The Journey

Ever since I first took up residence here at Castle Deeply Dewin, and raised it from the rubble of a former ruin built on the site of an ancient crystal tomb, I have been endeavouring to put together some images that I’ve subsequently used on posts blogged here on Dewin Nefol.

And so ahead of the last instalment of Alkemi Part 2, I felt I needed to collect all these images together in one place and call it ‘The Journey’.

I hope you will enjoy. Thank you for viewing my Art 🙂

“May the whizz of the Wizard alwayz be wiz you!”

Namaste 🙂

~ Dewin Nefol ~



Alchemy Mandela

Ambiguous Trees

7 Nations - Cook Book




The Alchemist and the Kundalini

Dragon Gate

Winged Man

The Messenger

Ignis Seperatum

Aquae Vitae - Water of Life

Unconscious Reflector

Sorcerer's Light

The Star of Venus


Golden Arch 1

Hermetic Sunrise 1

Moon Moth


DN Blog - Driftwood Dragon





Milvus Milvus PSD

Buckle Down




Dragon Wand

Piper At Dawn


Starry NIght


Thank you for your ‘Transient Journey Through Dewin’s Asylum Of Life’

Until next time…

“May the whizz of the Wizard alwayz be wiz you!”

Namaste 🙂



~ Photography/Artwork, elsewise Digital Compositions ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~



Alkemi (Part 1)

Part 3 of ‘Piper At The Gates Of Dawn’ – Alkemi (Part 1) is the penultimate instalment from Soothy the Truthy, a.k.a The Soothsayer who has penned an edgy anecdote for our delectation. The Soothsayer is a lead-character soon to be wandering alongside Merlin the Wizard and the cast of The Wizard Of Wands, Book 2, on a new adventure of their own: the opening chapter of which has been titled,  ‘Dragonfly.’

This poem was destined to be concluded in three-parts, however I now have need of an additional instalment. A special new friend to Dewin Nefol, Lady Rosewood Himali – My Lady, My Queen, My Ruby Red Dream – has brought Fire and Friendship into my life and I’d like to celebrate that by continuing this story one instalment more. Himali has inspired me to reach further than I knew I was able, striving for new words and better presentation of my poems. In the nicest possible way, I have already grown very fond of Lady Himali quickly: Himali is the only Himalayan Rose I will ever meet, one so rare only the spectres and phantoms of furry toed Snow Leopards know where to find her precious flower on the highest peaks 🙂 I hope to be collaborating on project with Himali, my Ice Queen, in due course. Needless to say I am very excited about that 😀

I was going to discuss the image but in truth I really don’t know quite where this one came from: I just sort of went with an idea that led me to this, and having mused on it for a while finally came to quite like the end result. I’ve been watching Neil Diamond, ‘Coming To America’, so perhaps that explain a little of the feel: a bit more P-A-R-T-Y than I would normally conjure. Must be the waft of spiced perfume.

Anyway, back to matters in hand and Alkemi, Part 1. At the close of the last instalment, Hazel Grove, the Soothsayer in (Baron) Red Kite guise had fallen foul of spitting rain flecking his red tail-feathers and sought cover in a Welsh forest until the storm passed by overhead. Whilst following curiosity Soothy was caught off-guard, grabbed and roughly carried to an Altar Stone by shady hooded characters, where I believe he still is…


~ Piper At The Gates Of Dawn ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol

~ Alkemi (Part 1) ~


Ripped from Death’s shroud, jagged cinders, cremated coal embers,

Psychotic swarthy shades of blood-splattered tempers.

As I woke from deepened slumber to morn’s despicable sky,

Fear chilled my feathers with shock and awe shiver quiver and wonder.


Eyes opened at last in the Darkest Hour, frozen bones before The Dawn.

Unrestrained I lay laying dew-spun and crying, damp through to my macaw.

Whether alone or nay I couldn’t say, I couldn’t turn my head either way!

O eerie silence like none I’ve heard, else shifting shadows quietly disturbed.


I was anxious and distressed: frightened close to crying bloodied on slate.

Raking pain and monsoon rain sliced scything racing to lacerate,

Stabs radiating outwards piercing my veins, oceans of agony deep within my remains.

I couldn’t move, barley breathe, surrendering slowly to euphoric sweet release.


Misted and hazy my mind destroyed crazy, consciousness deepened to the outmost rim.

Where there dim with light upon a Darkly Star amassed a mass of Fallen Feldspar.

I couldn’t be sure, a dozen perhaps though quite possibly more, the moor more misted than when I woke before, still moved and shifted never lifted but persisted in darkening the gloom.


Doom a mushroom cloud already, subatomic particles of pleasurable pain

Traversing my spine between my shoulder blades, first once and then again,

A pattern of perplexing pulses pulsating repeatedly, opening the lock of a Secret Door with a secret Enchanted Key.

Then dream’s glittering dissolved quickly away, darkness returned with dark intention to play.


“Stolen beneath Dusk’s Dark Mystical Light.”

“Three-Feathers of Love plucked from Baron Red Kite.”

“Set gently aflame upon the Firestone Moon.”

“Fleur de Lys of Lore found impressed in Old Runes.”

“Secret Sigils, Druid Symbols, Red Dragon’s Plumes.”


“Love’s Deep Keep is infinitely deep, Her Dark Reach descends far deeper.”

“Let her Devilish Draft of benevolent malevolence own you, become your reaper.”

“Black Fiendish Brew distilled Black Billed, splice deeper the sleeper with Kundalini creeper.”

“Severe his ties his bonds his binds, instil in his will the will of Her Will, and leave him a Little Red Bleeder!”


Moments when I were moving in and out of dream,

Leaping through vast portals like none ever seen.

Golden Archways spanning light-years between stars,

Reconnecting pathways between Venus and Mars.


Then back into deep darkness rapidly plummeting again,

Never-ending cycles of sweet euphoria crushing pain,

My journey through Oblivion one of destruction and construction,

Constriction contraction condensation: vaporous in Love’s Falling Rising Reign.


“Arise Trismegistus! Arise!”

“Muse for the Mystical Goddess are thee.”

”Have Her entice thee into a stupor!”

”Clay for the Pottering Goddess are thee.”

”She crafts thee at Her Leisure.”


”Vessel for the Spirit of a Goddess are thee.”

”She fills thee with abundant measure.”

”Body for the Flesh of a Goddess have thee.”

”To fulfil Her every pleasure.”


“Heart for the Love of a Goddess have thee.”

”Her Flame burns your Golden Centre.”

”Soul from the Mine of a Goddess have thee.”

”To receive Her Eternal treasure.”


“Psyche for the Musing Goddess have thee.”

”To Think of Her Sweet Fantasy.”

”Spirit for the Love of Life have thee.”

”To always believe in Her Cosmic Reverie.”


“Hermes my Love, come wake next to me.”

“Wake with my Venus as Herald before your Eye.”

“Hold me my Angel, as we Love until we Die.”

“Hold me Eternally in the sweet embrace of Our Lullaby.”


“In my doe eyes is Love for you, my Darling Hermes my Dove.”

“The Poet who flutters my Venusian Heart, who’s Knight Champions my Love.”

“The Dark One I can always rely on, my Alkemi Baron flying above.”

“My darling how I’ll always cherish thee, for your hand fits mine like a glove.”


“I feel you with me when you aren’t even there.”

“When the nights are cooling with dark-chill air.”

“Then into my Heart you’ll wander, sit gaze and stay.”

“Adoring me as might a Red Knight have done in his day.”


“Never leave me I beg you. Pray God you never lie.”

“Never tease me, never deceive me, never deny our Love chance to fly!”

“For me, for us, it is all so true, I was made for Love: perfect for Loving You.”

“And you my Baron, my Deadly Dark Dart, you my darling, you.”

“You are transformed: remodelled upgraded enhanced if you will.”

“It’s not my idea but The Great Wizard’s Call!”


I had never felt the burning Fire of Love’s agonising Bliss.

Not until Venus fragranced my loneliest hour.

When a sweetly Spiced Rose arose a Rose in my amusing Wishing Well,

A Rose who lulls me every day to Her Poet’s Grinding Mill.


~ Artwork/Photography By Dewin Nefol ~




Ahead of a new lyrical adventure soon to be published on Dewin Nefol, one of the lead characters from my extended poem, ‘The Wizard Of Wands’ has stolen a little time to scribe a short story. This is Part 2 of Piper At The Gates Of Dawn, presented here as Hazel Grove, courtesy of the Soothsayer.

Part 1 found the Soothsayer in Red Kite guise seeking the source of a red flare seen in the sky. His curiosity landed him on a rose billowed cloud perched next to the Goddess Venus. She is a little concerned the Red Kite has insufficient bite, panache and dash for the role he must play in the new adventure – an adventure that concludes in regime change in Camelot. Venus has issued a directive to the Red Kite: he will be following her when she ascends into the cosmic soup at dawn, and he will somehow be upgraded or enhanced as a consequence of his subservience to Love. The future could be bright and rosy or it could all go very badly wrong…


~ Piper At The Gates Of Dawn ~ Part 2 ~ By – Dewin Nefol ~

~ Hazel Grove ~


One memory returns to me at this dusted dawn hour.

A vision of a forest glade, from the cradle of my nested bower.

A solitary figure walking away, further into the forest.

Farther away from the light of day, looking sallow undernourished.


“Should I follow him?” I thought, “go and take a peek?”

“Follow a shuffling stranger into gnarly knotty mystique?”

“Why not,” said I, “what else do I have to do?”

“The day is nearly done, night has almost come,

“Tis time for some fun!” So off into the forest I flew.


Wouldn’t you? Pursue and peruse idle curiosity?

Else satisfy a gnawing whim?

I always follow my darkly hunches,

To wherever they lead my feathered skin.


Two-thirds of a mile, it was not far at all,

For one flying low and fast and true.

Like a vector, an arrow, a cannon ball,

I flew like lightening bolting sable blue.


Dashing my dart, wingtips caressing bark,

I raced through the entwining trees,

Keeping the stranger always in sight,

Between twigs that tickled and teased.


Perhaps an hour passed, maybe it was a little more,

When the forest thickened so completely,

I set down upon the floor, a bore for sure,

Awkward too, but I adore Gaia sweetly.


Barely another two hundred yards,

When I ducked low upon the ground,

A dried leaf crumbled beneath my claw,

Silence shattered by its sound.


The tall dark stranger never broke their stride,

Never altered or changed their gait.

Merely pressed onwards with constant speed,

Towards whatever was their fate.


By a riverside clearing he took a fresh bearing,

Bearing new course across the watery-coarse.

Through thicker trunks, thinner squeeze,

The pathway meandered with tightening ill-ease.


Bracken and bramble scratched and displeased,

Dis-eased my feathers else grasped ripped and seized,

Preening unnecessarily whilst I laboured to breathe,

The breeze played hurrying, scurrying the leaves.


When secreted deeper between vine and creeper,

The dark stranger halted his gaiting stride.

A mere glance over his swarthy cold shoulder,

Before fading away into Eve’s darker side.


Momentarily bemused but in no way confused,

I’d seen the Dark Bard’s Magic before.

Long ago and far away, when above an open moor,

I was flying Red over beloved Wales: this when Love was the Kingdom’s  Law.


I’d strayed that day into a Horned Hazel grove,

With stinging hail flecking my Baron’s tail.

Downed but not out beneath a leafy canopy,

I was witness to a curious tale.


A dim fire roasted a sweet suckling pig,

Acrid smoke shifted when a loud shout of “Stig”

Seemed to halt the drifting skein’s flow.

“Wanderer!” Bellowed another voice:

“What have you seen? What do you know!”


The cruel hand that reached grasped and clasped,

Plucked three-feathers from my crested wings!

“Being pretty will never do, for now your at our mercy!”

“Come now Kite we’ll do what’s right, see how well you sings!”


Bound by braided ties binding biting hard,

I was slung in an old apple-sack, carried roughly jarred.

Then tumbled out upon an Altar Stone, stunned abruptly starred,

The blood-red symbol they smeared on me, it burnt, left me scarred…


Pinned at the wingtips by gold nails hammered deep,

I had tethers taught about my waist, my neck, my feet.

Realistically I was trapped, this final moment to be my last,

Whatever butchery they had conjured up, I prayed death would happen fast.


Shadow grew deeper darker bolder, the weather turned even colder,

Enchantment fanned the ember’s smoulder, its holder

Sculpted from Celtic Firestone mounted on Welsh slate,

It cradled a fire of unimaginable heat, warping the iron grate.


Gleaming in ferocious firelight glared the glint of a sharpened blade,

I remember the sudden flash of steel, the slash, the gash I prayed!

For redemption from death’s insidious knife,

for a painless end to the end of my strife,

From butchery of my pretty Red Wings!

O Venus please save me! From the Raven with the Kinife!


~ Artwork/Photography By Dewin Nefol ~




Piper At DawnIT is my Birthday! 🙂 A landmark year, a major milestone event, call it what thou willst, it matters not, I shall never see the back of 21 ever again 😉

Today I am permitted to indulge my whim and the reader will just have to manage their expectations accordingly. As such I am posting the beginning of a 3-Part mini-adventure whilst The Wizard Of Wands is being scribbled and scratched, scrawled and hatched for future release. In my defence this poem does have tangible relevance to the main story in that whilst the Fellowship remain encamped (shortly to leave, I am told!) the Soothsayer has found chance to muse a little space amongst the rising anxiety at start of the new adventure.

Quietly and steadily with mindfulness and focussed regard for his craft, the Soothsayer has advanced his understanding of Milvus Milvus, his Red Kite’s wand, which he flutters as Knight of Lady Veritas, Our Lady Of Truth. However, having taken me to one side just the other day to have a ‘man-to-man’ powwow, I can report he has been run ragged in a foreign land  battling alongside a fellow Knight in a fire-storm bubbled up from the lava-pits of Hell. He is a little worn, shaken but not stirred, or should that be as Archimedes keeps reminding him, ‘um, you are a Knight stirred Soothsayer, never a Red Kite shaken.’

On a personal note, there is a ditty sitting pretty on my About Page. Should idle curiosity tease to tempt, or tempt to tease, please feel free to read. Thank you!

“May the whizz of the Wizard alwayz be wiz you!”

Namaste 🙂



~ Piper At The Gates of Dawn ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


By a babbling beck I’ve decked to peck, dappled by shade, liminal light,

Casting no shadow above or below, idly listening to a brook’s idle flow,

As she twists turns trickles goes, sensuously swirling across my toes,

Teasing twirling tumbled stones, tickling humour, a Red Kite’s bones.


Beneath a canopy of broad-leaf verdurous green, I begin my lyrical storytelling,

Of a Goddess whose alluring genes, inspire the spires of aspiring dreams,

Who leads me deeper into Plutonic seams, quarrying diamonds lodestones within,

It’s where this story should really begin, with a raptor falling in tailspin!


But enough of opera, pantomime comedy, my Red Kite flies relentlessly!

A banner of Faith Hope Charity: virtue’s Red Baron feathered splendidly!

No less a dove than the Dove of Love, yet forever a raptor, a fighter pilot of-Love,

For the Goddess always shining her Bright Star above.


And so without much further ado, I shall begin the very first line,

And hope to finish my telling tale, before a milestone in time

Is reached breached relished cherished, my new decade begun,

New feathers perhaps, gilded golden, for an Eagle flying into the Sun.


T’was early one morning, just as the Sun was rising, when I saw a spark of silvery fire.

No more than a flare it held my stare, fluttered my heart with curious desire.

More than a Star burning distant and far, it moved me in spiritual ways.

High in a tree my melody playing, my Red Kite praying before dawn of day.


Old and wise yet one flare surprised, for I had never seen it before.

Versed in folklore and ancient yore, yet even I could not be sure, and so

Climbing rising into sunlight shining, unimpeded by swaying boughs,

With my Red roused and my Kite aroused, silently flying soaring to browse.


I flew higher and higher to see something more, something more of something other!

Something smothered in bright red light: a beacon for my curious flight.

Navigation far better when a flare is bright, vectors guiding lines of sight.

Quicker still I flew into a red haze, but still the light ahead steered my gaze.


Wild strawberry a scarlet of crimson shade, bathed cloud and sky in endless fades,

Tones, colours, red swathes galore, gradients grading unfolding evermore,

My Raven flying feathered matador, charging bullish into vapours of red,

Flapping through mist thickly spun, where others birds would fear to tread.


What end pleases without a little mystery, what journey teases if too easy?

But I a flier with extended vision, my flight-path certain, utmost precision,

Never niggled or jiggled shaken or stirred, nor slurred blurred made absurd

In a fog of ruby red mire, a burning pyre, soft flaming fire flirting cloud and sky.


At its centre sat preened and proud, a Goddess on her blood-red cloud,

Her throne a pillow, a billowing shroud, vaporous wisps, chiselled twists

Shaped as lips whispering out-loud, of the Goddess, her beauty endowed,

By Grace and Favour, the Artist above, who sculptured this Goddess an embodiment of Love.


With eyes wide my glide was effortlessly smooth,

All too easy I thought to stay in her groove.

Moved gently passed caring, no thoughts or fearing,

Scarlet gave swagger to the way I moved.


Ever closer to her cloud, her crimson billow,

My Red Kite landed upon her rose pillow,

Reddening swiftly in her soft-fiery glow.

“My darling,” she said, “please flex, kneel low.”


“Why your Grace I forget my place, I err in the face of the Divine.”

“That’s fine,” she whispered, her voice velvet soft cream.

Perfect I thought for a shining Bright Star, born each morn a Queen.

Her Aurora my every Dawn, her Venus my every dream.


“How might I address you my Lady: a Goddess of Rose and Gold?”

“What title would suit the fairest face, of which legend is forever told?”

“Be bold,” said she, “be inventive, I want to see how well you fly!”

“Be told,” she said, “be imaginative, I want to read how well you sigh!”


“Sigh?’ said I sighing, “what might My Lady mean?”

“I thought I were already adorned, wearing colours of my Rosy Queen?”

“You are,” she said, “but your raptor seems a little tame!”

“In the journey ahead of thee, you will need to raise your game!”


“My Lady?” I enquired, “may I be so bold, as to ask I too be told,

 “So that you and I, me and thee, are singing from the same hymn sheet?”

“I thought you were asking me to define your name.”

“I’d not appreciated it was a precursor for feathered game!”


“Soothsayer,” she soothed, “you’ve loved me all of your life.”

“Surely you know by now, I will groom you as might a wife!”

“Grow you as an Aviator, flourish your feathered flight.”

“Add charm, panache, and maverick, to crimson your Red Kite!”


“We have a distance to travel, you should really pack light.”

“Take only what is of worth, leave what isn’t right.”

“Exercise discernment, apply your judgemental Red Kite.”

“Then together at Dawn we will ascend: you will follow my Bright Light!”


~ Artwork/Photography/Composition By Dewin Nefol ~



From an Astrological perspective, I am reliably informed the Sun moves into Virgo today. As it is a landmark year for me, I thought this auspicious and an appropriate occasion to post one final poem before launching into The Wizard Of Wands, Book 2. The new adventure starring Merlin, Archimedies, Jake, the Soothsayer, Scriblette, Niblette and Snowmelt is already begun and I shall hope to post chapters of it shortly – and post them a little more frequently than Book 1 as well. A fellow Blogger suggested shorter length posts for the unfolding story, and I shall do my best to consider that: hoping it will make reading easier on the eye.

Merlin the enigmatic Wizard of legend and fable was the Senior Scribe behind the writing of Book 1 but he has subsequently passed on the mantle to the Soothsayer who concluded his Book 1 adventure being gifted a scribe’s feather of his own. It would be pity to have Merlin relinquish the Quill without a final flurry from him. And so it is that this post is all his doing and has nothing to do with me. I’m now little more than the owner of the site 🙂


The Wizard Of Wands ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~

~ Awen ~


But for one gauzy wisp one thin smoky skein,

one waft of fire left idly rising.

The Elders were gone their grove lay clean,

lay shimmering in the smile of sweet Prophecy’s beam.


Finely fashioned in folds of red gold and green,

there hangs one leaf like none ever seen.

A rare jewel in Nature’s crowning gleam,

Tis the one leaf still to fall in a wizard’s dream.


Merlin cast a last long look about him,

his gaze ferreting across the floor.

Certain they’d left no trail behind them,

he turned and strode for the moor.


When by the butt of a bough he suddenly paused,

stilled with his attention distracted.

He spun around eyes to the ground,

keen for sight of what had attracted.


Upon a low twiggy stem hung a chrysalis,

a silken chamber of transformation.

Woven in a weave of deep rosy hue,

it captivated Merlin’s attention.


“Actias Luna, Lepidoptera Saturn-inae,”

“A phenomenal butterfly indeed.”

“Unusual not least the colours on display.”

“A rare Moon and Solar breed.”


He felt compunction to reach and touch,

to take to keep to own.

To hold protect else nurture her nature,

and assist her to her throne.


Within a wadded pocket of small proportion,

Merlin snuggled her gently away.

Her padded shroud a cotton cloud,

flirting dreams of flight one day.


He consigned her further to a wooden box

Heart-shaped and intricately carved.

Satin-lined the box was clearly defined

to keep treasure carefully preserved.


Satisfied she was stowed for their journey ahead

Merlin strode on towards the moor.

Fresh from rest he hastened with zest,

setting out on a new tale of yore.


Gently flowing across undulating hills,

Merlin’s pathway extended before him.

At reach of his sight upon a crest on his right,

a smokestack rose from a copse-covered limb.


“The Fellowship,” he smiled. “We are united,

ignited farsighted excited by our end.”

“Driven by loyalty for King and Rose,

for Camelot, for Love, for Fable and Prose.”


Merlin chuckled at his own lyrical wit,

enjoying the mystery of rhyming words.

“My quill flutters still despite my fall,

my fall for the fool flitting with birds!”


“Marvellous Milvus,” muttered Merlin muttering,

his long stride a stretching gait.

“My Sage the once wayward Buccaneer,

blazons her Red Kite on his breastplate.”


“No longer a mariner without future or fate,

he now walks a Wizard incarnate!”

“Proudly upstanding he’s a pillar with flight,

reborn in life to write what is right.”


“Lessons learnt within dark tunnels old,

should steady his energetic flow.”

“Steady make ready prepare him for heading

for heights with understanding to know.”


“Twas quite an adventure,” Merlin amused,

“Wandering the labyrinth of his mind.”

“Dark dreams dark seams dark tunnels confused,

bemused diffused and finally fused,

to an ending he had to find.”


“But he made it,” soothed a bewitching mewl.

“We returned him to his path.”

“We hastened his pace to that end with Grace.”

“Left him improved in the aftermath.”


Merlin had spied the Grimalkin’s tail,

the tail trailing his every stride.

“Scriblette,” he said, “you are a star,

the feline who guides my pride.”


She leapt to land upon his shoulder,

her throaty purr a dusky smoulder.

She teased his neck with a loving caress

eager for the affection of a friendly press.


Merlin treasured the heart of all loving life,

thrilled in the miracle around him.

Sweet Scriblette adored his wizard’s heart,

and he cherished the whim of her Grimalkin.


“Jake is back,” she said purring at his touch,

“He has interesting news to share.”

“Excellent,” said Merlin, “I hope all is well?”

“Tell me more on our way there.”


“My Sage,” she drooled pawing his hood,

“I sense you are a little tense.”

“Would you care to share your thoughts with me,

or will you leave me in suspense?”


Scriblette knew as she mewed he’d relent,

knew he’d soften within her purr.

“Indeed,” said Merlin, “shall we rest a while?”

His hand stilled upon her fur.


A grassy knoll hid a hidden stump,

a fallen vine amidst a grove.

To his delight upon his right,

an arching Holly concealed an alcove.


Merlin sat with her moulded to his lap,

her eyes distant lost in dream.

“Scriblette,” he said, “you illuminate my life,

with the colours of a Moonbeam.”


She purred stirred unfolded remoulded,

coiled again as a shadow rewinding.

“Tell me,” she mewled, “of your love for Sissoo.”

“Of the loss of her spellbinding.”


His hand eased its glide to a sudden demise,

his fingers pressed to splay her fur.

“Dalbergia Sissoo,” he softly whispered,

as precious memories began to stir.


“What words do I have? She is long since passed.”

“Lost to the fury of Le Faye.”

“With her gone my heart was undone.”

“Violated by evil that day.”


“We miss her,” Scriblette reassured,

“her indomitable fire is unsurpassed.”

“We have mourned her loss to the empty grey…

yet her colours fly upon your mast.”


“Take hold of me,” she gently persuaded,

“I shall bring you to her side.”

“One chance to see without memories faded,

before Eternity takes his bride.”


“No,” said Merlin, “I shall kindly decline,

for her spirit finds reason to remain.”

“Whilst her rosewood self is reduced to dust,

she is steeling my resolve for pain.”


“Master Merlin,” she mewled, “hold me tighter,

press your worries to my skin.”

“The felidae way is a way far lighter,

a way far brighter,

when conjured by a Grimalkin.”


Eyes from a dream with amber poured in,

She gazed into his misted haze.

“I’ll take pain away lift the tip of your chin,

leave you bright in the light of her blaze.”


He closed his eyes as he held her tight,

cradled her close to his aching chest.

Here he sat within her balmy bliss,

amidst a vine-grove set in wilderness.


Scriblette reached to touch his forehead lightly

pressed a cat’s kiss upon his brow.

She whispered words Merlin barely heard,

lost in the melody of ‘meow.’


At once he dreamt lulled by her purr,

curled deeply inside her mewl.

And there within her amber hue,

watched his anguish begin to pool.


Pool pooling a puddle of heartfelt trouble

a pool from a spool of heartfelt sorrow.

He saw the fading gleam of Sissoo’s red sheen,

disappear into her long-barrow.


She had passed beyond his reach and sight,

slipped behind the portal stone.

She cast one last bloom of weakening light,

 one sigh more and then was gone…


Merlin woke from slumber beneath lazy shade,

with Scriblette comfortable by his side.

She pointed her paw at a fresh fallen leaf,

sat staring at him with eyes wide.


“From the Tree of Awen?” Merlin quizzed,

“The fabled 3-lobed leaf of flame?”

“I don’t understand,” said Merlin excitedly,

“There’s no branch here from whence it came?”


“Look closer,” she encouraged, “unfold the leaf,

take a look at what lies underneath.”

“Beneath?” said Merlin, “Can legend be true?”

“That an Awen leaf bequeaths the new?”


Scriblette lay with her front paws extended,

every inch a sphinx with fur.

Merlin reached with breath held suspended,

towards the leaf from the Awen Fir.


At first touch he felt the energy flow,

a surge giving urge to curiosity.

One nimble digit fingered a long leafy spine,

furrowing its velvet sumptuousity.


By stalks bulging stem he turned the leaf,

as one might the page of a tome.

And there beneath folds of elegant green,

lay a Mage’s wand tipped with chrome.


Three woods fused to form her shaft,

not spliced but grown as one.

The sweet Awen Fir is the Seer’s Tree,

from which the finest wands are spun.


“Holly to harmonize protect and quest.”

“Maple for movement with no time for rest.”

“Vine for vision for far sight with depth.”

“She is a wand for a Mage of unfathomable breadth.”


“And Chromium?” Scriblette asked quietly purring.

“What is that really for?”

“It’s a catalyst,” said Merlin his smile beaming,

“for opening an enchanted door.”


“I adore an open door,” said Scriblette rhyming,

“my curiosity carries me through.”

“I cannot rest until my prying quest,

reveals everything I never knew!”


Merlin brushed his hand across her crown,

she rippled to his touch.

“Do I have you to thank for this wand,

for generously giving me so much?”


Scriblette rolled her dark lithesome form

until huddling by his cheek.

“Perhaps,” she soothed her voice smoothed,

“it is Sissoo’s final act of mystique?”


“Death became her?” Merlin asked sincerely.

“Does a Phoenix power this wand?”

“I sense a form of Fire quiver this quill,

a ferocious flame flaring from beyond.”


“Tis not Sissoo,” Scriblette mewled,

“Her spirit is now gently passed.”

 “Look closer Master Merlin beyond her love,

there is more at the core of this mast.”


“More than before?” he quizzed out loud,

“She was the only scarlet flame!”

“There was never another to have such spark,

no other who carried such fame.”


In detail he eyed the sculptured wand,

traced its grain followed her curve.

Then gently flicked out a delicate spell,

to test the swerve of her verve.


She bucked reared roared stilled and scaled!

Reddened to a sanguine hue!

She shimmered, shivered, her handle quivered

and she slithered into view!


“Y Draig Goch!” exclaimed Merlin reeling.

“This is a wand for waging war!”

“The Red Dragon breathing my wand is seething!”

“Blazing, liquid-fire at her core!”


~ Artwork/Photography By Dewin Nefol ~


Jake Sweeny is entertaining a merry fellowship of players at camp-side with continued publication of words from his expanding journal. The group are waiting for the start of new adventures – or the continuation of the last adventure –  travelling en route together towards their final destination in Camelot. They have time to relax and perhaps chance to dream, much like Jake who has been moon-gazing again.

He tells me this is Part 2 of Vixen, which precedes this post –


~ The Wizard of Wands ~ Jake’s Journal ~

~ Ranger ~ By ~ Jake Sweeny ~


Fleet footed through a dark forest night

she foxtrotted her path left and right.

I followed I chased I dashed and raced,

into her darkness I quickly haste.


Each turn she took she cast back a look

ensuring I tracked her ghost trail.

Dancing and prancing across brush and brook

with moon lighting her flaming red tail.


More quiver than shiver we moved as a river

streaming between silvery-lit forms.

We slipped swayed we paid bade to glade,

we rippled and played amongst ferns.


I watched her flicker heard her snicker,

hounded her with my badgering.

I rambled scrambled made haste through brambles

with her red umber meandering.


When at last by a gnarly knobbed old hollow

she paused to wait in the shady shallow.

“Jake,” she grinned with a grin like sin.

“Are you still prepared to follow?”


Arrested was I in both tread and track,

yet in my heart there was no turning back.

“Yes,” I said feeling the beat of my heart.

“Then come Jake,” she said, “let’s make a start.”


She turned and twisted whilst I resisted

and disappeared down the hole.

I couldn’t stride I couldn’t hide the flowing tide

spreading trepidation in my soul.


I could have lied perhaps even denied

my fear room to find its form.

Yet that time had gone I was coming undone,

torn by the scent of a coming storm.


Hesitant undecided head and heart misguided,

I deliberated upon my next move.

Had I been shrewd I would have removed

myself in a cunning countermove.


But here was I in sight of an enchanted goal!

With rare chance in a moment spelled!

With courage swelling with cowardice failing,

I took first step without being felled!


“Jake” came a whine echoing in the dark,

a whine with a warning leaving its mark.

“Come Jake,” she summoned with biting bark,

her song no longer a lulling lark.


I lengthened my step extended my stride

I was given over to foolish pride.

She had bewitched beguiled charmed and teased

else tricked and tempted me to please

and would seize me in her heinous hide

and suck my blood and leave me dried!


“Jake,” she said with her whine a chime,

an alarming sign, another tease to tempt me further.

I was unable to resist and continued to persist

beyond darkness farther and farther.


“Hasten Jake you must quickly quicken,

feel the darkness let it thicken.”

“Sense her grace touch her face,

 taste the flavour in all things forbidden.”


“The forbidden hidden kept out of sight,

kept in shadow away from the light.”

“Come follow me Jake do what feels right,

I am your vixen on this darkly night.”


Her voice was confusion her lies a profusion,

but onwards I steadily pressed.

When then I stumbled flipped rolled and rumbled,

And tumbled until I came to rest!


“Oh you are a jape Jake,” she joyfully jested,

“A joker a free-loader a clown!”

“But I find it most fitting that you are now sitting,

upon my bed of Eiderdown.”


Dazed and confused I could barely move,

my head had no sense or feeling!

Night rapidly thickened as I swiftly sickened,

my mind raced retching and reeling


Her rosy tinged brush singed a red flush,

a blush brushing the back of my hand!

My blood went racing my heart palpitating!

My anticipation became a fear fanned!


I heard soft paws padding slowly away,

moving in circles within deep grey.

My daze was abating my fear escalating

my instinct was to now get away!


When of a sudden she was no longer hidden,

no longer given to hide!

No longer huddled no longer muddled and

no longer cloaked by night’s tide!


Bright was the light blinding my sight

flaming the fuse of tapers.

Suddenly awash with splash and dash

yet still darker than an undertakers.


I ached pain raked behind my shocked eyes,

the taper’s bloom an unexpected surprise.

I was already turning with yearning to be free,

when a voice whispered, “Please stay with me.”


Disorientated stilled I steeled my will,

chanced a brief glance behind me.

Expecting her lies were teeth clawing scythes,

I was surprised by what was to see.


Her aged lying form lying still and calm,

her pose that of a sphinx.

Still preened and proud her vixen meowed,

yet her eyes had lost all trace of minx.


I paused and turned and spurned my fear,

walked towards her fading sneer.

Eyes slowly adjusting to dim flickering light…

something in the moment felt curiously right.


I stepped with care across the earthen floor,

stooping ‘neath a root-riddled ceiling.

still eager to dash still tense and aware,

and yet keen to explore this feeling.


Where soft light bloomed a little brighter,

I crouched down to be close beside her.

She didn’t watch me she looked away,

downwards into a hole dug fresh that day.


With my sight returned I followed her gaze

saw something bright by her paw.

It was something whiter something lighter,

something carefully placed on straw.


Without definition or a closer look,

I knew what she had unearthed.

I knew by the way she stuttered with tears,

the skull she held held great worth.


Her voice was a quiet hesitant whisper,

Her melancholy strained with sorrow and pride.

“Jake this is for you” she softly murmured,

her gentle words were all but sighed.


Her eyes held tears as she gazed at me,

her sadness a madness haunting.

Aged she had greyed with her memories taunting,

her mocking watching from within.


I reached carefully with my confidence growing,

my fingers feeling around for bone.

Her paw pushed the skull to my reaching hand,

“Jake this is now yours to own.”


I held it so gently as an object treasured,

felt its touch upon my skin.

I traced outlines and contours and folds of bone,

I sensed memories still lingering within!


“A Ranger?” I asked, “from long in the past?”

“A Fox of great standing and pedigree.”

“Noble and able uncannily capable,

he was a fox with immense mystery.”


“He was indeed,” she said, “My mate for life.”

“A King’s-fox through and through.”

“I loved him dearly until the very last.”

“But his spirit must now pass to you.”


“It’s time for you to take up the mantle,

become the force that protects and guides.”

“It’s time for you to show your true mettle,

become the force that changes history’s tides.”


“You have a mission ahead one filled with dread,

but success is within your grasp.”

“Jake you are a Ranger born to serve the crown,

born to complete one precious task.”


“His spirit will provide as gift and guide,

his Love will have you endure.”

“His cunning will cloak his dark shadow smoke,

his craft will conceal and obscure.”


“I don’t understand,” I spluttered aghast,

“I don’t understand this at all!

“Jake!” came the reply “Jake will you wake!”

“Jake you’re dreaming aloud you fool!”



~ The Wizard of Wands ~ Jake’s Journal ~

~ Vixen ~ By ~ Jake Sweeny ~


Beneath a thick lick of balmy soup

I am reflecting in a moonbeam.

As I lie I try recalling lost lines,

Spoken earlier before this dream…


“So far solar to go,” I said,

“She never ceases her glide.”

“Upon great wings she flies in crystal skies

always travelling so far and wide.”


“An elevated flight,” added Master Scribe,

“One always flying into the Sun.”

“Only Eagles dare stare at Heaven’s flare,

without ever being undone.”


Selene presses her gaze infuses her haze,

Entices me into her trance.

And here I stay with my eyes all glazed,

My mind enchanted by romance.


When by my side a dark shadow I spied,

a flick of slick suddenly dive and dart.

Still lost in a dream I follow the gleam

with a rising pulse in my beating heart.


Through brush and bracken I push a path,

Passing between thickly trees.

Silently stepping stealthily pressing,

My passage tightly weaved and squeezed.


I pause to seize the scent of a passing breeze,

pleased to tweeze with expert ease

each aroma from night’s fragrant frieze

teasing my mind with sensualities.


An odorous lingering still subtly clinging

on the sweet edge of fernly taste.

Now turning right towards deeper night,

I track the smell with renewed haste.


Upon a clearing lazily dreaming

within pools of milk-white light.

At its centre I gaze curiously amazed,

Upon an dark creature of the night.


Caught in the stream of a single Moon beam

sits a flame of subdued red fire.

Poised and polished she’s purposefully paused,

to blaze in a moonbeam’s desire.


So fine is she this spectre of night,

this flaming spirit beneath moonlight.

Sitting elegant and regal her spiegel a beagle,

Her dogginess more felidae and weasel!


Her snout is tipped with a blackened nose

and sharp teeth set in pointed rows.

And cunning eyes such as I’ve never seen,

cast deep in jade and sparkling green.


When a quiver of wind moves brush and tail,

ripples the beast’s milky red fur.

She stays posed and composed completely still

as about her the forest stirs.


Bathed in soft balm sat perfectly calm

head held high and ears pricked.

She appears so proud but I see ‘neath her shroud,

When another’s eye would be easily tricked.


She is born a gypsy nomadically wandering,

a traveller knowing Bedouin ways.

Within her glaze lies a Bohemian’s gaze,

one of open roads endless days.


I snap a thin branch no more than a twig:

despite my weight being evenly splayed.

A loud crack cries out across the glade,

my cover now gone a mistake now made!


I froze in the freeze of a chilling look,

then hid deeper in dark vegetation.

Small beads of sweat peppered my brow,

I was now focus of this beast’s fixation!


Her deepening gaze probed my startled stare,

snared me between tall fir and bracken.

Her countenance changed a thin smile emerged,

and then her eyes began to blacken.


“Why hide from me Jake when I’m an all see,

one who knows my forest intimately.”

“Why follow me Jake why be torn from a dream,

if not to satisfy curiosity?”


“Come hither don’t dither dallying behind trees,

this glade and I are here to please.”

“Do you know about foxes about our ways?”

“This encounter brings the luckiest of days.”


I rose from cold folds of coiled twisted roots,

stepped into the enchanted glade.

“I was startled from my dream by a dashing gleam,

and into this glade I strayed.”


“And stayed and gazed at me!” said she.

“Have you not seen my like before?”

“Never,” said I, “with no word of a lie,

you’re the first fox I’ve seen in my yore.”


“The first you’ve seen? Are you quite sure?”

“I’ve clear memory of another time.”

“Do you once recall from behind a prison wall,

being led to freedom by a whine?”


“Might you remember my call my vixen howl,

my growl my cowl my cunning prowl.”

“Might you recount dogged days and wily ways

and dreams and schemes of getaways?”


I said  “yes I remember my cell very well!

“I couldn’t bare the air of despair!”

“But you clever fox if you were really there,

why wasn’t I aware of your hidden stare?”


She smiled twirling gathering her tail,

hiding her face behind its veil.

“Jake,” said she, “come follow me,

“there is something I must reveal.”


I hesitated with indecision dogging at me,

should I stay or go or perhaps just flee?

Could I trust this creature who entices me?

Her cunning is a spell cast craftily!


“Yes,” I confirmed but was not so sure,

pausing recalling forgotten folk lore.

“Your fox,” said I, “I heard your sigh,

tracked your trail across the forest floor.”

“But before one step more I now implore,

an answer to appease and gratify.”


“Your track disappeared a long while ago.”

“Quite how did you do that?”

“Why Jake,” said she, “don’t you see?”

“I’m as elusive as Snowmelt your cat.”


“I bound lower boughs seek stonier ground

move with darkness always behind me.”

“I’m predator by night stealth in daylight,

I’m always a shadow you’ll never see.”


“I am your dark soliloquy,” said she merrily,

“A wily whisper in a pressing hour.”

“I am wild from within born knowing sin,

 yet baring the scent of every wild flower.”


“I am a dance a trance a devious romance,

a sly and scheming quick mind.”

“I am craft and cunning and clever running,

 and the underhand in a furtive find.”


“I am slanted candid shrewd astute,

I’m seldom heard you’d think me mute.”

“I am deceitful designing Machiavellian and thriving,

I am the vixen conniving your every striving!”


She paused to lick paws to fluff her tail,

then headed off following a darkly trail.

“So Jake,” I heard as she wailed her song,

“Are you now prepared to come along?”


Photography/Artwork by Dewin Nefol


Continuing a series of posts penned by Jake Sweeny, travelling companion to Merlin and the Fellowship, who is writing a journal of abstract observations, thoughts and reflections whilst journeying with his merry band of players ever closer to Camelot. The journeymen and accompanying animals are camping out ahead of continuing adventure: their travels momentarily delayed by rain, which has subsequently cleared to become a sparkling night with promise of a welcoming new dawn…

~ 23rd June 5 A.D ~ A troubled nights sleep I’ve awoken in the early hours of a spectacularly bright night basking in the reverie of a dream. The peace and tranquillity at this distilled hour of the night is palpable, at once both confusing in its eeriness yet equally as enchanting with opportunity for peace and quiet. It would be absolute if not for hushed whispers and snippets of conversation carried on an occasional breeze that passes across the page of my journal and leaves words in its passing…


~ The Wizard of Wands ~ Jake’s Journal ~

~ Ties ~ By ~ Jake Sweeny ~


“Upon whom does she gaze,” asked Master Scribe,

his face a flush of milky hue.

“Do you mean Selene, our heavenly Queen?”

“Well now,” said Archie, “at you.”


“At me,” said he, “why would that be?”

“She has a globe beneath her beam”

“Why smile at me there’s a universe to see,

a galaxy within which to dream?”


“Should I feel glee to be subject of her see?”

“To be illuminated enlightened enchanted?”

“I feel her eyes her balmy guise,

I feel the pull of timeless mystery.”

“I ache, I yearn, I sense my shadow burn,

I am lit within like a pyre.”

“Inside I run I hide I take flight I glide yet,

I’m entranced by her brilliant fire.”


Archie paused to ponder his cultured reply,

cast a long look up into the sky.

“Master Scribe you are reborn a master See,

with a compassionate heart knowing great sensitivity.”


“Selene she blossoms when she lovingly gazes,

when she flutters her dreamy eyes.”

 “Her entice excites her touch seeps and creeps,

then into her mind your moth flies.”


“My moth flies?” repeated the Soothsayer rhetorically.

“Is there such a thing as a Milvus Moth?”

“Why of course,” Archimedes happily enthused,

“So you may accompany the Moth of Thoth.”


“To where?” asked the Soothsayer curiously,

“And who is the Thoth in the Moth?”

“All will become clear,” said the feathered Seer,

holding a length of folded cloth.”


“From Hg,” said Archie his eyebrow raised,

“For times when one flies to the Moon.”

“For times when one dives to follow Hg,

deeper within death’s dark tomb.”


“Another feather perhaps or a flaming wand?”

“A talisman to ward off the dark?”

“Neither,” said Archie, “but a piece of thread,

tied as an anchor before you embark.”


“Ariadne once spooled out her golden silk

into the deep of a Minotaur’s heart.”

“Think upon this as Selene’s returning line,

the chord back to where you start.”


Silk sensuous to the touch formed a soft pouch,

a pocket more a sleeve to contain.

Tilting one end to tip out the tie,

tipped out a length of translucent chain.


“It’s beautiful,” gasped Master Scribe

“Each link is exquisitely engraved.”

“So light an item, so delicately fine.”

“From what is this chain made?”


“Luna-silk, “Archie replied,

“Spun by Moths of the Moon.”

“Tis what binds a changelings life

when transforming in the cocoon.”


“It ties, binds, and tethers the pupas being,

it prohibits spirit from leaving.”

“It anchors life passing thro deaths door,

and returns it back to the living”


“Luna-silk will tether your Moth,

else guide you from the dark.”

“Your feathers and wand will respond

as the Moth in you leaves its mark.”


“From raptor to Lepidoptera?” quizzed Master Scribe,

“You mean I can fly without light!”

Archie the nocturnal owl squeezed out a smile,

“Indeed,” he said, “you now have night sight.”


Artwork/Composition by Dewin Nefol


My good friends and fellow Bloggers, Ka and John suggested I include a contents list for the Wizard of Wands so that the poem may be navigated and read by chapter selection. I thought it a wonderful idea and present it as follows:


~ The Wizard Of Wands ~

Chapter 1 – Prattle –

Chapter 2 – Tattle –

Chapter 3 – Elixir Vitae –

Chapter 4 – Copper Door Act 1 – Spiel, Spool, and Spell –

Chapter 4 – Copper Door Act 2 – Thread, Tread, and Weave –

Chapter 4 – Copper Door – Act 3 – Stitch, Stash, and Sow –

Chapter 5 – Act 1 – Natura Naturans –

Chapter 5 – Act 2 – Air and Water –

Chapter 5 – Act 3 – Love (Part 1) –

Chapter 5 – Act 4 – Love (Part 2) –



Growing Pains

I am continuing  to blog a series of short posts penned by Jake Sweeny a long standing friend of Merlin and Archie who will now be travelling with the Fellowship to Camelot. Jake is presenting small snippets of news and gossip arising on our travels,, his personal perspective and commentary on the journey, poetry, short anecdotes, and details of any random/funny moments occurring en route to our destination.

In the meantime I am taking first steps setting out writing Book 2 of The Wizard of Wands (WoW). It’s a slow start whilst I take two steps back to hit the ground running but I’m pleased to report enthusiastic endeavour and progress. Curiously, for all the careful planning and consideration of the story my first impressions with the writing would suggest the tale is taking its own course and leading where it wants to go rather than where I had intended. I am not discouraged nor impeding the flow: I will be happy if the paths being laid-down carry the story to arrive at the key moments I had planned, but if not then I suppose that is a challenge to rise to and overcome. I am comfortable following the muses lead: the story must go on.


~ The Wizard of Wands ~ Jake’s Journal ~

~ 23rd June 5 A.D ~

~ Growing Pains ~ By ~ Jake Sweeny ~


Midnight with the lost and found.

Midnight upon this ancient mound.

The witching hour, or so they say.

When cast all around abound the spellbound

And those Earthbound spellbinding.


I’ve realised our camp is on Iron-Age ground.

Set upon the grave of a Villanovan Queen.

I can hear her breathing in the womb of her tomb

When my ear in sleep listens to her dream.


It’s profound, her breathing, the sound I mean,

stirring in that she weeps.

My heart fills with her sadness and woe.

Fairly aches with dark secrets she keeps.


For the record, I am an empath.

Near clairvoyant in fact.

It’s a gift, a hindrance too.

In that I have to use tact.


 You see, I get to see, almost immediately,

what is found within a heart.

Not the intimate details you understand, more

the motion of emotion, at least in part.


For example I will know why a heart feels woe,

but not intricacies of all involved.

I get fleeting impressions vague visions passing,

clues and riddles to be solved.


It’s how I scrounge and do well trading,

my craft is hidden in the unseen shading.

Between the space to know and know too much,

in a place they call The Fading.


You’ll understand me better for having mentioned,

my naturally occurring ways.

It’s reason why I seek solace, space alone

to be with people means busy days.


However Master Scribe is a curiosity to me.

He has heart and soul that can’t be breached.

I think it wise he be blessed with this shell,

I wonder if his mind is more easily reached…


Master Scribe is sat mindfully contemplating his navel again. He calls it meditation, I call it chin-stroking over self-indulgence, but we agree to disagree, he is the Soothsayer after-all and I merely a ragman with a pen. He tells me it’s what all poets do so to open up and be receptive to inspiration and finding words. I understand little of what he calls ‘metaphysics’ (another new word he taught me), but from what he describes, a decent flagon of mead seems to do much the same thing: it slackens my shackles and the tongue of my nib and gives impetus to writing my drivel.

Master Scribe is lost in his world. His countenance: the 1000-yard stare he wears, the blissful glint in his eyes suggests he is somewhere I have no knowledge of ever being whilst sober. He’s not noticed me at all being here for the past hour. I’ve even lit a small fire and have a rabbit dripping fat on the spit to serve as cold cuts tomorrow lunchtime.

I wanted to ask his thoughts about Fair Lady Veritas: to ask what he considered to be the essential nature of truth itself. She is someone I would dearly like to meet, greet, shake hands with and sense a little of her emotional inner world. I have progressed from squalor, lived in sin, wrestled with Gods and purified my skin…yet still I feel a need to ask, ‘Lady Veritas, when did truth begin?’ Master Scribe knows the answer, but will never describe her highest virtue through and through and Merlin has never met her. Archie has far too few clues to offer and remains tight lipped with gossip anyway: he is never one for tattle.


“Ah Jake, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Why not sit and join me?”

“There’s room for two on the crest of this rise.”

“Come and see what it is I see.”


Master Scribe was relaxed blissfully vacant

in the zone ‘on the Wizard’s stay’.

“Accuracy, certainty, precision” he stated,

sounding like an echo from far away.


I relinquished my spot next to the fireside,

gave-it it up for a Scarab beetle.

I found safe ground to rest my ash

as we sat to watch a Golden Eagle.


My ash I should mention is a pipe-smoker’s term.

A bad habit I’ll never shake.

I should’ve quit long years ago,

long after my last prison break.


But hey, a fella is permitted one mild extravagance,

at worst perhaps just two

But having any more than three or four, even

a scrounger would be rotten through and through!


“Master Scribe,” said I, “see how she flies.”

“She is Queen of the skies, of all she surveys.”

“What delight! Soaring at height in searing sunlight!”

“See her polish, her glaze, her feather tips blaze!”


“Why Jake you have entered my world after-all.”

“Merlin said it would take a few days.”

“I know you have sensitivity to almost ‘see’,

that you intuit another’s inner ways.”


“He told me I was protected by Fair Lady V.”

“That I was shielded magically.”

He said, “it’s needed to protect all that you know.”

“Merlin spoke quite emphatically.”


“Master Scribe,” said I, “you are a Soothsayer now,

a depository knowing truth of every born soul.”

“No other mortal shares that knowledge with you…”

“Full access to one’s Akashic scroll.”


Master Scribe sighed more loudly than intended,

paused to let it linger in the air.

“Whilst you’ll never know what lies within,” he said,

“Your stare is a stare to lay me bare.”


“You see what is unapparent, “the Soothsayer continued,

“What is hidden to the human eye.”

“I can’t deny knowing truth weighs heavily with me,

despite having these new wings to fly.”


Said I, “the gift you bare bares no weight of Grace.”

“It is your perception that needs to change.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” said Master Scribe.

“My friend,” said I, “it is all about range.”


“Range?” he asked, “do you imply reach or scope?”

“No,” I said, “I mean the end of your rope.”

“You have a duty, a task, you are sailing full mast,

but must find focus with your ‘telescope’.”


“If one adds lenticular vision to your microscopic sight,

to the truth you know and to your insight.”

“I glimpse why you are overwhelmed by a loss of light.”

“It comes with knowing a soul’s darkest night.”


“It is as you describe Jake: their vulnerability, their plight.”

“Their fears, their dreams, their circumstances, their blight.”

“I pass beyond their darkness and onwards to their light.”

“I pass through many layers to watch their soul take flight.”


“I see the truth within them, their glorious splendour,

I see their Eagle caged behind bars.”

“I see everything they have ever been.”

“Since their first day born from the stars.”


“Focus,” I said, “on the matter in hand,

on the rationale for the destined meeting.”

“You must learn quickly how best to conclude,

why any encounter requires completing


“Merlin might say ‘fashion a mind that rises!”

“He is always one for witticism and tag.”

“He means you’ve to avoid unpleasant surprises,

by flying above the silt and drag.”


“My friend, you already know the truth within,

the revelation one’s heart keeps close.”

“It is not necessary to digest the entire soul,

only differentiate where it suffers most.”


“Master Scribe you prescribe for Veritas.”

“You are subject to a higher level of truth.”

“You’ve no need to dwell on the superfluous within.”

“Focus your mind on being the sleuth.”


“Sleuth,” the Soothsayer soothed out a sigh,

“Truth,” Jake replied rather subtly.

“I only need see what must be resolved,” he said,

“not what is growing old and dusty.”


“Exactly,” I said, “I knew you’d get it!”

I added, “being Merlin’s prodigy,”

“Thank you Jake,” said the Scribe facing me.

“For providing me with insightful company.”


“And Astrology, psychology, pathology, methodology,”

He paused for a smoke on his pipe.

“Also a nip of theology, borrowed terminology, and

friendly help with a moan and gripe.”


“Merlin is a great man Master Scribe.”

“Hg is simply out of this world.”

“But don’t imagine it was easy for either of them,

when their fledgling feathers were unfurled.”


“One forgets they started out by not ever knowing.”

“Yet arose as icons of legend and fable.”

“It is a matter of perspective my winged friend.”

“You must sharpen your focus as you’re now able.”


Master Scribe was moved by our timely chat.

He sat staring through me to the other side.

Beyond the hypnotic gaze, the penetrative stare,

There was only happiness in his eyes.


“You are a good man Jake,” he said to me.

“A good man through and through.”

“With solid foundations for your charming rogue.”

“And for the emerging nature of you.”


“Your question for Lady Veritas, when did Truth begin?”

He paused leaving me waiting for something more.

“Twas when you offered up your place by the fireside,

to the Scarab Beetle on the floor.”


Photography/Artwork by Dewin Nefol



7 Nations

Merlin often encourages us all to make best use of our time each day: even here amidst contrived fantasy where time seems an irrelevance we are pushed, pulled, prodded and poked by our Magus into engaging with fruitful activity. Barely is chance available for sustained periods of leisure, but I Jake Sweeny have broken with tradition and Merlin’s purposeful approach to life to deliberately lose time within the pages of a good book. It’s a tome blagged by mechanism of exchange and barter from a chiselled faced ‘pedler of pages’ I met in a small market town some days ago. Titled ‘Out of this World’ the mysterious book describes in detail extra-terrestrial visitations, alien abductions, and other phenomenal stories emerging from the stars and taking place here on Earth. I am a believer in the green and the grey, the blue, the orange, and those alien life forms that evade our eye almost completely but exist amongst us creating carnage. The invisible ones I have seen before albeit a long, long time ago.

You may well ask why I have interest in such things and if truth be told it is timely for me to improve my understanding further as we tread closer to Camelot. These are dark, dark days and darker rumours are rife but carrying great weight are those making mention of strange visitors appearing in ‘the sky’, magical beings manifesting ‘out of thin air’, and those detailing chance encounters with ‘unholy weird things’ frequenting these wicked lands. Whilst this is not entirely unheard of before, the frequency of similar tales now makes me rather curious. So in light of these stories, Merlin has asked me to investigate further, make contact with my network of associates and find out if any truth prevails. He advised acquiring the book I hold long before we got to the market town, no doubt he already knew the book was waiting to be found. He is a great wizard after-all.

In between pages of reading I am scribbling in my journal and diarising our journey for posterities sake…someone other than Master Scribe has to leave a written record of our journey. Should we be unsuccessful in our mission to overthrow Morgana and Mordred, it is inevitable The Wizard of Wands will be lost forever, but Morgana doesn’t know about my diary. Our tale will be told, our truth will prevail, and Merlin’s legend will live on forever.

~ 16th June 5 A.D ~ Dusk has faded to fuse with night….



~ The Wizard of Wands ~ Bloopers and Out Takes ~

~ 7 Nations ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


I’ve space away from the fireside group,

comfy in the shade of a cosy willow.

By lamplight I sit to cast out my lines,

reeling words back into my hollow…


“What do you see when you look up at the sky?” Merlin asked.

They were sat by the fire warming.

“Endless starlight,” the Soothsayer said,

“And end to all the storming.”


“The rain has long since passed Master Scribe.”

“Gone too the thunderous flash.”

“Now blessed with air so sparklingly clear,

whilst underfoot we splish and splash.”


“A metaphor for life,” Archie added,

“to rise over seas of disquieting emotions.”

“It’s the way a Wizard stays on a wizard’s stay,” said Merlin.

“…we’ve crossed many oceans.”


“I’m lost to the wonder of my new life here,

here beneath this twinkling dome.”

“With you my brave companions, my friends.”

“In a fantasy that feels like home.”


Master Scribe took leave to weave a line elsewhere,

leaving Archie and Merlin alone.

 The wayward Buccaneer had travelled so very far,

from a past life long, long flown.


“It needs more onion” said Merlin tasting,

“I say Archie be a good chap.”

“Any chance you’d do the errand run?”

“Perhaps forgo an afternoon nap?”


“Onion,” Archimedes repeated,

reaching for a word beyond the humdrum.

“The trouble with the onion,” he knowingly said,

“Is that it poses a rhyming condundrum!”


“Hmm,” he pondered, “let me see…”

“I could tell you of the onion in the dungeon in London.”

“Make mention of the umber in the umbra in the tundra penumbra.”

“Or speak of random tandems and teary onion tantrums,

and time of illegitimi non carborundums.”


“But after that I’m stuck for words to rhyme.”

“That’s the near limit of my thinking function.”

“Who’d have thought a humble onion so fraught!”

“But we still need another for luncheon!”


“You’ll not be long so whilst you’re gone,

I’ll leave the stew simmering low.”

“It’ll give me chance to practice lines,

those from ‘later on’ in the show.”


Archie opened wide his wondrous wings,

stepped from the branch and set his glide.

Merlin adjusted the fire’s fierce flame and,

moved the crock-pot to one side.


It was the dusking hour when bats not birds

swoop woop whizz and wail.

When insects nip bite scratch and sting,

beneath twilights fading veil.


A curious crow watched from a distant bough,

watched with beady blackened eyes.

Watched and waited clearly fascinated,

whilst dining on gastropoda and flies.”


Merlin enjoyed an audience of birds,

although crows were hard to please.

“Hg would agree, carrion heckle mercilessly,

worse still when they endlessly tease.”


He took a deep breath, puffed out his chest,

made ready to warble a scale.

Barely five notes in when there came tumbling,

soggy remnants of a shell-less snail!



“Hmm, common terrestrial pulmonate gastropod mollusc,” said Merlin.

“Barely a bite’s worth of meat at all!”

“Laugh whilst you can my blackbird friend…

the pie-man’s coming to bake your fool!”


Merlin chuckled as he frequently did,

chuckled again as he read the script.

He’s taken to reading the story ahead,

so his character will be better ‘equipped.’


We mostly think it a foolish endeavour:

the tale still continues to unfold.

Besides it’s no longer Merlin writing the poem,

but the Soothsayer’s tale to be told.


“I’ve heard it said there’s a region up North,

where snails grow nearly 6 foot tall.”

“I suppose I should thank my lucky stars,

it was not one of those to fall!”


“Now then, where was I,” Merlin muttered,

teasing parchment from its bind.

“I’m certain I marked the page with a sign,

but it’s now one I cannot find.”


“But wait here it is,

always the last place I look,

Stuck between pages of my cauldron cookbook.”

“Chapter 33 of the Scribe’s extended tome and,

we’ve still long miles home to roam.”


“Never mind,” said Merlin wistfully,

“I much prefer an open road.”

“It avoids stagnating in a static life,

which must be an unmoveable load.”


“Well now, Chapter 33,” he mused.

“Where I’m attending a press convention.”

“It’s my moment to shine not become confused.”

“A scene needing artful invention!”


Merlin sat to sit and read aloud the text,

I quietly sat and listened.

It was just he and I alone in the glade.

I in darkness as Merlin glistened…


“A great roar arose as he posed behind the podium

arose and arose from rows of rows and arose blooming

as petals roses poses fireworks flickering flaring

tumbling journalists stumbling bumbling

cameras chit-chattering

tattling prattling garbling rattling

foil ticker-tape wrapping clapping

crackling to the sound of his inaugural speech.”


“He is not phased.

Not yet appraised.

Fearless facing fear

Flash threat furore.”


“He stands taller on hallowed ground.

Upon this Henge, this ancient Tor.

“He is recently arrived in this brave new world,

newly birthed by a golden dawn.”


“Editors lend stare to photographers’ flare

else glare guess and glean.”

“He isn’t the first Magus this Land has seen but,

they’d all like to ask, where have you been?”

“Yet these are small questions for a moment so fine,

with the World waiting on his opening line!”


Merlin paused to reflect on the starry scene.

“Such magnitude!” he eagerly thrilled.

“A magnificent moment rightfully mine,

a method-actor so highly skilled.”


“Typecast! Typecast! Typecast!” crassed the crow,

crackling the silence cracking a snail.

“Such limited range!” she mocked rocking her perch,

“Not worthy! Not worthy! Of this tale!”


Merlin ignored the carrion bawl,

continued with his curtain call.

He cleared his throat,

braced his shoulders,

put on his face

the one that smoulders.

Turned slowly to face fire’s glow,

found his voice begun to flow…


“Leaders of the Severn Lands of the Celts.”

“Lend me your ancient ears!”

“After nine hundred long and wicked years.”

“A Prophet has returned amongst you.”


”I am the first of a Counsel of Severn,

each a sage from a different Age.”

“The Six to follow me wield great might,

but I am the only Mage.”


“I am Myrddin, here to steer as Druidic Seer.”

“Here to enforce Devolution divorce.”

“Here to endorse unity of course!”

“To Camelot, and Severn as One together!”


“Your sorceress Morgana, she will no longer do,

“She has poisoned, dishonoured and deprived you!”

“Mordred her evil Warlock he burns far too blue,

far too blue to ever again be trusted!”


“There is silence.

No flick no flak no flash or dash

No haste to race or up-load.

Film slowed bytes stowed.

Systems froze.

Distilling download.”


“The Wizard wears a weave toned cobalt and coal.

Preened poised polished well postured.

Composed he poses, his wings unfurled.”

“I am Merlin.”

“He tells a brave New World.”


Artwork/Composition by Dewin Nefol