Autumnal Green Man Spiders thread my lips lightly together. My leaves become their actual colours and fall from my face, red, yellow, ochre. My voice rustle of green leaves is no more. I am the scent of ripe apple and pear. I am the rain on sodden bark, slow time. My days shorter, dark sooner, light rarer. I am burning leaves. Face of Harvest time. After the fires, my mouth nose and eyes spout green shoots, new leaves bud and grow on my barkskin. I flourish once more. An aspect of dream. Memory of ice. Warmth without, within. In stone, wood or paper I decay lose definition, but still my image grows 2. Erl-King Hear the gust music my air blows through this reed? Inhabits your ear, delights all your senses. A new birdsong, fresh animal track, beads a sprightly beat, warm summer days, tenses new sugar tastes on your tongue, blood hums your bones. Now you see me, in rich purple, rare blue. Your mouth opens, I reach out, touch your grown laughter, imprison your youth in situ. I am your first child who needs shelter, hugs, clothes, your patience and long conversations. I am your elderly parents that tug at their recall more and more frustration. Enticed by freedom find yourselves in chains. I laugh and play a sprightly flute on your pains. 3. Freybug "Be not afraid of fray-bugs which lie in the way." so English martyr describes me 1555. I'm a frightening obstacle to overcome. Popery railed against, authority imprisoned him, requested he recant, he refused. They ordered him burnt He welcomed hugged stake said it was cross of Christ. And loosed, " Welcome Everlasting life!" Not afraid of me when he met me in various ways. Burnt February of year he made mention of me his words always pious. Some say I'm reason, today's way who blocks fanaticism, shows easy paths plot. 4. I, Ginny Greenteeth I, Ginny Greenteeth invite all of you, boys and girls to dance and play on this green mat, I've laid out especially for you. Look how the sun shines on it. The wild sheen invites your feet to press upon it, fetch football to its wonderful pitch, not scuffed up and muddy but fresh and fine, stretch your legs, leap on this cool turf goal spot. Don't read those old, battered out of date signs. Don't listen to uncool mam and dad bleat to you about playing safe. Where's the fun time in that? Risk it for a biscuit. Compete. I will take you where you can play all day. Step on this duckweed, don't do as they say. 5. We Were Green tending to flocks of mother and dad's big cattle, we hear clapping of bells, a call to colour of bells, we fell into twig of twilight, a dark cave of hammers fall. They said our words were not understanding, so we went with them, our garb they were not knowing, and we were green and lazing They took us with them to a big door knock. Inside they passed foul tastes bruv and me were having none of until we could split pods roll the bean inside our strange tongues slur and soon we were pink again and their god taught us their way of understanding to I can say these things. Am servant and do. 6. The Marden Mermaid Bell banging, clattering keeps me awake. so rope that held it snaps and it rolls here. Sunk into my home this bright stream's intake. I wrap myself inside it, searchers near. I sleep while twelve white freemartins with yokes of sacred yew and mountain ash bands dredge and men bind rope to bell, drawn out by folk in needful silence. Raised to river's edge, I asleep inside. Excited driver calls out, "In spite of all the devil's in hell, now we'll land Marden's great bell.", diver with bell I announce "If it had not been for your wittern bands and your yew tree pin, I'd have had your twelve freemartins in!" *Freemartin was a sterile cow 7. Sheela Na Gig I sit in stone above this church door. You must crane your neck to see me carved here. I am bald naked my pendulous raw breasts hang just above my spread legs. Come near. Life enters and returns to me. What is it about me that fascinates you? Celebrate my fertility and shock of my age. Once I was hidden from view. I was in darkness, a cloth thrown over me. Somebody was ashamed of what they saw in me. Cloth lifted, life unsmothered. Folk passing through my door see my display. I don't know why I was placed so high up. I look down, vulnerable, opened up. 8. I, Owlman I, Owlman fly above the church steeple in corrugated cardboard wings made by mum, stapled and brown sellotaped in full. Didn't mean to scare those girls who walked by. My feathers are all soggy in the rain, fall apart. Soon owl will go, leaving just me. Mum took sharp scissors and curled all these brown paper strips now all soggy. Kitchen roll tubes are like a skeleton under my wings. My claws weren't very sharp, so I used kitchen knives after she passed on. My late mum is an owl now with a harp. I used to only go out in the dark as an owl. Now I, Owlman in my heart. 9. Every Woman Needs To Be a Dryad I am all my tree, and my tree is me. Cut my bark, and I bleed. I float on leaves. Lay your back against my skin, tell story after story. Words are my memories. I asked to be a tree when He refused to leave me alone. Endlessly chased. I got tired of always being abused. He says my sexiness makes him sex crazed. As if it is my fault He feels like that. Told Him I don't make Him do anything. He's responsible, His choice how He acts. As a tree I hide, watch all happenings. Every women needs a secret place. A place where she has no fear to face. 10. The Standing Stone I am just stood standing here. Don't know why? Folk gawk at me, as for a miracle. Run their fingers through spirals chiselled by someone who had a reason to channel their beliefs into my solid body. Probably same folk who quarried and moved me here, raised me up here meaningfully. Stone doesn't hurt, doesn't bleed. Pressured into what I am. You make me something special. Set me up for some strange purpose. - Once I must have had some meaning. I find meaning in holding up the skies range. I may topple over at some near time. Till then I'm stood standing, a weathered sign. 11. A Jabberwock Welcome, Welcome a frumly Jabberwock. Put away your leptimous gronky blade. Its harkless flames are spidgeons on umnous clock. Mouth your impsy words flunty pullisades. Welcome, Welcome a durkast Jabberwock. Offer it afterswoon tea and lockly scones, raise a swabbly glass to its fibblywock, raise another to its true coddlemoan. Lets celebrate one another's jull, in this grameless land where pomelders play amongst sundblast and tough crockly mimples, Sleep mafely in the grummidge of today. Only when we grell of ourselves in horkly, can we live gethertookness in borkly. 12. I'm a Hobgoblin I help you out round the house at nighttime. I'm naked but for all these hairs on me. "You mucky bugger." Your wife sees my grime. "Your hairs all over the bloody bath. Look .See." She does not know me, per our old agreement. "Have you been washing livestock in this bath? These hairs are too coarse to be yours. I've spent too long cleaning up, after you. All faff. I'm better off on my own. You make work." Your wife's rant might mean I don't get fed. Neat. I'l sour your milk. Clog your drains. Can't catch jerk. I'm an ornament, I'm a bucket. Fleet. Can't trust you when you lie to your fine wife. She should marry hobgoblin, get a life. 13. I, Blackthorn My leaves in autumn yellow, winter fall leave me a stark twisted black skeleton. I dwell on woodland edge as thicket wall hedgerow. Hawthorn, Elder companions. My barkskin rough, scaly, bright orange flood under my dark grey surface, thickets dark, dense, thorny, sapwood light yellow, heartwood brown. Thorns long and sharp if pricked, turn septic. Mark musk-scented small, delicate, white flowers oval petalled cluster into a star shape early spring. Blossoms, thin, rounder tooth edged white, with red-tipped threads. Globular small blue-black or deep purplish, round lip glossed summer berries ripen after first frost. 14. I, Nucklalevee My mouth is wide, I breathe on your ripe crops make them wilt, breathe plague into your horses. My vein and muscle is not wrapped and topped by skin, poisoned and scalded by doses of water from the black sky I retreat into saltwater waves back to mother who tries to keep me close bound to her sweet all the length of the hot days in summer. Come winter my hooves canter ashore, two headed, my horse head a living wave, tall as if a rider my body grown through the horses back, my other head, one eye ball, wide mouth agape, my arms trail down touch earth, I bring drought, disease, your prayers and worse. 15. A Cerne Abbas Giant Once fully clothed, a cape over my left arm whose hand carried a head by its hair, a knobbly cudgel in my right I heft. Soon my carried head and cape is not there. And someone carves an erect appendage. First a stubby thing then made to include my belly button. I reflect this age. My chalk refreshed regularly. A prude I can't be. Once they hid, tried to get rid of this added bit. Now all is brightened. I'm cared for, watched over, weathered, In spit and shine, folk climb me, perhaps enlightened. I'm what you make of me, you fetch yourself, and all you've been through, your wealth. 16. By Peg Powler You call me a hag. Foam flecks on water, are my suds, thin layer here is my cream. How beautiful are your ankles closer, closer now to the edge of my fine stream. Let me look. Let me see your lovely skin and delicate bone. I had to grab one to feel it's soft curve, to taste blood within. Let me take you down, where there is no sun. Come canny lads and lasses, you're my bait, delicious food, playing close to the edge. Let me take you to my place in the spate, where no one tells you what and when, my fledge. I'm more than a warning of dangerous water. I'll not starve. Kids are nutritious. 17. A Queen of Elfthame I rule a nameless land, my glamour shines a clear skinned thin high cheeked young woman whom some human males boast conquered many times, will find a gift from faerie has its own boon. It will ask that they lose what they treasure most. More they stroke my thighs in private, more humans notice their magic measure, more kiss my full lips more public their fate. They name this land and define those within. It's name will stay unknown to them, as will life of those bairns from our togethering. These men will burn as witches, a deal fulfilled. I will coddle these halflings, my children. They'll be a bridge between our rich living. 18. I'm An Apple Tree Man invented as good stories to engross. Perhaps I'm real in imagination. I am wizenned as a rotting fruit loss, Muscled as toughest barkskins creation. Make up tales about me and this orchard. A penniless man sups his last cider, rests his back against one of my trees hard skin, I appear and find him gold and finer. Perhaps Lord or Lady of Dreams gifted you visions, that's why sources are hazy tales told so well, they are uplifted, so readers wish them authentic story. Telling false from true is necessity. A good tale told lives in the memory. 19. The Sin Eater As you die I'll feast on your thou shalt nots. My fried chips is your lust for another. My boiled egg is your envy of others lot. Roast beef is your thieving from your brother. This lean bacon is your Pride. So proudful. These baked beans are your endless gluttony, Laziness your job, turnip your Slothful. Salt and pepper Wrath forever angry. Thank you to your family and friends pence and free meal of bread and ale. The rest dream I dreamt myself with each mouthful. Have sense shun me now. Your dead Heaven bound serene. I'll heft these inside myself. Pale Hunger my constant friend for a short while longer. 20. A Mordiford Dragon Her mum and dad told Maud don't bring that here, over our threshold, take it back where you got it from, so she returns me to a near wood, feeds me milk filched from fat cows and ewes. Grown out of milk, she fetches rats and cats. Soon my wings are broad and wide, I ascend. Maud is so small from here. I swoop on fat beef and tasty sheep to slaughter and rend. No, no, no. She screams at me. I'm hungry I tell her. Soon her friends the villagers are marching armed towards my wood, angry. One lances through my neck. Fatal damage. I imagine her parents saying I told you so. Maud weeps for me as I die. 21. Dorset Ooser I'm a mask. Two holes for eyes where there are no eyes. Inside these small spaces is a larger place where a brain would be where thinking would take place and a tongue to say what comes to mind, instead I'm emptiness. When you wear me I don't have your brain, tongue, but you are different more or less from when you don't wear me, you're not the same. I have horns and a moveable jaw. When you speak through me, I don't speak. I always say nothing. You have all the words to bend to thoughts I never have. These word ways are a mystery to me. How am I speaking now? I'm only a mask. So why? 22. A Lincoln Imp Tell you why I'm motionless here, grinning down at you. Satan let us out to play. Mate and I sat on a church spire twisting it. Chesterfield never had better days. Next we blew through that door. Tripped up Bishop. So serious. In the Angel Choir broke chairs and tables till angel out a hymn book told us to stop, so I lobbed stones at bloke while mate scarpers to Grimsby, where angel catches him,smacks his arse, turns him to stone as he did to me. At least mate can waggle his smacked arse at visitors I'm alone. Need a bit of fun in this God given place packed full of all praying and hymning. 23. My Wyvern I am what you make of me. Make of me what you will. In my wake is grass marked, slime, or frogspawn and flounders spawned? Angry twine of my knotted tail, my temper dark and venomous? An image on a shield, a tattoo on your skin. Bat winged, razor claws. I'm Tyrannosaurus Rex revealed. or Pterodactyl, extinct become lore. Mouth open forked tongue often out. Beware, an image will attach itself to you. It's not me. Simplifies me. You declare. I'm more complicated than this crude view. I'm called a dreadful creature, by some. Seen, maligned by others . I'm found in between. Sonnet Series: “Wombwell Cemetery” by Paul Brookes About Bats: The Chiroptera Sonnets by Paul Brookes Arachnida Sonnets by Paul Brookes (an occasional series) The Insect Sonnets by Paul Brookes
