Ancient Egypt in Wales,
Pyramids and ziggurats still punctuate
The Brecon Beacons, coursing down those
Pharaohs tie themselves to trees.
Their subjects lacerate them with
Holly leaves – bleeding into ecstatic
This is an initiation.
They get carried down, deep underground;
Unmade caverns of coal, as yet unmined,
Anubis and Osiris descend with pick and
Shovel, elbowing out the dwarves and
Dark elves, resenting this mythological
“Ah, Thoth, my Cariad, my sweet baboon!
Shall I gouge out your eyes with Welsh love spoon?
Or ply you with pennywhistle until your sphinxian
Heart riddles me no more?
“I am lost in cobwebs and palisades.
I am worried about my figure. Do you
Still think I look svelte in this sarcophagus?
Or is that limestone fresco just not as flattering
As it used to be?”
I take up my reed – prepare to write:
I Am the great scrivener of these Holy Wells –
Scarcely able to uplift a pale of water without
Severed heads fortifying it with thought – these
Celts are a weird bunch. I wonder what I’ll have
For lunch? Roast Boar? – Crocodile steaks from
The Lands of Thebes? How I miss your sautéed
Of course, all the place names will have to change.
How about Abydosgavenny? Camelot and Cairo can
Couple into landmass progeny. And The Old God of
Oak will build a canal between The Thames and The
Nile, so we can keep the mercantilism of myth
The owls are hooting now.
The bats are roosting now.
The sun is flaring now.
The mountain hares are burrowing now,
Struck by the moon – transfixed by that
Lunar striptease, of Nephthys waxing into Isis –
Isis waning to Nephthys.
Abydosgavenny – Abydosgavenny –
Will the swollen Nile keep the Normans
Out – their cankers like castles – hoarfrost
On the waves – cold winds blowing through
But the sky is still here.
We still have stars to aspire to.
And, on a bed of lapis lazuli wind,
We’ll sleep into The Valley of Kings,
Until Horus returns from Avalon,
With proud King Arthur at his side