bring them doubt

I bring the ague,cold and plague

Disease,despair and sullen rage

I bring bring them aches and biting pains

And tell them others are to blame

tonight’s my night, I am about

I’ll do such ill and cause such rout

Unless any one will throw me out”

A pause, we expect a comic fight

but nothing happens from our three,

And in this moment of growing doubt

The rattling nags head of a skull,

Leering lairy over his left shoulder

Seems to grin so wide.

I see the opening and enter in

Filling a gap between earth and them

Extemporising,

Perhaps even showing off a bit,

To my dauntless redcloaked belles.

“Here be I, poet from another land

To fight the dark I’ll lend a hand,

I’ll be this Hallowed Eve’s St. George,

If I can borrow a trusty sword”

Ernest pulls back his cloak

And draws a silvered blade,

And hands it over

As lithe and shining as a trout,

His sister freezes as if horror

And Ardent says

He said the words

“All we can do is watch.”

And yes, dear reader,

I have bitten off the world,

And no slick wordplay

Or specious loving intent

Can guard me now,

Though I risk, in French, “en garde,”

My adversary, standing within his flames,

Draws a red sword, shakes his locks,

Maggots writhe and die in flames

And I advance,

Too deep in to back away,

But keep my end up for a bit,

And find that he fights with my strength,

So we are matched,

But he tires not.

I need more strength,

Look to you for love

To catch your eyes

And in that instant

The red sword strikes

And I,gasping in deep cold,

Fall.

Trapped in ancient spell

The family can only cry

“A Doctor,A Doctor,

Is there a doctor in the house ?”

Expecting nothing now

But to fight for their valley

And humankind

As they do every year

“A doctor ?”

Cloaked woman rises with a swagger

“Dear me, no, no call for him”

Her twin arises too,

Wild hair dancing with firelight

“By Hecate, can’t trust the men,

There’s only one thing we can do”.

A cackle .”In front of them ?”

“Of course, where else ?

It was his fault, but my desire

Is to hear more words

Taste more lips.

His journey doesn’t end tonight”

I am cold

Under cold stars

And drifting

When warm hands

Warm lips and bodies

Naked in the burning rune,

Caress and ride me in the dark,

Cry and weep,

Scald me back from death with burning tears

With wet and hungry loins

With the gift of giving life.

I am no longer cold , adrift.

I am canopied by legs and tongues,

I become erect and feel more life

Than ever felt before.

I try to stand again,

But you two pin me to the floor

And further waves of heat,

Of love, of life come along

And come my way.

Just when it seemed to me

That I was dead again,

This time round from happiness,

The wise women stopped

And handed me the sword again.

“Carry on, stranger, “

They laugh and disappear

Back beneath their cloaks

Two blows and he is gone

Red and black running scared

Back behind the cowsheds

To their home in darkest slurry pit.

I am confused, words spin in and out of worlds

and I am made to hand back the sword

there is more singing,

Joyful now. Soprano, Alto, Descant as well

Daring the new snow falling to try harder

To be more beautiful,

To be more fair.

And for another year

We have all fought back the dark.

EPILOGUE

As the Gods and good return

to men and women on this day

,life gifted by two amazons

I start to laugh with warmer note

Than I had ever dreamed before,

And Mummers, family and friends

Drink deep and start another song,

As if oblivious of the last events,

Harmonising upwards, notes follow

The sparks of the still burning rune,

And snow flakes leave a route

There is still a path

Towards the clear and frosty stars.

All our heads look upwards

And spin in muzzy maze:

Of where we three are, had been,

And what we have seen and done today.

Alacrity sees our group, advances,

Lightly and delighted

Takes leaves from her basket,

And throws them on the embers.

She tells us that if we look hard

We may see new constellations:

And we look up and do,

As greenwood smoke surrounds us:

Reindeer, Wolf and Wildcat climb

To dance around Polaris’ winter shine.

She hugs us all with something of earth’s love

And whispers words to each of us,

Ones that we are not meant to share,

And bids us all, with silent prayer,

To grow, and dance, and love and share.

Our constelation stars explode within us

In brightest of bright heat and love,

And rubbing eyes we wake

In our own beds

With wreaths of laurel in our hair

Stars in our eyes

And snow still on our coverlets.

When I awoke

I found holly berries

Clenched in my palm.

How was it for you,

My dears ?