Taking action is often the road to folly



I could spend a lifetime in tears,
Atoning for what I’d not done
And dwell with those ghosts and those fears
And hide from those Demons who won.

I could wreck great vengeance sublime,
Shed blood, bathe in its warm flow,
Kick back at each spiteful low crime;
Feel rage and its wonderful glow.

I could write great tomes that accuse
The wicked of every misdeed.
I could take to drink and to booze,
Seek comfort and greedily feed.

There’s little now I wish to do,
Nor think of each petty past wrong
As I look at this wondrous view,
Mid so many birds in full song

© Trevor Morgan, 16/5/2018


Nan’s Fairy Song

Story time is fun


Nan’s Fairy Song

“Now there are fairies in each glade,
They’re by each tree and brook.
Some dwell beneath the ash tree’s shade;
You’ll see them if you look.

The young and old may see the fey,
But only if we’re kind.
There are grown men who talk to them,
But they have lost their mind.

Beware the fairy folk please do
And don’t go to their hall.
For they may play such tricks on you,
That you could cry and bawl.

Content yourself to watch the fey,
But do not heed their speech.
Then you’ll come home at end of day
And not be out of reach.

The fairy king he likes young maids,
Yes, he likes having them.
And where a maid has gone with him,
No maid comes back again.

The fairy queen she has tirades
Each time a flower’s lost.
She scolds the king with oaths so grim,
But wenches bear the cost.

The children who may come by chance
Can be blamed on the fey.
Ah, wench you’ve led a merry dance,
When you romped in the hay”

© Trevor Morgan

From: “Tales of Aethelwulf of Lyng”





“I am the pool upon the leaf,
So, it seems the simplest notion
That You’re the pool beneath the leaf.”
Said the Dewdrop to the Ocean.

© Trevor Morgan

From: My Muse

Sonnet – Their Little Girl

A family gathering for an event.


Sonnet – Their Little Girl

The Mother washed the child with gentle care,
She softly dried her lovely white clear skin
And brushed and combed the lovely blond long hair,
As overflowing thoughts were held within.
She dressed the little maid in her best dress,
Then dainty little shoes put on her feet.
She gave the child a sweet and soft caress
Then went beside the fire and took her seat
And sat there for a while on that damp morn.
Until came time to cook that special meal,
Her Husband came with Sisters all forlorn,
For all there felt such things that none ought feel.
No feelings though got said, not out aloud,
As they wrapped round the soft white linen shroud.

© Trevor Morgan, 16/5/2018

From: “Tales of Frigar”

to Barbara
her loss was total

Sonnet – Turmoil of the soul

I have felt for a long time that from turmoil comes the best poetry.
The idea that you can subsidise poets with grants and they can then write powerful verses is wrong.
Great poetry has come from war, failure, defeat, victory, anxiety and elation. It comes with falling in love or in death and loss.
It is difficult to write with passion over tea and biscuits in the warm.
Difficult, that is, for me.


Sonnet – Turmoil of the soul

Now wallowing through the mire that’s left by Hopes,
False Hopes that had proclaimed life would be good.
With spirits left all trussed up as with ropes;
Sad victims of false Hopes did what they could.
For wherein is there good in futile rage?
And how in sad souls can new joys be found?
It seems the Fates have writ upon their page
And Fortitude is now what must be found.
There is no point at all in seeking strife,
No point in gestures, nor in vain pretence.
It seems that turmoil like some jagged knife
Mars souls in ways that never can make sense.
New joys may well now come from smallest things,
Like some bird that’s unseen now sweetly sings.

© Trevor Morgan, Samhain 2004

Pre-destiny and choice

There are age old questions about free will and fate.
Strangely this seemed to have been resolved by the late Roman writer Severus Boethius in his book “The consolations of philosophy”. This he wrote in prison awaiting execution. It was unfinished.


Pre-destiny and choice

Things are just as they are.
Each ought do what they can.
Some say Fate’s in the hands of God
And not the hands of man.

Things are just as they are.
Some will do what they do.
They may think they’re the hands of God
And right when they wrong you.

When deadly deeds are done,
All ought do what they can.
For Fate’s not all the hand of God
Pre-destined in a plan.

Free will is there as well
In much of what we do.
That’s our Fate from the hands of God,
To choose is up to you.

To have choice is our Fate.
Each must do what they can.
Free choice is from the hands of God
Pre-destined in a plan.

Pre-destined then to choose,
We should not make a fuss.
Some may think they’re the hand of God
And right when they wrong us.

To have choice is not bad,
Nor good beyond our ken.
Badness is not the hand of God
But wrong choices of men.

Now what will be will be,
So, when we right a wrong;
We may think we’re the hand of God
And justice makes us strong.

But who are we to judge?
Each must do what they can.
Justice is in the hands of God
And we don’t know his plan.

For as we right a wrong,
New wrongs we may well do.
Vengeance is in the hands of God
It’s just not up to you.

Things are just as they are,
Each should do what they can.
Some say Fates in the hands of God
And not the hands of man.

Predestined then to choose,
With choice our destiny,
We don’t know if we win or lose;
So, what will be will be!

© Trevor Morgan 2004

From: “Tales of Aethelwulf of Lyng”


To Severus Boethius
An agonised thinker

Note: If you want his thoughts read his book!

Heart and Mind

It is almost like there are two sides to all of us.
The emotional and the rational pull different ways but need each other for us to be whole


Heart and Mind

The restless heart will sigh again,
The restless heart will mope,
And all of us can feel the strain
Or some of us lose hope.

The wandering mind may soar again,
The wandering mind may cope.
Then none of us need feel the strain
And none of us need mope.

For wandering minds will find new ways
As they seek new insight,
While wandering to the end of days
They’ll take us to the height.

The heart may soar with hope and faith
Or seek to love and care,
And sometimes haunted by a wraith
May slump into despair.

Then restless hearts will cry again
And restless hearts lose hope.
The mind is there to bear the strain,
The mind is there to cope.

But restless minds may sigh again
And restless minds may mope,
And all of us can feel the strain
And some of us lose hope.

Then faithful hearts may soar again,
Then faithful hearts may cope.
Then none of us need feel the strain
And none of us need mope.

For faithful heart and wandering mind
May well be poles apart;
No matter what new thoughts we find
We do all need a heart.

© Trevor Morgan, 15/5/2018

From: “Aethelwulf of Lyng”

Jesus Wept

I have written a lot about our heathen ancestors.
There was a long struggle between them and an imported religion from the Levant, that is Christianity.
From the time of Bede the English have been mostly Christian, but at times have used this religion in such ways as to ensure that Jesus weeps still.


Jesus Wept

Child Jesus walked the world of men,
He came here to bring Grace.
He’s here in each hill and fen,
In every smiling face.

But though he’s tried throughout the years,
Yet few have cared to know
And so his eyes they weep salt tears,
And through each day they flow.

This one son of the one true God
Has died to save each soul.
It was upon this world he trod,
So, souls could all be whole.

© Trevor Morgan

From: “Tales of Aethelwulf of Lyng”

The Hatred of “Heresy”

When Jesus brought light to the world,
Foul men would snuff it out.
Then Satan’s banner was unfurled
For his foul gift was – doubt.

“The light of faith may guide all to
Pure respite for the soul.
Foul doubt may leave us all to rue,
In Hell we pay the toll.

The light is here that all may see
The works of our good Lord
For Christ is there to set us free;
There can be no discord!”

© Trevor Morgan

From: “Tales of Aethelwulf of Lyng”


The Stream from the Holy Well

There are “Holy Wells” all around the South West of England
There may be nothing in this.
However, the nearby village of Holywell Lake has not war memorial.
This is because of all its men who went to the World Wars, all came home.
So, no memorial was needed.
Nice story that, sadly, Wellington has a memorial with many names upon it


The Stream from the Holy Well

The stream seems to chuckle
As it flows round the stones.
The foal starts to suckle
‘Neath pine with its cones.

The waters flowed here
Through the aeons of time.
The wagtails appear
And seem in their prime.

While water weeds wave
In these currents below,
The Wagtails won’t brave
The stream’s deepest flow.

They’ll feed by the edge
Or by every stone.
Then flee to their hedge
When they’re not alone.

There’s moths on the bark
Of the lofty pine tree.
There’s a song of the Lark;
It’s good to be free.

© Trevor Morgan

From: “Tales of Aethelwulf of Lyng”

The Goddess of the future fates

I like ripping yarns and mythology.
There are lots of tales of seers who are not believed by the proud and mighty who then are doomed to defeat.
So as a part of tales of the struggles between Alfred the Great and the Great Heathen Army of invading Danes, this is one of mine.


The Goddess of the future fates

The Gods in Asgard seemed to sleep,
Or turn their minds away,
As Danish widows moan and weep;
The Noki dance and sway.

They sought to change the fate of men
To help their people win.
The Christians they would curse them then
And call their craft a sin.

They would not let just one witch live
For they must burn them all.
They ask God’s love but can’t forgive,
So, answer Satan’s call.

But Noki by the sea one night
Beneath a waning moon.
Sought refuge in that second sight
They see before they swoon.

In Bragi’s name through each refrain
They asked Skuld for that sight.
Idu the Noki felt the pain
And then screamed out in fright.

A bloody ghost of some dead slave
Embraced her as a friend.
And he said that he now forgave
Those who had caused his end.

“Your kind came here to take this land
You make the orphan slave,
Is Danish doom now close at hand?
Noki can you be brave?

You are a part of our land now
And it’s a part of you,
Gudrum by now has broke his vow
But Loki will be true!

True to the falsehood that’s his game,
Deceit will be deceived.,
It matters not the names I name
For you’ll not be believed”

He held her hand through vistas grand
And showed her all men’s fate.
“A future’s planned here in this land,
The Danes may know too late.

The Oak, the Ash, the Elm, and Yew
Grow tall on Albion’s isle,
And what you view may well come true;
Don’t waste your time with guile.

The Norns dictate so know your fate
And to your gods be true.
Then try some love as well as hate,
Then I will lie with you.

I’ll come in dreams and show you schemes
Of what kings’ plan to do.
And right until the daylight beams ,
I’ll spend each night with you.

The perfect prophet you will be
Until your dying day.
Though you can share your dreams with me,
Be wary what you say!

For you’ve a curse the very worse
The Seer who is alone.
For though you speak in prose or verse
No one will heed your tone.”

Idu the Noki had a fit,
Her mouth was wet with froth.
On waking her hot brow was knit,
She was frail as a moth.

Though dark and deep she could not weep,
The future she could see.
But now in silence she must keep
Her tongue from being free.

The elder Noki saw some signs
And felt a little grief.
But in old age she now resigns
Locked in some disbelief.

From thence on Idu slept a lot
And she’d smile in her sleep.
As when she talked men called it rot,
They now don’t hear her peep.

And she and Sild walk through the years,
The years that are to come
And Idu often shed some tears ,
But Idu had turned dumb.

She saw the fall of all her Danes
And saw them rise again.
She saw them on far distant plains
She saw and she knew when.

She saw the things that Morchan saw,
All those long years ago.
She felt great winds quite cold and raw,
And felt the summers glow.

She met the Seers of future years
Not all would wear her gag.
She shared the hopes, she shared the fears,
She had no need to brag.

The Norns gave Idu for a wife,
To some “man from the sea”.
She had a long contented life,
For what will be will be.

The gods of her place weren’t so dark,
The wind, the wave, the tide.
Her choices then were few not stark,
In her dreams she could hide.

From: “Tales of Aelfrede and Gudrum”

Idu is a prophetess who like Cassandra is never believed
Noki are Old Norse priestesses
Morchan is Morgan Le Fey
Sild appears as the Ghost of the Dead Slave but id Verthandi the Norn
There are three Norns equivalent to the Fates in Greek mythology.