Before her there is a stone circle
The meaning of which is unclear
But it has been here for thousands of millennia
It is not well known, even unknown
But when the sun rises, the shadows cast
Surround her as she sleeps; gentle wraiths
Whispering in the low cloud, like distant thunder
But this is always as afternoon opens its door
Now, as dawn hazes into morning and midday
She rises to a clear sky, and the shadows are short
The deer have eaten and the birds have flown
But she does not render movement from her pose
But she does drink in the whirling breeze
Delving into buttercup, white daisy and wild geranium
She does embrace another chance to live
But she is not breathing, she has no blood
Tears do not well up in her eyes of their own accord
For that the heavens must open in abundant rain
But not tonight; the sky is heavy with condensation
The air itself wicks the salty emotion of betrayal
The statue of Gaia is taken down; she will miss the stones
Before her there is a soft, old cloth; she cannot see
But she detects the odour of musk and storage
She hears the crack of wood as her crate is moved
Before Man, there is a stone circle, though not only of stone
But of concrete, plastic, glass, aluminium and steel
It has been here for decades, if not a hundred years
Some men rise to the Owl and fall to the Lark
The meaning of day and night is gone for them
But they still seek supper and sleep, even as the sun warms
It is not well known, even unknown
But when the day dawns, and the people commute
They are surrounded in shadow; gentle wraiths
Waiting to caress their eyelids back to slumber
But Man is agitated, he is constant in his fight
He cannot stand still, there is no room for pause
But when will he breath, is there blood pumping to his heart
Are their tears in his eyes before the rains fall
Does he remember the statue of Gaia, he once carved
Before us there is a veil of ignorance, of intolerance
Of disrespect, of discrimination, even betrayal of Nature
But is there no hope, no remembrance, no emotion
Working days end, weekends arrive, Gaia beckons
But only for those who raise their downcast eyes
Who open the wooden crate and unfurl the old, soft cloth
Before her the stone circle is set out once more
Man lays upon Mother Earth as the shadows rise
Late into a summer evening, they are reunited, no buts
Never the less, it is not well known, even unknown
That when the sun rises and gentle wraiths surround us
Each shadow of each stone is Gaia to every Man
Before me there is a stone circle
The meaning of which is clear
Though my single life may pass, I will always be here
©Trevor Maynard 2015. excerpt from and will be included in my third, as yet unnamed collection, which is due out in late Summer www.trevormaynard.com
Author of two poetry collections “Keep on Keepin’ On” and “Love, Death and the War on Terror”, a collection of one-act plays “Four Truths” as well as the plays “GLASS” and “From Pillow to Post”.
THE POETIC BOND V. Publication date 30th September, 2015
The Poetic Bond V is the fifth anthology of poets from new media, social and professional networking, mainly garnered from the professional networking website, LinkedIn, but also through performance and word of mouth. The Poetic Bond is about exploring, sharing and encouraging poetry from all over the world, it will be published by Willowdown Books and will be available on Amazon from 30th September 2015. Copies can be pre-ordered for the pre-publication offer price from http://www.thepoeticbond.com Trevor Maynard is a UK based poet and writer, manager of Poetry, Review and Discuss Group at LinkedIn
editor@artvilla.com
robin@artvilla.com
www.facebook.com/PoetryLifeTimes
www.facebook.com/Artvilla.com