Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 14)

~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 14) ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


Beating retreat, flaming less bolder,

Dampened ash, smoking smoulder,

Wisps and whirls and hoary purls,

Swirled about the figure curling.


A furtive glimpse quickly stolen,

This flaring fiend from fire woven,

Feathers furled, glistered golden,

Rippled as if molten motion.


Twas spectral without solidity.

An entity with lucidity,

A translucent vision, an apparition,

An ethereal being beyond description.


It stood or floated, perhaps it hovered,

Black in body, face covered –

A formless shape in cloak or cape,

Shifting, drifting in the breeze.


Tho’ briefly seen thro’ fire’s sheen –

Beyond a screen of rising thermal,

I had no doubt what looked out,

Nothing less than paranormal.


Compelled to gawp, gape and gaze,

Across the sand thro’ dying blaze,

I watched the spectre turn its head,

In my direction its leer was led.


I knew it saw me, I felt its glare:

Stabbing with its piercing stare,

Seized by eyes that were not there,

I was entrapped, ensnarled, ensnared.


Fervid fear in my stomach pit,

Bit with bile, dried my spit,

Ill at ease without my wits,

I hunkered down ‘neath rock parapet.


I shot quick glance across the bay:

A place of refuge to make my way,

But alas! Only towering cliffs of grey,

Surrounded the cove ascending away.


Stalled and stilled, static, inert,

Fingers raked through dampened dirt –

In hope of bough or sturdy staff,

Something solid to defend myself.


Yet barren about me upon the sand,

No robust tool came to hand,

Frantic was I when in my sight,

Came creeping tendrils of waxen light.


These pallid blooms probing gloom,

Opaque at first grew brighter,

Until in fact ‘tween every crack,

Shone shafts of light ever whiter.


Where umbra hid behind my boulder,

Soon bathed in light, blazing bolder –

Darkness illumed, shade consumed,

My shadow set in silhouette.


So sudden before me towering tall,

The spectral form of this faceless ghoul,

Stood staring down upon my crown,

As fear further fed my dread.


But yet, I sensed no menace or malevolence,

No prevalence of maleficence,

Instead a palpable benevolence –

A quality of graceful elegance.


~ Copse ‘n’ Corpse (Part 13) precedes this post. Part 15 to follow shortly ~


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 ~ 





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


Copyright: Dewin Nefol – 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of material (text or image) published by Dewin Nefol taken without express, written permission from this Blog’s author and/or owner are strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Dewin Nefol with appropriate and specific direction given to the original content on Dewin Nefol, or published elsewhere by Dewin Nefol.

Buckle Down


The carnival that constitutes the production effort for The Wizard of Wands (WoW) strolls steadily on: story blueprints are drafting, new sets’ building, novel locations being sourced and the usual hustle of wardrobe and props continues to bustle unabated. Extras and stunt doubles are scheduled and I’ve reason to hope all other logistical nightmares are catered for….but there will always be the unexpected to look forward to. Book 2 of the continuing saga is therefore underway – albeit slowly – as new story-threads are teased from the inkwell and given an airing. Despite what might sound like care and careful planning, there is a lot of flexibility built in to the system to cater for the keyboard-trolls. (I have no ‘Raven’ in feline guise to keyboard stroll and rid me of the pesky trolls.)

So whilst the production crew (that would be Dewin) presses on with the Wizard of Wands, I thought I’d try to keep the story alive by publishing a few ‘off-camera incidents’ that might otherwise go unread. I’m Jake Sweeny, general factotum and artful ‘Scrounger’, and friend to Merlin and Archie for more years than I care to remember. It’s a friendship that brings advantages and of course carries immense trust and degrees of responsibility. But their secrets are all safe with me, I’m not in the habit of mischief making nor gossip mongering, which would never do (we are like one big family) but capturing chance moments and spinning a line or two seems fair game to me. Perhaps I’ll also include idle snippets of conversations, mindful musings (and other quiet quiet thoughts) taking place amongst the stars and cast members on the set of The Wizard of Wands. I would include text and tale of the production crew as well but that would just be me and be of no real interest here.

The current ‘players,’ Master Scribe, Archie, Merlin, Hg, Snowmelt, Niblette and Scriblette, and I, have arrived at our new storyline location and are making ready to draft out the next performance. With camp preparations complete and time to kill before we break for supper, I’ve grabbed my parchment and headed out to join the team hoping to catch a ‘curious’ moment somewhere abouts.

Unknown to Merlin and the other legendary stars, I was ‘asked’ by Master Scribe to quietly ensure the first line of any new verse associated with the ‘Merlin poem’ began with words given by CB from VC who provided…‘bring on the wizardry.’

Well okay, I’ll try, but I’m no wizard! 🙂

~ 16th June 5 A.D ~ It’s dusk at the end of a thunderously wet and soggy summers day. Understandably activity in the campsite is at a rather slow ebb but with promise of a fine dry evening the fire’s are lit and warmth returns…indeed there is the gentle lull of music to sweeten our ear. As I sit to write Master Scribe has just returned from a moist ramble in the rain…


~ The Wizard Of Wands – Bloopers and Out-Takes ~

~Buckle Down ~ By ~ Dewin Nefol ~


‘Bring on the wizardry,’ amused the Muse,

musing the moment with the amuse of her muse.

‘Sing with the melody,’ mused the amuse,

amusing the moment with the Muse amused!


His gaze stayed stalled paused stilled,

for perhaps two moments too long.

“Beautiful“ I heard a voice tenderly say,

“She sings a most beautiful song.”


“At once when seen she enters ones dream,

fluttering the flitter of friendship’s feather.”

“Her face a grace a mystical place.”

“Her companionship a partnership to treasure.”


“A Roseling is she and an absolute delight!”

“Adored by all since appearing one night,

emerging by fireside cast in hearth-light,

She’d slipped Hg’s guard to give all a fright!”


“CB is how she is affectionately known,

amongst our fine fellowship of good friends.”

“I’ve heard she travels under a different guise

when accompanying tales to telling ends.”


“I find her a mystery, beguiling perhaps,

a curiosity in purple hue.”

“Her hair raven sleek, eyes dark with mystique

and a smile to warm one through and through.”


“We’ve sat to chit and chat a bit,

else passed the time of day.”

“I’ve asked her about her travels elsewhere,

but she’s very reluctant to say.”


“A twinkle in her eye reveals a depth to her,

a dimension I’ve not yet seen.”

“Perhaps along our meandering path,

will emerge what now lies unseen?”


“Did I mention CB is trippng with us?” I wrote.

“As a new player in the troop?”

“Merlin explained it was all prearranged but,

he’d forgotten to keep us in the loop.”


Said Master Scribe,

“I’m delighted to have a new friend along,

one so creative with merry songs.”

“She a fine heroine to honour our group of six,

and help with my writing wrongs!”




Smack went the slap reeling him back

and cherrying his cheeky cheek!

Snap went the strap bracing his back

slackening his pack

tipping him into the middle of next week!


Archie muffled a laugh as he heartedly quaffed

else swallowed down a sizeable seed.

He had sunk a few maybe one or two,

He had drunk two too many with greed.


“Indeed,” said Merlin in chastising tone.

“A fine friendly flower on which to dwell.”

“But first Master Soothsayer least you forget,

the will of the Rose in your ink-well?”

“Would I dare declare your interest should care,

care for the tale still left to tell.”


“Ouch!” he said, “was that really needed?”

“To your ‘look’ I had already conceded!”

“Hmmm,” grizzled Merlin from griddle-side.

“To Fair Lady Veritas are you dutifully tied!”


“She intrigues us all,” said Master Scribe,

“She a late arrival amongst our cast.”

“Where did you say she’d journeyed from?”

“Pray tell us more about her past.”


“No,” he gruffed with definitive intent,

adding another furrow to his frown.

“You’ve no time to stand and stare my Sage,

“Verse must be written, so please buckle down!”


“It’s day 7 after leaving Copper Door,” I mused,

and we’ve all succumbed to the toll.”

“500 long miles across desert sands,

our story is more than a gentle stroll.”


“Mostly Merlin’s mood has morosely moved

to the darker side of grumpy grey.”

“Two days delayed by lashing rain,

we are way behind on our Way.”


“Hg? He had to flee some three days past,

but he should be back quite soon.”

“His long journeys out never seem to last,

moving so fast by the light of full Moon.”


“As for the Grimalkins, yes both are well.”

“Slipped away for the night I shouldn’t wonder!”

“Else stolen away you know how they stray,

following each whim with a wander.”


“And Snowmelt? Ah yes, as beautiful as ever.”

“Our Leopard never leaves our side.”

“She, always as elusive as she is ethereal,

our dear Snowmelt is not often spied.”


“But I feel her,” said Master Scribe.

“Here with her gentle grace.”

“I sense her motion, feel her pace, so soft.”

“Her paws fall but never seem to touch,

more brush the dust.

In as much,

that Snowmelt fairly floats.”


“Snowmelt,” the Scribe said quietly out loud:

perhaps as a stray thought finding air.

“How I love her… in as much,

“… because I know she’s always there!”


Photography/Artwork by Dewin Nefol