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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