The Witchyman

More of My Poems

The Warning by A.C. Williams    ‘78

Shrouded in cloudless mists of reality,

in a hazy shroud of banality,

whispered in the night calls of owls

and demons howling of wolves,

in icy cold untaken puns,

beyond the realms,

to windswept times ridden ship’s helms

a call, in the autumn full.

 

 

 

An Autumn Day    

A. Williams.                          Sept. 2009

As the late afternoon shadow passed slowly across the field

I moved to catch the last rays of the sun soaking up the warmth & feeling it's radiance,

before the great glowing orb disappeared behind the hill,

wondering if it will be it's last show of strength

for the rich golden tapestry of autumn

as the dragonfly hovered and the cobwebs glimmered

with the bales of hay standing like ancient monuments in the distance

before the starkness of winter sets in

and the earth goes to sleep,

awakening from it's slumber next spring,

Natures cycle.

 

 

Blackdown        A. Williams.

To stand alone and taste the clear silent air,

where the sound of the warbler breaks the silence,

and the butterflies flutter in the wind,

over the carpet of heather and gorse,

our ancient ancestors were laid to rest in this peaceful place.,

whether it be on a twilight autumn day,

or in a summer haze,

one could be in anytime,

so far from anywhere on Blackdown.

 

 

 

Life within life  By A. Williams. Written 24/3/79

Here from which all life starts,

an atom, a molecule, an egg,

like a seed blowing in the wind,

planted in the ground then dies,

from rotting wood comes new life,

in the darkness withers then spreads it’s spores in the wind,

a million cells swimming in an organic sea,

to the hunter and the hunted,

death, birth, regeneration,

the whole cycle of life,

life within life.

 

 

Stoney Littleton Long Barrow       by Andrew Williams March 2006

The turmoil and pressures of life seem so far away

as I sit in this ancient neolithic tomb

built 5000 years ago,

the silence seems so strong,

only broken by the odd drip of water

or distant sound from the outside,

the daylight seeps in down the tunnel,

peace and tranquility abound in this sacred place

where our ancestors were laid to rest,

in the never ending cycle of life.

 

 

 

 

 

The Trenches 

                                   by Andrew Williams  

Through the acrid smoke, the mud and the smell of death,

the trenches, oh to be in England, that  green and pleasant land,

sipping a cool beer by the green hills,

the sea, the birdsong and the blue skies,

with your love,

here there is no sweet sound of natures fanfare,

only the noise of gun fire and pain,

this was once a green field

now its a grey muddy wasteland of living hell,

why are we here, they said it would be over by xmas,

explosions ringing in my ears,

then a deathly silence all around and darkness,

at peace now.

Feb. '09

 

Syd Barrett    by A. Williams in 94

In twilight dreams on velvet clouds,

or oceans of green in strange surrounds,

he shone like a star,

that now seems distant and far,

in those flowery days which blossomed so much hope,

as the piper plays his timeless tune

we never interlope

 

 

The Whistling Copse by A. Williams

As I sit beneath the towering trees

whose branches waver in the autumn breeze,

which reach up to the clouds,

I gaze up to the sky,

the wind appears to whisper around the wood

like a thousand ghostly voices surrounding me

and the leaves dance in the wind

in time to nature’s tune,

that speaks to all who wish to listen,

on top of the hill in the whistling copse.

 

 

Little Solsbury                   by A. Williams

Sitting on top of Solsbury Hill I felt I could touch the sky,

As the clouds floated by like wisps of candyfloss,

while I rested in the mounds of moss,

the bustle of the city seemed far away,

with only the sound of a kestrel hovering in a sunlight ray,

now a great ugly scar has appeared on the slopes of the hill,

tearing into the pastures the road construction overkill,

the distant cries are carried with the wind,

to the lofty heights where tranquility one can find,

to escape the turmoil,

which nothing should spoil.

                                                                           Andrew Williams              Aug. ‘94