Pok the Bard introduces himself , enchanter and poet of the fae, he portrays the beauties of this magic land and all the beings herein, explaining how he has protected this wonder for us, bids us enter in. Dancing his words past riddles clothed in myth and mystery, Pok evokes and invocates in us new senses, empowering us with love to break the bonds that beset the beauty of this realm, to mend an earth and set sacred spirit to reign….
From Ancient depths of myth
An incarnate joy
Where combined troubadours Run circus rings
Where ripples run from drop
And I appear
Where stretch the squares
The black the white
Journey of vivid logic
To teach of life’s cause
And the opposition of fates
Begin Oh Tournament
It’s A Game…
Thus it was at Goatstone Rounds
Pok first proclaimed these feiry sounds
His love of Her
His loth of war
True he hopes you will do him proud
To speak out loud
Declare beneath any tree
For they are worthwhile
Acts live and acts inspire
And as story fires are rising higher
Make a fun that once begun
Will spread like wild about this land
Breathe a world that joyous sings
In market place where prophets
Bring their offerings
And ours for you
For is there any we can loose?
Speak We Gnomes
Sat, each our pipe in hand
Calling you to our ring of eyes
The twirl of minds wrist is our work
The slip of tricks that soar us from the mundane
In circles dream emerging
Our construction from talksome shiftstick spins
Maker, that portrays lavish dreams
And founds them here
So as we sit
We throw our glory into life
Dreams that stir from these depths alight
Bringing their fantastic visions
So hopscotch we between black and white
As dazzled we be in door’s open light
It is I Pok who speak
Who fell from Bok
Then tell tales
Who calls earth She
And nestles ‘neath the old oak tree
So now we stand at place entrance
Where Pokke sometimes does he dance
Shows y through his sparrow’s eye
His intimate bower
It’s walls and towers
Balustrades, a rose and eldern crosses
Bracken, briar and moistly mosses
Courts within a garden glade
I’ll show you round, it is ok
I have kept safe an ancient land
Draw now near and understand
That I will let you in my gate
Between two hills the worlds relate
Hear the cittern’s magic drone
Feel the pull, moon’s magic moan.
Feeling tears of diamond rain
Falling on our brows again
Open door you star clad guide
Let us the magic dragon ride
Those two hills
The Goatstone Rounds
Are places where we make our sounds
Are bowers, you should understand
Were worms of earth do song the land
And for Pok
True, no sword
But Elfin silver gauntlet drew
And down it threw.
Here is faith a riddle round
A pooka place a peace palace
Where worlds of words entreat
A dodman root
In glades of games of life we meet
These will echo down the wastes
To true Kingdoms
Earth-heart’s prize of timely wealth
And each a ley through stones old throat
This ancient land in stars so cloaked
Is blessed with poklamations croak
A trumpet for a new dawn’s hope
It is the Buddha’s will
And we sit with him
Within circles concentric
The five point star
And lotos fall
How star wondered
On Taleteller’s brow
Sacred diamonds or Egyptian curls
Take us there
This is how we do it
And you have been led by tragedies first prankster
Come to where Pokke old crow now bows
His body pulsing with other lights
Through his eye sparrowhawk spies
Who undefined and of no fleshes but voice only
Has described a glorious ark
Which, it is agreed, it is assured
Will sail you through new senses
To see truths in strange verse
That will remain when spell is broken
Mend an earth when words are spoken
Who does work now crisis come
With gourd and voice and beaten drum?
With Deva, Sylph and Dragon King
Flaming Centaurs and wild dancers
Weave and wield
A cloth where is none
Weave and wield
Take to the field
With love magics
To break a sterner enchantment.
To play Musics in this Sacred Place
Put an End
To War’s Disgrace.
Excerpts from the Pook of Pok, written, narrated and music by Pok The Bard
Explanation Of The Verse;
Pok tells us what its all about and sets off revolutions of love beneath all and every tree of his domain, setting off story fires and fun that spreads like wild, that are offered about the world we live in.
It flows out like waves and tendrils spreading out from the source. Its the circus people jugglers and clowns, minstrels and acrobats busking the streets, reaching people.
Pok dances in the Goatstones and they travel though dimensions.
The gnomes come by one by one to form a ring (of eyes) entering into that location from their realm somewhere else.
A council of gnomes whom, we must assume, are sage and up to the moment on current affairs. The dice they sit on are big, at least 6 feet on their side, six sided dice with dots for numbers.
Their talksome shift stick is based on the talking stick from rainbow circles, where the stick is passed round and the holder of it speaks their mind. Here it is sort of a spinning of creativity, born from the gnomes ‘construction’ in our real world, the place we are gathered, the Sacred space. These lavish dreams are being brought into the real world. Dreams alight, they take off, it seems into more visions. But what else can this be in a poem? And what are our visions? what do we envision?
As we follow this vision, Pok plays hopscotch down the squares directly towards the open door of light, and others follow.. The doors are but a third open and letting in a lot of light. Pok dances up first and closes the door so that only a chink of light comes through. We have arrived at an important location. This is the ‘place entrance’ the threshold to the Citadel.
((This is a missing detail here, where Pok is reticent at first to let his guests into the Pook. On the threshold he lectures his listeners on their shortcomings (he is a spacegoat of course, not human, or only a third human) Pok holds the door to his eager curious guests, making them have to wait while he tells the story of his birth.))
The creation of Pok. Bok is a vast spirit, a daemon beyond speech. He oozzes with energy and the first drop falls from him causing ripples in the nothingness, causes the first vibration which was the voice of Bok via his more streamlined off-spurt, Pok.
This terrible exposure causes the screams of Pok,
but he reconditions himself to refine these raw feelings into somethin more accessable…into tales.
Pok makes it clear that he is aligned to the Goddess and that he is somewhat of a hedger and we are soon to be taken into the heart of the Pook.
The listeners are still waiting at the doors. At first Pok only permits a glimpse ‘Shows y through his sparrows eye’ he is lookin through an ‘eye’ made by making the shape of one between your thumb and first finger and peekin through it. ‘Draw now near and understand’ …he still hasn’t let them in!!
Now a funny thing happens, the door gets called a gate, then it becomes 2 hills. These are regular smooth roundball hills, not two high, with a cleft between them. Not exactly like a generous pair of breasts yet reminiscent of such. Strange weather is happening behind them, we hear the cittern, see the moon and yes, a storm – the diamond rain falls on us all.
The doors are flung wide, dimension travel, dragons and giant space worms offer their backs to riders. We see the landscape we have travelled lighting up along the leylines where we have made songlines.
Pok then throws down the gauntlet to minds willing to go on from here. A Pook is made here, the ‘peace palace/gay marquee’…(just like at a festival) a pledge for himself and a call out for others, a call that itself is an inner or outer temple formed from these declarations. All it is made of here, is words and games.
A dodman is an old word for a snail. The snail’s eye stalks are like the geomancer’s two rods, hence the ley energy moving through the stones….Trumpets herald a fanfare and smash our preconceptions like the sea crashing against the rocks and cliffs, and we are transported into the next location, a fully far gone zone -maybe also temporally connected to the Goatstone Rounds. Like the barbury ring crop circle, the wisdom of Buddha speaking though tales from antiquity, Egypt and the stars. Like concentric rings floatings in space with crop circles and other geometric images, the pentacle and petals if you will.
It is the cosmic node of knowing , the seat of lion kings, the initiatory self dissolver that sends you to your zodiac mother and gives you your next real name.
Finally Pok bows to his listeners, telling them of the efficacious nature of what he has described and constructed with words that are his only flesh, and he is dematerialising.
Pok asks who will take up this cause, to work with the devic forces, to make a fabric out of nothing, to wield this, which is what one does with a weapon. To go out in the world and take to the field with these love magics we have found here…..
You can read more of Pok The Bard’s poetry at his Blog
Blessed Be The Bard and Thee ~