Glastonbury - And That

Glastonbury - And That

Well, my little spring peepers, I am staying in a very comfortable holiday hedge in the Pagan heaven. The 'Celestial Mother' (Heather) is with me, and we've found all manner of delightful and wondrous things here.
I've written two poems. One is a long poem dedicated to the town of the free spirits, the other is about Toucans.

Town of The Free Spirits

Oh Glastonbury, with spirits old,
With many wondrous tales to be told,
And sights so magickal for my eyes,
Pure comprehension it defies.

We're in a lovely holiday hedge,
With a dingly-dongle for blogs.
It's perfect for wandering aimlessly here,
And wafting about in old clogs.

All sorts are welcome, whoever you are,
And you wear whatever you like.
You can buy birds feet and bags of woad,
And cart it all home on a bike.

There's bald heads here and blue hair too,
And some have it shaped into locks.
You can also wear flappy clothing,
With old sandals and old woolen socks.

Security is wonderfully calm round here,
It's all full of colour and bright.
I opened my aura on tuesday at dawn,
And forgot to shut it at night.

There's a man who rides bareback as well,
Down the street on a pony of white.
He wove through the streets at such speed,
Clutching the reigns with such might.

Then there's the old woolly flute man,
With the straggly beard like a goats.
He bends to lean into dark corners,
When hitting the lowest of notes.

There's the mammoth old Abbey,
With people in costumes all round.
But the best thing for me was a crow,
Who sat a while near on the ground.

We discovered massive trout in a lake,
While the tall reeds waver.
These fish do not like Pringles,
But were very partial to Quavers.

Some people march all through the town,
With staffs, wearing robes, feet bare.
Some flack herbs at the statues sometimes,
And no one, not one, turns a hair.

A man tips out runes on a cloth,
'Take this advice, if you're able -'
'Change your job, or your car or your husband',
Comes the advice from the signs on the table.

Chalice Well was a sight to behold,
I drank from the fountainy lion.
Then paddled a bit lower down,
Cos the water's got desposits of iron.

The belly dancing class was the best,
I wobbled and shimmied my booty.
But I fear I won't make a living at this,
I am warty, and not rich in beauty.

Off for adventures tomorrow,
We're going to walk up the Tor.
I hope the belly dancing wears off though,
As my buttocks and thighs are still sore.

Well I am glad I didn't bring Vom,
We earthy types get on her wick.
Last time she set foot in a witch shop,
She was rude and got cursed with a tic.

Well, back to my hedge at the weekend,
It's been such a divine inspiration.
The Celestial Mother has loved it, aswell
She is now into card divination.

It's my spiritual home here, I am sure,
This town most definitely rocks.
It's like me, you see, all full of the odd,
Cos it lives outside of the box.

The Toucan - This short poem is a Toucan of my appreciation for all who made my stay in Glastonbury so pleasurable. Thankyou, and blessings of oddness be upon you and yours.

Toucan, Toucan, I see you,
With your beak so big,
You need to balance on your twig.

Toucan, find some balance here,
Buy a heavy wig.
Now try balancing on your twig.

Told you that'd work. (Feckin' birds.)

Blessings to all of my blog friends, Happy Solstice, and mild apologies for the fact that parts of this are vaguely sensible. I'll be back to normal next week!