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Walking with Ghosts
Palm Sunday 1461 (Part I)
Today was cold, and heaven had a sombre slate
sagacity about it. As if it knew, not to let the
sunlight gladden the daffodils bloom that lay
sparsely regimented amongst the hedgerows.
The road leading to Darce’s Cross
wound past the ‘Crooked Billet’ public house
across from which, in a field, stands a medieval chapel,
where used to stand the village of Lead
a witness to when snow turned red
fitting then, that it rhymes with dead.
The road undulated along gently down,
gently up, for a about a mile until
I came upon the cross, solitary
in the middle of emptiness, except
for the prickly hug of a Holly bush.
Adorned in Roses, White and Red
and bunches of flowers, no notes,
flowers saying all that needed to be said.
From this sentinel in stone
I looked over fields once of heath,
now ploughed, furrowed and barren, unrevealing
about the dark history that lay beneath.
Along the route of rout I walked
and noted shrivelled empty hearts,
hanging from skeletal briar
like bad memories lingering on
when a skylark arose in soaring sweet song
then stopped in silence…as if something wrong.
For this is Towton Dale
and here, Palm Sunday 1461,
amidst a snowy gale
two vast armies did meet
the reapers scythe,
ready them both to greet.
Fired by vengeance murder and hate
battle was joined for ten long hours
and by the eleventh 28,000 souls
were queued at heavens gate.
In a raging blizzard they say?
Who would have thought that winters
last attack on spring
would help decide the fate of thousands
and who would be King?
on that bloody holy day.
I halted and perused this landscape vast
trying to imagine the horror of that battle past.
When a breeze like breath spoke to my spine
and neck hairs stood rigid, like needles of pine.
I thought I heard the whispered rasping of whetting steel
and the ambiance around me took on an eerie feel.
But the more I looked at that muddied field
the more I began to yield
to the vision that now assaulted my eyes.
Rust brown mud transmuting into rivers
of congealing blood beneath black carrion skies.
P Williams © 2005
Walking with Ghosts
Palm Sunday 1461 (Part II)
‘Of Banners and Bodies’
My eyes transgress, or my mind does thicken
with the magic of sub-conscious deceit,
for what is this that lies before my feet?
Rigid to the spot I stood
limbs like roots of wood,
mouth agape, air sickly sweet,
tainted the throat and tinged
the tongue with the taste
of a bloodied fate.
I began to gag in disbelief
as my heart beat faster
an unwilling witness to the aftermath
of a human disaster.
For where should’ve been my car
lay quietus amid the detritus of war,
swords like crosses, cankered round
carcasses rotting by the score…
Everywhere…Bodies! Bodies! Bodies!…thousands all around
so many, it was hard to distinguish what was ground.
Like crimson idols, laid in death’s repast
faces froze in the horror of their last.
Eviscerated entrails, heads and limb,
arrow-shafted horse, and bloodied banners
cracking on a chill winter wind.
High above, clouds began to swirl
faster and faster began to curl
into a vortex of jet-black ink
which began to sink
toward the ground
in ethereal sound…
until
A bomb-burst of black winged scavengers.
Jackdaw, Raven, Rook and Crow,
in unison cawed
as descended the black snow
of natures butcher horde.
It was as if all the carrion in the land
had come to feast on this banquet so grand.
By all that is sacred! this cannot be,
What sin did I commit to behold such misery?
A raven laughed a beady black laugh,
mocking me from his high throne of blight
as his bloodied scythe disgorged an eye
from a socket, no longer needed for sight.
I sank slowly amidst blood red sludge,
eyes shutting out the horror
that sent my soul screaming
and sanity seeking sanctuary
from these images that would not budge.
Time had lost itself to my comprehension,
as courage, crept slowly forth, forcing
open an eye with some apprehension.
I heard a larks song raised in the sky
sweet and long…and opened the other eye…
The vision was gone…
Overwhelmed with shocked relief
and an uneasy sense of grief.
I began to retch on all fours,
dispensing phlegm filled fears
cheeks, streaming with saline tears
I sought to get my breath
and forget the images of death
eyes closed enjoying the clean air refrain
filling my lungs with the confidence
to question my sanity once again…
When I felt something cold ‘neath my chin?
Startled eyes shot wide
a scream stifled and died…
as my heart took residence where
my larynx should’ve been…
and after all I’d seen…
Oh my lord!
My only thought, as I stared in disbelief
at the sword now laid at my throat…
P Williams ©2005&6
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