90% perspiration, 10% inspiration? More like 1% inspiration, 99% blind panic! My medieval society holds a Gorsedd (song, poetry or story) every Autumn. I made the mistake of winning it in 2001 (with a story). This granted me the dubious privilege of opening the Gorsedd in 2002.

I rarely poet, being (like Kipling, a writer I much admire) a storyteller & wordsmith, rather than a genuine po! ;) Nevertheless, for a cause that will never be adequately explained, I just had to write a poem... I sat under an Avebury stone (I wish I could claim some poetic inspiration from this, but no, I have the sensitivity of a brick...) on Friday afternoon desperately scribbling that which would be performed the following evening, trying to capture the essence of the competition that would follow my Intro piece...

It seemed to work... :)

I AM

I am the laughter in the voice
The sparkle in the eyes
The sorrow in the heart
I am the darkness at the core

I am the words that stir your soul
And the melody that lifts your heart
I am the ache of empty loneliness
And the strength that carries to the end

I am a candle, a bowl, a mysterious stranger
The cry of gulls, a stout companion, I am a silken thread
I am the raven, the lion, the broken word
The tattered rags, a forest's gloom, and the warming welcoming fire

I am the silent footfall that pursues
The unexpected cracking twig
The eyes that glitter in the night
The howling carried on the wind…

I am the shining sun, the driving rain
The boundless joy, the endless pain
I am the snowy blanket, the wind in the hair
I am the chill of death, & the life that dares…

I am madness and reason, both in one
The axe that severs bone from bone
I am the cunning and guile that steals as it please
I am the love that cleaves close, and the love that frees

Can you guess my name? This I doubt
For I am every thing, I am no thing
I am the song, I am the story
I am the Gorsedd

I am begun…