Copse ‘N’ Corpse (Part 13)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 13) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Rain fell lashing in puddles splashing,

Whilst sea surged dashing rocks: but,

One moment tender paused to linger,

Soft lips interlocked.


Posed embracing whilst he bracing,

Pulled her closer still.

As if as one, both overcome,

Tears begun to spill.


About his hand her fingers curled,

In which his precious heart was held,

“Come what may,” I heard her say,

“Together forever night and day.”


A way away upon high land,

In reach of us upon low sand,

A bell sung-out the hour at hand:

Sending forth its one demand.


“Come my love, we can’t delay,”

“Perpetuity exists beyond the grey,”

“Our time has come, we must be gone,”

“Spirited far, far away.”


Closer still, now limpet tight,

Entwined upon this stormy night,

In yearning to escape their plight,

She moved her hand to make it right.


His withered heart from cloth unrolled,

B’twixt black sack, poke of old,

Placed in a space with tender care,

Nightingale eased his aching despair.


Wide-eyed was I, and so entranced,

This lurid love an exquisite romance.

I dared not blink, for if by chance,

I missed their changing circumstance.


Twas then a flash of jagged light,

A flailing chord lightning white,

Lit bright the dark of darkly night,

Blinded me, blurred my sight.


That searing bolt of brilliant hue,

Raced at pace, fast and true,

Struck both lovers still infused,

Bored deep into the floor.


Bedrock shattered, fragments scattered,

Sand fused as glassine,

Never before in all my yore

Had I witnessed such a scene!


So sudden was this manifestation:

This pyrotechnic aberration,

With thunder came conflagration,

Scorching heat, decimation!


Air dense with dirt, dust, debris,

With flame and smoke engulfing me,

I was lifted-up, blown-around,

Thrown down hard on sodden ground.


Dazed, confused, battered, bruised,

Breathless, pale with shock,

Slipping, sliding, intent on hiding,

I scrambled to the rocks.


Slumped behind a craggy boulder,

I chanced quick glance across my shoulder,

To where beyond the blistering blaze,

A shadow loomed in rippling haze.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 12) precedes this post. Part 14 to follow shortly ~


~ Artwork by Dewin Nefol ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 12)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 12) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Thunder-clapped, tumultuous applause,

Gods raged above sand shores,

Air sizzled, rain drizzled,

Lightning seared swelled sea.


Anvil headed storm-cloud stacks,

Night squeezed ‘tween black cracks,

In darkness shared with dark company,

Nevermore reached tentatively.


Woody tips touched mort-cloth strips:

 Grasped gently at the bundle,

Nightingale squeaked, urgency piqued,

Overhead thunder rumbled.


Twas as if he held a priceless gift:

An item o so precious.

Cradling his savaged heart,

Left him o so breathless.


He paused for a moment, head titled,

Hand stilted unbinding rag:

As if in peeling, unwrapping, revealing,

Disclosure made him sad.


I knew so little of his fate,

Nor of his days of life: but yet,

Twas plain to see in each degree,

His suffering, his sorrow, his strife.


I sensed his misgiving, his acute unease,

Tho’ certain was I he’d be appeased.

Yet each turn of cloth he moved farther,

His demeanour deepened ever darker.


“My fate,” said he, “a pitiful end,”

“So sudden, stabbed with pain.”

“Such gloom consumes this heavy heart,”

“Would I desire to feel it again?”


“Yes yes my love,” Nightingale said,

“But sweet is our memory.”

“Dread being dead can’t hurt us now,”

“Together for eternity.”


She flapped and flew to his hand,

Perched resting on a finger,

She looked at he so lovingly,

Before once more a singer.

“Neath deep sea life lay drowned,”

“In mort-cloth was your heart enwound,”

“But to my heart your love is bound,”

“For in my soul your soul is found.”


“So near,” she sung, “so nearly free,”

“Feel the love I have for thee.”

“Come my love, journey with me,”

“Beyond the stars to infinity.”


I heard her mutter, watched her flutter,

Quickly she flew my view.

When then of a sudden, no-longer hidden,

As a ghost she returned hitherto.


More beautiful than I first recalled,

Ethereal as a Luna-moth,

Crouched on sand she took his hand,

Teased away stained cloth.


Timed just right, a lightening strike,

As to his lips she pressed her own.

“Don’t be afraid,” she softly sung,

“Tis time to come on home.”


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 11) precedes this post. Part 13 to follow shortly ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 11)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 11) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


For an hour or more upon seashore,

Huddled near haggard rocks,

Beneath full bloom of a silvery Moon,

Beholding the metal box.


Nevermore hadn’t moved,

Nor had he said a word,

Lips tight-stitched, gaze transfixed,

As was the lyrical bird.


He looked at peace but underneath,

I knew he was perturbed.

Inside he fumed, his thoughts consumed,

By all that had occurred.


In rage-wet eyes bitterness lingered,

In balled fists anger hungered,

Long lost years spilt as tears:

Damp tracts on hessian sack.


At length he turned, looked at me,

His face devoid of misery,

In its stead a smile had spread,

Spread glinting in his eyes.


He bowed his head in gratitude,

Removed his gunny hood,

“One thing more I ask of you,”

Then slowly rose and stood.


Between his robes of plastic clothes,

He reached a woody hand.

A short crowbar with chamfered tip,

Was placed upon the sand.


“Please,” he said, “prise the box,”

“I have no strength to do it.”

“Slowly, slowly if you please,”

“My heart, do not tear it.”


And so it was I set about,

My task an assiduous affair:

Gently probing ‘tween seams corroding,

Jamming the jemmy with care.


Minutes passed when then at last,

Box and lid separated.

Although enclosed was not exposed,

Twas a moment long awaited.


The silent Chat sat no more,

Fluttered feathers and to the floor,

Flew to view what lay in store,

Inside the metal box.


Eager, excited, indeed delighted,

Unburdened of her pity,

She cooed to embolden Nevermore,

Trilled an enchanting ditty.


He adoring gazed down at her,

She gazed up at him,

Then carefully he raised the lid,

To see what lay within.


A bundle bound in oilskin rag,

Wrapped inside a mort-cloth bag,

Lay betwixt two rustic roods,

In an open box of wood.


When then a sound from all around,

As if a quiet humming,

Feint at first, grew and grew,

Became a thunderous drumming!


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 10) precedes this post. Part 12 to follow shortly ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 10)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 10) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Fingers of light scything bright,

Cool mist upon the sea,

A golden glaze through wispy haze,

Reached-out to welcome me.


Stroke by stroke I made my way,

Slowly, slowly towards the bay,

In my wake undulating grey,

Fumed at my trespass.

Soft sand at last between my toes,

Firm ground, a rocky shore.

Upon the beach I sat me down,

To one side laid Nevermore.


A way away a tolling buoy,

Feint echo of a bell,

Faded, fading, evaporating,

Fell silent in briny swell.


Tired, overcome, exhausted, undone,

Sore eyes saw nothing more.

Sprawled on sand, safe on land,

Soon asleep upon the shore.


For an age I slept in warming sun,

 Adrift in curious dreams:

Untethered, untied, like a boat afloat,

Or a mote borne on jet-streams.


I awoke ‘neath a cloak of shimmering stars,

Glinting on brocade and crewel,

Each shone bright with crystallised light,

Each was a glistening jewel.


Moths and Loons hailed the Moon:

Selene a hoary orb,

The bay alive with silvered life,

In her light were absorbed.


One large Moth black as night,

Spiralled down in my sight,

It came to land on-top of rocks,

Close beside the metal box.


I saw it settle, raise dark wings,

Lift its head, heard it sing,

It called to others close nearby,

A quiet lament for one who’d died.


Before my eyes, to my surprise,

Through an eclipse of flutter-by’s,

Darkness shifted, a shadow drifted,

A hooded figure stood tall.


Tall and slight, dark as night,

No robes or clothes around him:

Instead four-bags tied with string,

Were tightly bound to wooden limbs.


In his hand perched Nightingale,

Sat silent without lament,

Both he and she gazed longingly,

Knowing of the box’s content.


Removing his hat the Scarecrow sat,

Sat crossed-legged upon dry sand,

Swift and true Nightingale flew,

Flew to land on my hand.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 9) precedes this post. Part 11 to follow shortly ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 9)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 9) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Freeing tight choke of binding ropes,

I brushed aside dirt and debris,

With padlock sighted, I delighted,

Reaching for Nightingale’s key.


My body shook, fingers fumbled,

Numbness harried my hand,

Slowly inserting, mechanism turning,

Box unlocked upon the sand!


But rusted, encrusted, tightly sealed,

It wouldn’t open, wouldn’t yield!

Wasted seconds for I had no time,

Intention turned to freeing my line.


Chaffed red raw, my limb rubbed sore –

By a cable firmly tied.

It wouldn’t free or let go of me,

No matter how hard I tried.


Close to frantic, in utmost panic,

My thoughts confused, unclear,

Yet amidst such churning, a quiet stirring,

My mind brought forth an idea.


Away to my right, in my sight,

Part-hidden, housed in grey,

A truck of steel, upright on wheels,

Upon tracks of iron lay.


Stumbling, staggering, I made my way,

The box clasped tight to my chest,

Now burning within, lungs starving,

But no time to pause or rest.


Beside one side of the rusting truck,

I knelt upon the floor,

What hope I had rewarded luck:

This wagon empty of mined-ore.


Pressing my weight against its side,

I pushed for all my worth,

Sliding my line beneath its wheel,

I rocked it back and forth.


Such a motion caused commotion:

The sea awash with debris.

But evidently clear as I peered,

The line was fraying nicely!


With one final heave the line broke,

My limb, my body, set free!

No longer a shroud, a thickly cloak,

I hastened to flee the sea!


Upon sand floors, through hung doors,

My legs strove to stride,

Once outside the cavernous mine,

I ascended assisted by tide.


Upwards, upwards, towards sunlight,

Swimming hard with all my might,

Breaking free, escaping dark sea,

Nevermore’s heart accompanying me.


I surfaced gasping in briny swell,

Lungs inflating, breathlessness dispelled,

Buoyant was I amidst cresting foam,

Turning, turning, yearning for home.


~ Cope ‘n’ Corpse (Part 8) precedes this post. Part 10 to follow shortly ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 8)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 8) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Hollowed by nature, hewn by hand,

This entrance with an arching span,

Spanned a space squat and wide,

Room aplenty to squeeze inside.


Tumbled boulders flanked both sides,

Sand lay strewn at whim of tides, yet,

Clear divide upon sea-bed,

Where rusting rail-tracks led.


Tho’ little remained of timber frames,

Columns of wood stood tall,

Below its mantle remnants dangled:

Derelict doors about to fall.


Tho’ dark and dingy I could see,

Inside the cave in front of me.

What little light infused deep grey,

Revealed a dismal passageway.


All this I saw with one quick glance:

An image blurred as if in trance,

Yet easily distracted, my eye attracted,

To where above the mine hung a sign.


In stark contrast to sand and sea,

Affixed to rock horizontally,

Painted in red, ‘Beware!’ I read.

‘Unsafe! Abandoned Mine!’


But time was pressing, lungs stressing,

My dilemma as yet unsolved.

With firmer resolve I renewed my haste,

Quickened my pull, upped my pace.


Pinewood slats where blockading doors,

Lay ruined upon sea floor.

Through this opening I scurried forth,

Hand-over-hand for all my worth.


A short way in the cable thinned:

Twas frayed to just one wire.

Diminished in size it began to rise,

Vertically higher and higher.


To sea-floor I threw my coiled line:

Gathered en route to the disused mine,

It weighted me down upon the ground,

 By its action aiding my traction.


But yet, it was this line about my limb,

Tightly knotted, chaffing skin,

Which bound me here inside this hole:

Too heavy to carry, swim and haul.


I stumbled forwards towards cave wall,

Felt gentle currents push and pull,

Hands took hold of slippery rock,

I climbed to where the wire stopped.


Stretching upwards, stood on toes,

Reaching where my line goes:

Inside a fissure formed in fractured rock,

Wherein it coiled about a box.


Tightly held, secured fast,

A box small in size, from metal cast.

Rusted, dusted but still intact,

Its casing complete, without a crack.


With urgent fumbling, rock-wall crumbling,

At last the box tumbled down.

It lay on sea floor where I could see more,

More of the box I’d found.

Still locked, bound, chained around,

Still tied with rotting rope,

I hurried my hand to find the lock,

Believing there was still hope.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 7) precedes this post. Part 9 to follow shortly ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 7)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 7) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Deep, dark, unsettling murk,

Gaping gaps where creatures lurked,

Small fish swished, sped and swam,

Hurried, scurried, scattered, scrammed.


Bumped, bruised, breathless, confused,

My body scratched and scraped,

Turning, twisting, without desisting,

Persisting despite my aches.


Hastening hard along the line,

When I saw a light source shine.

Twas dull at first, as if submersed,

Diffused by silt each tidal burst.


But a light is was, a beaming ray,

Through salty sea had made its way,

To shine brightly in caliginous grey:

Illume small space to survey.


Straining to see through sombre sea,

I was convinced beyond all doubt,

Bubbles flowed and quickly rose,

Rising from a thermal spout.


Not just one bubble but a stream!

A string of bubbles ascending!

Could it be oxygen being vented?

Or anoxic gas quickly lamented?


Whilst tied by cable down below,

I had no choice but to go.

Investigate pearlescent glow,

Or else forgo my life!


Closer now, said shaft of light,

Glowed at depths to my right.

Twas pale but sufficiently bright,

To guide me to the venting site.


Kicking hard ‘tween coral shards,

Through kelp and rocky reef,

I hauled down hard on seaweed stems,

Towering from way beneath.


The shaft of light now dim in glim,

Pooled on something glistening.

Mineral matter from a vent,

Scattered the floor as sediment.


Cautious, despairing, in need of airing,

Fearing hot toxic stew,

I slammed a hand into the flow,

Watched as bubbles bubbled through.


Cool to touch, no smell or scent,

I placed my mouth to the vent,

Then squatting down upon the ground,

Breathed-in effervescence.


Oxygen rich was a heady mix,

I succumbed to disorientation.

Yet held by cable, I felt enabled,

Buoyed by oxygenation.


With lungs inflated, spirit elated,

Once again pursuing the line,

To where extended it abruptly ended,

Beyond slats of shattered pine.


If not for absence of silt and debris,

Or flourishing fields of swaying kelpie,

I’d never have seen where cable led:

To a cavernous opening on seabed.


Twas entrance to a deserted mine,

Abandoned from an earlier time,

When long before sea-water tore,

 Crumbled dry land upon the shore.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 6) precedes this post. Part 8 to follow shortly ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 6)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 6) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Fumbling around upon the ground,

In hope of finding Nevermore,

But only cold sea, sand and debris,

Lay upon the ocean-floor.


Pain in my chest urgently pressed,

 Encouraged me to rise.

‘Stay to long,’ echoed Nightingale’s song,

‘You’ll be gone with the tide.’


‘Quickly, quickly,’ I quietly thought,

Hands busied yet finding naught,

Fretful, anxious, flurried, fraught,

Eager to find the box I sought.


With little purchase in sea-bed,

My body buoyed, elevated,

Currents coursed, quickly shifted,

So to I quickly drifted.


Pushed and pulled to-and-fro,

Caught unaware by tidal flow,

With anchorage lost: I’d let go,

Hauled away by undertow.


I tumbled, twisted, turned, spun,

All sense of direction verily undone,

Which way up, which way down,

Whirled was I around, around.


How far I travelled, how far flung?

Swiftly currents carried me on,

Faster, faster, further away: was it

Out to sea or towards the bay?


Til dragged upon a craggy reef:

Saw-tooth coral with rock beneath.

Bubbles of air escaped clenched teeth,

Breathless now I had to breathe.


I looked above towards dull glow,

Fifty feet, not far to go,

Yet something coiling down below,

Reached for me from shadow.


Harder I tried, tighter it tied,

Entwining about my limb.

I couldn’t see what held me:

Tethered unable to swim.


Desperate for air, lungs hurting,

I reached to grasp the vine-like thing,

Fingers reached, searched and found,

A tenacious tentacle holding me down.


Twas a thickly line, perhaps a cable,

Heavy-set but yet still able,

To rise and full on current’s whim,

To grab and grapple everything.


Now tautly bound around my skin,

Doubtless tightened by my struggling,

I couldn’t release its grip on me:

Escape this fate and flee.


Tiring quickly, my thinking slow,

Weakened with no oxygen flow,

With seconds passing I decided to go,

Deeper still into coral growth.


Twas where the cable must’ve led,

Secured somehow to rocky-bed,

Perhaps if I could free it there?

Free myself, surface for air.


Dismal depths where shadow loomed,

Confining spaces, constricted room,

Jagged jaws, ragged rock,

Coral snagged but I didn’t stop.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 5) precedes this post. Part 7 to follow shortly ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 5)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 5) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Briny cold sea swallowed me,

Stole breath from my lungs,

In need of air I reached for where,

Braced iron formed ladder rungs.


I grasped gasping as sea-salt rasping,

Purged my throat and gut.

Twas all I could do not to spew,

Holding tight the metal strut.


Chills spilled, ice-water steeped,

Cold crept under my skin,

Frigid sea penetrated me,

Seeped deep-down within.


I took one moment to adjust,

Gathered my wits before I rushed,

Once more beneath ocean waves,

Kicking my legs for thrust.


Beneath the buoy a wire thread,

Led down into the sea,

With hands gripping, grip slipping,

I hauled-line ahead of me.


What little light grew less bright,

Whilst deeper I descended,

A murky gloom as if in a tomb,

Into gloaming depths extended.


About half-way, or so I thought,

Line gave way to chain,

Heavily rusted, barnacle encrusted,

Ripped my hands again, again.


What drove me on beyond this mark,

Towards sea-bed in the dark?

Nothing more than a promise made,

To free a heart lost in shade.


Insistant pain hindered my gain,

But downwards I persisted,

Pressure pressed with relentless zest,

Yet somehow I resisted.


When then touch-down upon the ground:

Feet sinking in silt sand.

 Darkness stole all sight from me,

Here in this fluid land.


By sense of touch I fumbled around,

Fingers feeling for a casket bound,

Enwound by chain, leaden blocks:

Layered silt, heavy rocks.


Whether by luck or curious fate: not a box,

But a tether of significant weight,

 Taut and tied to a riveted-plate,

Headed away, straight across the floor.


Without pause or hesitation,

Nor deviation from this line,

I pulled along at rapid pace,

Knowing there was little time.


Between rough rocks, through kelp sward,

 Hastening quicker, swimming hard,

Until the cable slackened, frayed:

My head reeled, my heart dismayed.


Frantic with panic in claggy sea,

I let go the line guiding me,

Both hands grabbled across the floor,

Desperately searching for Nevermore.


Short of air, close to despair,

Unanchored from iron chain,

With lungs burning, silt churning,

My will began to wain.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 4) precedes this post. Part 6 to follow shortly ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 4)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 4) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


The sea a grey tenebrous blue,

An expanse of nondescript hue,

Sepia fog restricted our view,

Easing out beyond the bay.


About the boat soft pitter-patter,

Raindrops fell, gently splattered.

Old oak oars splashed and spliced,

Propelling our flotation device.


Silent but for Nightingale’s song,

A quiet lament for one long gone,

Whose bonded heart beats o so strong,

 Whose tender love lives on-and-on.


Wave at our bow, wake at stern,

Sailing onwards, never turned,

Through mist, murk and mystery,

Closer to the heart of he.


With arms straining, hands sore,

Distant from far sandy shore,

Our boat pushed on quickly now,

Deeper into claggy cloud.


“Not far! Not far!” Nightingale sang:

Lifted in spirit as a buoyed-bell rang.

“Quickly, quickly,” she said to me,

“Save my love, set him free.”


When then a smudge of orange hue,

A florescent shade disrupted blue,

A spherical buoy secured by chain,

Topped an iron-strutted frame.


“Yes, yes,” cried the excited Chat,

Now sat on the floating form.

She’d curtailed her whine, secured a line,

Tied our boat to the platform.


Whilst I prepared Nightingale aired

Instructions for my task.

It wouldn’t do being confused,

‘Neath the sea I couldn’t ask.


“Dive, dive,” the songbird said,

“Dive to where the cable’s led.”

“Down, down, plunge straight ahead,”

“Down until you touch sea-bed.”


“There on the floor lies Nevermore.”

“In a box chained and weighted.”

“Loosen rocks, undo locks,”

“And my love is liberated.”


Perhaps now bolder to my shoulder,

She flew and nestled down.

“Safe and sound, soon homeward bound,”

“Soon back on firmer ground.”


A sudden swell tolled the bell,

As if warning of our trespass.

“Hurry, hurry, the tides do scurry,”

“Deep currents move so fast.”


She fluttered feathers then to my hand,

Perched resting on a finger.

“Stay too long you’ll be gone,”

“Neither pause nor linger.”


From my pocket I pulled the key,

Twas tied to thread carefully.

About my wrist I bound it tight,

Within my reach, within my sight.


 Then to the edge of our boat,

One step further onto the float,

Which rolled, tolled, tipped and pitched,

Ditching me in the sea.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 3) precedes this post. Part 5 to follow shortly ~


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 3)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 3) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Soft breeze played, swayed tall trees,

Splayed high branches, rattled leaves.

Upon a path ‘neath broad canopies,

I wove my way to the sea.


Where woodland thinned, where scrub began,

Where grass grew in golden sand,

Here my track trailed away –

Ending in a secluded bay.


A rock-strewn cove, craggy cliffs,

Brackish spray, drifting mist.

The day now grizzled, softly drizzled,

Pockmarked the siliceous shore.


Upon the strand impressed in sand,

Footprints led to where ahead,

The slip and slide of the tide,

Rumbled, tipped and tumbled.


Pausing one moment to contemplate,

 I mused the fate of Nevermore.

Somewhere out-there ‘neath ebb and flow,

Lay his heart upon sea floor.


‘Inside a metal box,’ she’d said,

‘Wrought iron, tied and bound.’

‘Weighted-down with heavy stones,’

‘Wherein his heart is found.’


“But where amidst deep briny sea?”

“Where indeed might his heart be?”

“Must I search for eternity,”

“To find his grave beneath the waves?”


As if on cue a Nightingale flew,

Flew twittering across the sea,

Around-and-around ’til settling down,

Upon the ground next to me.


“Far from shore lies Nevermore,”

“Sunk beneath a tolling buoy.”

“Tis tied by thread to the sea-bed -“

“Follow this cable to enable his joy.”


I looked to see what I could see,

But only sea stared back at me.

“How to reach this buoyed bell?”

“If you know please do tell.”


She smiled as only a Nightingale can,

Fluttered feathers, scratched at sand.

Beneath her claw a rope I saw:

Frayed, knotted and rotted.


The lamenting Chat flapped and sat,

Sat high upon my shoulder.

“Within your reach across the beach,”

“Hides a boat behind a boulder.”


Given new hope I lifted the rope,

Pulled it free of wet sand,

Hand-over-hand I coiled the line, ’til

Finding a boat on dry land.


‘Twas secreted away ‘neath tarpaulin,

Part-buried by tumbled stone.

It was intact, in-fact complete,

Dusty, lying prone.


Hauling line I set her free,

Dragged the boat to the sea,

Then casting off I made my way,

Rowing out into the bay.


Upon the bow sat Nightingale,

Guiding me on through the pale:

A veil of fog, a misted wall,

And onwards towards a tolling bell.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 2) precedes this post. Part 4 to follow shortly ~ 


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 2)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 2) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


When then a subtle single shift,

A lifting of the gloom,

Twas if sunlight reappeared, or

Darkness left some room.


I wasn’t sure as I gazed,

Through haze to where he’d stood,

But the hatted scarecrow,

Had left the darkly wood.


In his stead a woman knelt,

Knelt weeping on the floor.

She paused to pray but briefly,

Before shedding tears some more.


Beside a graveside softly sighing,

In dappled shade of Yews,

Here her hands busied tidying,

Dying flowers, blackened blooms.


Weathered headstone granite grim,

Chiselled, grizzled, letters dim,

To one unknown whose body lay,

Six-foot deep in soils of grey.


With tender touch thin fingers traced,

Soft lips mouthed a name,

“Nevermore,” she quietly said,

“Come back to me again.”


Spilling tears she looked at me,

“I am the Nightingale,” said she,

“Whose love lies lost beneath the sea,”

“Whose heart is lost to melancholy.”


“Twas early morn at crack of dawn,”

“When three stole him away,”

“Beat, bound, hung him high,”

“Until first light next day.”


“Then cut down, spliced into four,”

“Scattered across the forest floor,”

“But not his heart, for that was locked,”

“Inside a sunken metal box.”


When then she showed her palm to me,

Where-in there lay a tarnished key,

Twas old and gold and radiant,

Fashioned most beautifully.


“For thee,” said she slowly rising,

“So as to go where I cannot be:”

“Unlock the box beneath the sea,”

“Set-free his heart,” said she.


Her words faded upon a breeze,

Short, sudden, moving quickly,

One moment there, the next she’d gone –

But for the echo of a Nightingale’s song.


I paused to ponder, to reflect upon,

All she said, all that happened.

What had I witnessed? What did I see?

Everything was complete mystery!


I wondered why she’d come to me,

How I’d help her destiny.

“And what of the box found under the sea?”

“Where Nevermore’s heart is bound?”


I felt confused but yet quite certain,

I’d find more beyond this forest curtain: or else,

Why did I have eyes to see?

Why else reveal this mystery?


Someway ahead a pathway led,

Eased down through forest trees,

I turned towards it with intention,

Of moving-on from this location.


I took long strides in that direction,

When something glinting caused distraction,

And there before me on the floor,

A key of gold to free Nevermore.


Said key of gold, ornate and old,

Was formed so perfectly,

A polished blade, toothed, well-made,

Its bow inlaid with ivory.


With key in hand and curiosity,

Pushing, pulling, impelling me,

I headed down the phantom track,

Decision made, no turning back.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 1) precedes this post. Part 3 to follow shortly ~ 


Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 1)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 1) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Exiting a bypass, junction 33,

Along a dusty country road,

My strides carried me; further away,

From motorised cacophony.


I dallied, I dawdled,

I lingered here and there,

I listened to the warble,

Of warblers everywhere.


Clacking crows sat in rows,

Gibbering with gabbling gulls,

Yabber, yammer, jibber-jabber

 From tops of telegraph-poles.


I flowed along my road

Alongside field and fold,

Up and over hill crests,

Galumphing over wold.


Until a sty caught my eye,

Wooden, worn, well used,

Over which I tumbled,

To be left a little bruised.


Undeterred I wandered on,

But hadn’t trodden far,

When by a hidden siding,

I found a scarecrow hiding.


A mysterious chap grimacing wide,

Top-hat tilted to one side: but,

An ill-favoured look upon his face,

Had me quicken my rambling pace.


Very soon I became aware,

I was walking a different track,

And yet when I looked behind me,

There was no way back!


Bracken blocked my brambling path,

Hedgerows had grown taller,

I couldn’t see above or beyond,

Twas if I’d grown much smaller


Troubled, confused, puzzled, bemused,

Shivers ran up ‘n’ down my spine,

My enjoyable ramble, my jolly jaunt,

Twas no longer fine!


Whispered words from close behind,

Spun me quickly on my heels,

What stood there before my eyes,

Made me gasp before I reeled.


The grimacing scarecrow, hessian hooded,

Wooded, dressed in rags;

His topper lent an evil bent,

To robes made from body bags.


But its eyes! No longer cross-stitching,

Were black, bleak, bewitching!

O! How they stared at me!

Eyes full of pain, sadness, misery.


I took a big step backwards,

Pressed tight against Blackberry,

But thorns and barbs and piercing things,

Merely punctured or scratched at me.


Curling a twiggy digit, without fabric on it,

The Scarecrow begged me follow,

“Come, come,” it whispered pleading,

Leading a path towards a hollow.


At first unsure, in fact uncertain,

I stayed pinned to bramble’s curtain,

Not knowing what to do: but yet, curious

To know, where the scarecrow would go.


The Scarer, for that’s what it was,

Shuffled back into view,

“Come, come,” it implored again,

“You must come-on through.”


Such was the pain in saddened eyes,

I left the thorn-bush grasping,

And stumbled-on where it had gone,

Breathing hard, almost gasping.


The hollow, a bowl within a copse,

Twas dark, dappled, and eerie,

Seven trees with branches chopped,

Shielded light, made it dreary.


At its centre the gallybagger stood,

Balanced deftly on fallen wood,

As I drew near, it cupped each ear,

Put a fingertip to its lip.


A sudden shift, a quickening breeze,

Screams and shouts between tall trees,

Cries for help, “No! No! Please!”

“Dear God! Won’t you save me!”


Vaporous wisps along our path,

Words I heard, spoken with wrath,

When then emerged three hooded men,

Dragging someone behind them.


Cloaked were they in blackened grey,

Moving with menace, coming our way,

I had no time to step away –

When then they were upon me!


But not upon me, for they weren’t there!

Merely ghosts, phantoms, dense dank air,

Hauling a man with dark brown hair,

Into the hollow, their deathly lair.


Thrown to ground, badly beaten,

Bound, gagged, to make him quieten,

Whilst one swung rope over a bough,

“Let’s see if god, saves you now!”


Dragged to his feet, stripped bare to skin,

Three set about hanging him:

Symbols painted upon his chest,

Satan’s number carved in his flesh.


The noose loose about his neck,

Lifted him from the deck,

Higher, higher, higher he rose,

Body jerking from head to toes.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 2) to follow shortly ~ 


Medley (Part 1)

~ Purple Bow and Golf-Tees ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Whilst out for a walk, circumnavigating a lake,

Upon a grassy-knoll near a narrow intake,

Golf-pegs or tees teased pleasing my eye: and,

Whilst I neither a golfer, or have intention to be,

Thought them left there especially for me.

5 in all, bright white and wooden: put in a line,

Shiny and new, I knew what to do –

Brought them home and made them mine.


When then another curiosity caught my attention,

No doubt a remnant of New Year: a purple bow

Emblazoned with stars I found near a weir.

I wondered how it got there: how it might have travelled,

By land or lake or sea? But of course this bow of mystery,

Retained its hidden history – I’ll never have clarity

In how this bow came to be, but yet, it matters not,

Wizards believe in destiny. This purple bow was fated me.


But what was I to do with both pegs and bow?

I didn’t have a clue. So I waited by the blue

Knowing help would come along: whereupon a crow,

Dark as ebony, set down next to me, and,

Offered his advice. How nice I thought he should care,

So I sat there listening, as with feathers glistening, he spoke.

“Dewin,” he croaked, “wear the Bow, set-up 5-tees,”

“Then striking double-eagles, pen a medley.”


~ Shooting-Star ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Mid-Winter Moon, veiled occluded,

Beech and Birch, Hawthorn precluded,

Garden housed, fenced-in secluded,

There he sat alone and brooded.


High above, night’s deep blackening,

Softened by morning’s flamed awakening,

A new day stirred, emerged still yawning,

Rising dawning in pleated skies.


Upon a wall neither tall nor small,

At one end of a paved patio,

A quiet place, a serene space,

Where few folk chose to go.


Here he sat musing this and that,

Whilst a cat curled at his feet,

Gazed wide-eyed in wonderment,

At Heavens starry firmament.


As jet was she, dark as mystery:

Unsolved, timeless, never-ending,

She mewled, purred, pawed at him,

“Look up,” she said, “see everything.”


As if he’d heard, or following her gaze

Towards the welkin, where betwixt haze,

A shooting-star flaming bright,

Lit white the embers of dying night.


He sighed with delight at such a sight,

Watched as it ignited the Dawn,

First crack of light splitting night,

First breath of a new day born.


“One wish is yours,” she softly purred,

“How might your heart be gently stirred?”

“What flames your fire with desire?”

“What dreams do you keep in sleep?”


“Be mindful my Love, consider well,”

“The fated Prince in a tale told, whose soul”

“Was sold beholding gold, but whose heart”

“Found gloom in a gilded tomb.”


Like liquid night the canny cat,

Moved to sit where he were sat,

Upon his lap so he could see,

Into her eyes gazing up at he.


Wider, wider, wider still, until

With pupils dilated and he fixated,

Lulled by her felidae will, he fell

Into the well of her spell.


As if in a dream freely floating,

Soaring celestial skies: but yet,

Each star burning with untold yearning,

Each star a unique surprise.


Fears and fires, forgotten desires,

His mind in flux, in commotion.

“Wish,” she said, “let your heart be led,”

“To its rightful destination.”


“Think it through, you know what to do,”

“You know what inspires you.”

“Don’t wait or linger, don’t dwell or delay,”

“Make your choice upon this day.”


She mewled, pawed, implored him choose,

“Be quick my Love, before you lose,”

“All sense of feeling to wistful dreaming,”

 “Be quick my Love and choose.”


One star he saw burnt o so bright,

A beacon in his line of sight:

Called-out his name again, again,

As racing he crossed the astral plain.


She, bright star, watched him fly,

Hasten to Her across morning’s sky: She,

Risen and showing, blushed knowing,

As only a Rose glowing knew why.


The stargazing cat uncurled from his lap,

Leaving him alone to brood.

He excited, inspired, delighted,

Alighted the wall in brighter mood.


~ Around ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


These paths I’ll walk in the fullness of time,

Flow on their way like flowing fine wine,

Meandering beside the lakeside shore,

To places unknown where I couldn’t be sure,

Or more uncertain of what will be found.

These pathways leading around-and-around,

Bore with certainty of what will be found,

In places known where I should be sure,

Meandering beside the lakeside shore,

Flow on their way like flowing fine wine,

 These paths I’ve walked in the roundness of rhyme.


~ Ripples ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Where do ripples go having come ashore,

When those ripples are ripples no more?

Should you know then please do say,

I’ve been here watching ripples all day,

And I’m still unsure of where ripples go,

When ripples flow on their way.


~ Glimpsed ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Flash and flare between shrubbery,

Fluorescent apparel appeals to me,

As straining hard against the breeze,

Joggers glimpsed betwixt tall trees.


They pass me by gasp ‘hello,’

Drenched in sweat as they flow,

As they go I watch them glow,

In spandex threads of bright yellow.


Pit-Stop (Part 3)

An abridged poem presented in three parts. Part two precedes this post.


~ Pit-Stop (Part 3) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


“Stories migrate,” the Wizard said,

“They set sail for foreign climes,”

 “Texts and tales both travel trails,”

“Twas their way in ancient times.”


“Bought and sold as gifts or traded,”

“Words of worth were venerated!”

“A Poet’s status elevated: their poetry”

“Once weighted against gold.”


“A journey through a distant land,”

“Landed that poem in your hand,”

“Twas given me by a mystical man,”

“Whose staff entwined two dragons.”


“Said he to me: a time will come,”

“Long after I’m dead, departed, gone,”

“One will arrive to scribe a song,”

“Be sure to pass this ending on.”


“Now if you please,” the Wizard said,

“Pause a moment to get this read,”

“Then onwards again with ink and pen,”

“Scrivener! Scribe-on to the end!”


The hapless Knight held deep below,

Confronted by his blackened soul,

Strained in pain, wept in shadow,

Knowing he’d nowhere to go.


He hung and withered, shaking, quivered,

Poured his heart out to the dark,

For a life of sin he’d lost everything,

Forever scarred by the Devil’s mark.


His woe and wail was to no avail,

In Hell no-one hears you scream,

All alone was he for eternity,

There’d be no redemption for him.


Here he’d hang relentlessly dying,

Endlessly trying to set himself free,

But try as he might there’d be no light,

No escaping the darkness for he.


Years went-by yet time stood still,

Only Death passed-by his fetid cell:

Dragging the damned, showcasing the man,

His prize, the Knight who fell.


On one such pass from the mass,

A dark shadow slithered his way,

Moving low and fast til at last,

Rising it began to sway.


Two eyes stared right through him,

A tongue extended licked his skin,

Whatever it was hissed at him,

Came closer still then hissed again.


It circled around, moved up and down,

As if getting the measure of him,

The Knight tried to hide, closed his eyes,

Hoping this thing was a dream.


But it was there, continuing to stare,

Lips pulled back to bite,

The hapless Knight, terrified with fright,

Hung like bait in the Devil’s lair.


“I am the Spirit,” the beast declared,

“Of a child whose mother was slain,”

“I am his fury, and his Love,”

“His passion and his pain.”


“Through space and time, words in rhyme,”

“In legend and in fable,”

“I’ve searched the world looking for you,”

“Now find you in the Devil’s stable.”


“Where here you hang withered and wasted,”

“Your soul in pieces, annihilated,”

“Your heart bled dry, waiting to die,”

“Death waiting to be satiated.”


“Above this ground, this pit of despair,”

“Stands a man, your son and heir,”

“Grown tall and strong, he lived on,”

“After slaughter, you left him there.”


“What say you now as close to dying,”

“Begging each day, waking crying,”

“For pain to end, for heartache to cease,”

“To depart this world, to go in peace?”


“What would you give for just one chance,”

“To have one glimpse, one look, one glance,”

“To see a Prince become a King.”

“What would you give to end suffering?”


The decrepit Knight whose endless plight,

Had blighted all his years,

“My life,” he said, “for my soul is dead,”

“Pray God, help me with my tears.”


The beast struck with lightening speed,

Ended life for a Knight in need,

Freed his spirit, laid it to rest,

In the beating heart of a Kingly breast.


With flourish Scribe dotted the line,

Set the parchments in the spline, and,

Turned to the Wizard, who all this time,

Was never there to check his rhyme.


~ The End ~


Pit-Stop (Part 2)

An abridged poem presented in three parts. Part one precedes this post.


~ Pit-Stop (Part 2) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Parchment paused upon the turn,

Tallow tapers slowly burnt,

Back to Hell the Scribe returned,

Spurned on by Wizard’s words.


Jagged, ragged, craggy rock,

Slit and sliced, did not stop:

Nor hands that grasped, rasped and raked,

Beneath his feet, all Hell quaked.


Unshackled was he whilst led away,

Through tightly twisting passageways,

Deeper and deeper, deeper still,

Into the very bowels of Hell.


Consumed by darkness, death, decay,

The fetid stench of those that lay,

In slime and filth, in disarray,

Fly-ridden maggots rotting away.


Against the wall, chained and bound,

Hung at height above the ground,

With eyes closed he made no sound,

For heinous things skulked all around.


Shadows left, shade slinked away,

Alone was he, amidst smoky grey:

Ashen faced, his heart dismayed,

For here he’d be for eternal days.


Those first hours, as terror reigned,

Within dull glow of pyric flame,

His body weak, his heart pained,

His head hung low in utter shame.


Over and over and over again,

Deep in the dark of Hell’s domain,

His thoughts persisted, unrelenting, insisted,

Returned to the day he were slain.


But not the battle in which he fell,

His fall from favour far earlier still:

When mindless murder overwhelmed free-will,

He took a life, made his first kill…


As death he came that fated night,

Intent to slay, dispatch and smite.

His razor-edge, flashed with might,

He showed no pity to her plight,


Drunk with fury, blinded by pain,

Red-mist rising, Hell’s fire flamed:

Burning, burning, burning again,

Madness took hold, he went insane.


With babe in arms, she’d try to flee,

Across the moorland to safety,

 Once his lover, a wife to be,

Butchered for her infidelity.


She’d begged, pleaded, implored, entreated,

She’d thrown herself at his feet,

But her Knight, once white, shining bright,

Showed no mercy for her deceit.


Blinded by rage and jealousy,

He struck down hard with savagery,

Silenced her prayers, her piercing screams,

Ended her life, her hopes, her dreams.


There he left her, lying where slain,

 Heaped on the floor, whilst driving rain,

Washed away his sinful shame,

But not the stain in his heart.


Time flowed-by, he ventured on,

Without regret for his past action,

But the sullied seed, a toxic weed,

Grew bleeding in his soul.


Day-by-day, night-by-night,

The poisonous plant bound him tight,

Like a cancer stung, clinging on,

Filled his mind with baneful venom.


To weak to fight, to deny the blight,

Or defy its dastardly rage,

He did its bidding, continued killing,

Wielding its wicked blade.


Until that day, cut down in war,

Bleeding to death upon the floor,

Whilst Ravens gathered overhead,

Urgent to feed on slaughtered dead.


Scribe stopped writing, halted his pen,

The text incomplete, it had no end,

Turned to his mentor, wanting advice,

An unfinished story wouldn’t suffice.


The Wizard watched with knowing eyes,

Rose from his seat, went to the Scribe,

Passed him parchment, slipped from the text,

“The ending,” he said, “it’s what comes next.”


With quill at rest upon his desk,

Scribe reached for the missing pages,

Cast his eye over decolorized words,

Faded by time and Ages.


To his surprise he quickly surmised,

The writing was in another hand,

“The text has travelled,” the Wizard said,

“Denouement from a different land.”


~ End of Part 2 – Part 3 to follow shortly ~


Pit-Stop (Part 1)

An abridged poem presented in three parts. The second instalment to follow shortly…


~ Pit-Stop (Part 1) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


One small room atop a castle tower,

Deep in the keep of midnight’s hour,

A scribe sat writing, hard at labour,

Eager to please his revered mentor.


Glistered soft glow, candlelight glittered,

Feather-tipped quill, in motion flickered,

 Each word transcribed, carefully considered,

Subject to checking by the artful Wizard.


His endeavour this night, an ancient text,

A labyrinth of strangeness, confused, perplexed,

His mind had strived, reached and flexed: but yet,

Bewildered was he, unnaturally vexed.


The dark tale told of a Knight badly bold,

A murderous man of wicked intent,

Who cut-down in war, finally saw,

His diabolical life was spent.


In desperation he offered supplication,

Prayed to an unknown force,

A plea for his life: for continuation,

In return he vowed remorse.


And so it was he was spared: but yet,

A cripple he’d always remain:

Amputated limbs reminding him,

Of his reign dealing death and pain.


Upon the day he hobbled away,

He laid-down his bloodied sword,

Unable to fight, he set-out that night,

Seeking the Light of the Lord.


But bitter for his loss, twisted in mind,

Within himself he couldn’t find: neither

Fealty or obedience, devotion or allegiance,

Nor adherence to troth or his oath.


For years in penitence, contemplating sin,

Shamed by trespass he held within:

Inside his heart, inside his skin,

Waiting for Heaven to let him in.


When then one day in utter despair,

 No closer to God, he thought not there,

With heart and soul in disarray,

He heard a voice softly say…


“Within the heart of everyman, there lies a hapless song,

Pain and grief and suffering, when choices made were wrong.

But should you ever feel, those times still linger on,

I know a place, a special space, where Darkness moves you on.”


The dishonoured Knight, whose fall from Grace,

Sped him onwards, quickened his pace,

Lulled by the voice inside his head,

To ends of the world, was he blindly lead.


To a bore in the floor, descending down,

Steep to a valley, deep underground,

To a perilous path betwixt hot flame:

Unbeknownst passage to perdition and pain.


Hands that pushed, propelled him on,

All sense of reason, flown had gone,

His heart disowned, his soul undone,

Quickening his stride through Hell’s canyon.


Stumbling towards dark doors ahead,

Wet with blood, soaked crimson red,

Whilst all about, screams and shouts,

Moans of the groaning dead.


In his state, he didn’t hesitate,

Oblivious to all but his pain:

Twas not a sin to keep walking –

So his pace quickened again.


Rising upon high, obscuring blue sky,

Fire raged atop valley’s dark crest: but yet,

With madness was he, so onwards pressed,

Eyes blind to fate: to whatever came next.


By Hell’s arching gate, he turned to gaze,

Upon barren lands, smoke-filled haze,

Last sight of life: this endless strife,

 Then into Hell’s infernal maze.


Where there laid bare, judgement passed,

His wicked ways revealed at last,

Within the glare of Satan’s stare,

Purgatory was offered him.


At such a sight, the hapless Knight

Knew at last his remorseless plight,

As shadows gathered to bind him tight,

When then he reached for his sword to fight.


But alas! His weapon long cast away,

As was his vow that sorrowful day:

His promise to God as dying he lay,

Fearful of darkness, underworld decay.


Silent the room as Scribe paused his read,

Turned to the wizard, his eyes did plead,

“Why forsaken?” He asked at last,

“Why not forgiven for his wicked past?”


His mentor smiled, as all Wizard’s do,

“Don’t fret my lad, don’t dwell or stew,”

“Nor let this moment unsettle you -“

“This Knight’s redemption is far from through.”


~ End of Part 1 – Part 2 to follow shortly ~


~ Artwork/Composition ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~



~ Sunrise ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


We’d sat together for an hour or more,

In silence mostly upon the floor,

Night slipped away, a new day begun,

Sunrise shimmered upon the horizon


Amongst ancient stones, upon our hill,

Whispered voices lingered still,

Great Sages from Ages distant, gone,

Urged the Traveller to journey-on.


They gathered in numbers to sit and talk,

To give advice to those who’d walk: to those

Who pursue dreams and not turn tail,

Or deviate their path on destiny’s trail.


Hermes and I had met once before,

On the shores of a far away land,

That day I’ll recall for evermore,

For he pressed a gift in my hand.


“A feather for whenever you fall,”

“For when shadow is standing tall,”

“When shade stays for endless days,”

“It’ll play the sweetest music of all.”


Years had passed, I’d not heard from he,

But now sat in his company: with nature

Orchestrating her symphony,

Hermes briefly spoke to me.


“It makes no difference what books are read,”

“All paths lead to the Sun,” he said,

“Follow your heart, take care where you tread,”

“All you’ll need is in your head.”


“Don’t stop to linger, or pause to delay,”

“Your road is chosen, it is your Way:”

“Paths that’ll carry you far away –

 “To snow-peaks above clouds of grey,”


“There you’ll find peace and harmony,”

“Accompanied by Leopards of yore,”

“From crests kissed by morning light,”

“You’ll lift to rise and soar.”


“One day soon we’ll meet again,*

“In a place beyond this dimension,”

“Yet it’ll not be I who first comes to you,”

“But the Great Bird of Duration.”


“Before you go, I’ve a gift for you,”

“New wings for your wizard’s cap,”

“Now be on your Way upon this day:”

“Without stopping to ever look back.”


~ Photography/Artwork/Composition ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~



~ Blood-Stone ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


The Way was open, all systems go,

Accelerating hard he hit the flow,

Light speed imminent, wings aglow,

Mercury in motion, quicksilver maestro.


Faster, faster, the Spacefaring Master

Sped outpacing shooting stars,

Quicker, quicker, until just a flicker:

A silver-streak en route for Mars.


He thundered passed the distant past,

Dashed through the annals of Time,

At lightening speed, still moving fast,

Mercury began to climb.


Rising as a rocket on a curving ascent,

Into a worm-hole he quickly went,

 Darted to its end, banked hard right:

Mars dead-ahead in his line of sight.


Planet Red in her starry bed,

Flush with the blush of a Rose:

Still tripped the Light, her devoted flight,

Spinning on her axial toes.


Mercury slowed to recompose,

To transform his molecular self,

When pressed from light into labyrinthine,

Set-down on a ruby-red shelf.


Months had passed since he were here last,

But Mars hadn’t changed at all,

She still shone, like a Rose-crystal sun,

As if in-Love for the very first time.


He’d travelled here to refuel the Wand:

This planet of Passion and Fire:

Where from her core he would draw,

Power to express God’s Desire.


You see, Mars is Her Fiery Guardian,

God’s Keeper of Scared Stone,

Tis why she’s red – or so it’s said,

For she bleeds for God’s Holy throne.


Mercury eased a smile on his dial:

It’d be a while ’til he came again,

Then with words unheard, he hovered his Wand,

Whispered a prayer for her pain.


A single stone of blood-red shade,

Arose from deep within her ground,

Found its way into his Wand,

When then he left without a sound.


~ Photography/Artwork/Composition ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~



~ Wish-List ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Nobody knew where his wish-list flew,

As it rose upon Flame and Fire: but,

Leaving his room, it ascended the flume,

Upon Wings of Love and Desire.


A way away where starlight played,

The Supreme Alchemist scryed his wish,

With effortless ease She set-out to please,

Distilled Her will with great flourish.


From High Shelves above She selected a book,

Thumbed through parchment, took a look,

“Ah yes,” She mused, in anticipation,

“My old recipe for rapid Transmutation.”


She gathered a scatter of Saturnalia matter,

Added Sulphur, Salt and Mercury,

A little Tin was drizzled in:

“Elementus for the hypothalamus,” said She.


“One dropper of Copper, one Silver sliver,”

“Magnetised Iron to guide his river,”

“A pinch of Palladium to fill his fissure,”

“Spools of Silk binding all together.”


Then back to the page returned the Sage,

Checking everything was crafted and done,

“Of course!” Said She most excitedly,

“Dew from the Light of Three Suns!”


In no time at all, shaked and baked,

Interstellar matter cooled and shaped,

She called the Messenger, Winged Mercury,

“Would you mind?” She asked, “special delivery.”


Twas Christmas morn, a new day dawned,

And there beneath the tree,

A gold-parcel rested: in evergreen nested,

Tagged, “With Love from Me to thee.”


~ Artwork/Composition ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~