Glastonbury Dismembered – The Wild Hunt

Samhain Blessings. Today there will be a fantastic Wild Hunt procession in Glastonbury town.

This story is about the Wild Hunt witnessed by Ambrose Gilpin in October 1539, a snippet from my novel about Richard Whiting the Last Abbot of Glastonbury. An historic fairy tale of sorts.

I have just finished writing the last chapter and I am looking for 10 volunteer readers who will give me honest critique. Please let me know if you would like to read it in advance.

Ambrose last rode this way on All Saint’s Eve when he was caused by the beauty of that afternoon to ride further than he intended. Before he knew it, he had reached Cleabarrow.

The sky had been clear all of that day, but as he climbed the crag to look out over the valley the orange of the setting sun was suddenly chased out by a sudden storm cloud. A severe chill came upon him and he stood there shivering as the wind whipped up in the trees. The sky unsettled to a deep thunderous rumble.

He fancied that he saw moss covered maidens emerging from the trees! Devilish imps and all manner of nature spirits rising up from the land. He tried to shake those visions from his head, but could not, neither could he run, nor frozen in terror could he hide. He covered his eyes. Still he could not shut it out, for he heard a howl so full of dread!

The primal roar rumbled his chest and shook him to the core of his being, then the clatter of horse hooves. The blast of a horn sounded that would raise the dead to walking. And so it did!

He should not have looked, but he dropped his hands from his face and opened his eyes, fearful that a mighty army was coming. There came a great black boar tearing through the trees heading right for him. He rolled over a tree root to avoid the huge beast. It rattled right past, not hesitating in its charge.

Blackened clouds rolled out to the horizon and an even greater terror followed. A wild and gruesome cavalcade!

Fierce white hounds led the hunt. Hounds with pointed ears of bloody red that had surely come from hell, followed by numerous ghost like warriors on black horses. Huge and terrible. They came tearing through the clouds, the thunder of their hooves rumbling, though they rode some distance above the ground.

It distressed Ambrose to remember that day because he heard the baying of those hounds, he still heard it, the noise had frequently woken him in the night!

He shivered to recollect these things now. One month on and his body still remembered the terror he felt then.

Dominating the scene was the most glorious golden light. He would have thought it heavenly were it not for the menacing scene surrounding it. There in the light arose a terrible giant riding on the largest stallion that he had ever seen. The horse had the sickly hue of a corpse. The giant’s face was encrusted with white chalky paint, the cracks in the paint showing black beneath. His bloodshot eyes fixed on Ambrose as the magnificent horse reared up.

The giant held aloft a burning torch that lit the bottom of the clouds bright red as if a great fire burned through the forest. By the light of the flame Ambrose could see black ravens, owls and other air spirits flying in and out of the smoke, that by their appearance defied nature .

The riders clawed out with brutish hands to tear these otherworldly spirits from the land and sky. They dragged the moss covered maidens into the throng, whipped up the imps from the trees and struck at the air sylphs. Still, with all the chaos and savagery, the party remained in pursuit of the wild boar!

Ambrose knew the old superstition that death would come to those who witnessed the Wild Hunt and he had heard the baying of those hounds. He watched to see the harbinger of his death rear up. Then, out of the heaving mass of horror, another rider struck out. He held a spear above his head that glowed in the firelight as if the tip were aflame. He thrust it forward, it flew through the air and hit its mark. The mighty sable boar flailed against the pain of the shot, turned to charge and then, with an almighty crash, slumped to the earth.



Filed under Burning, Fire, Glastonbury, Living Mythology, Ritual, The White Spring, Transformation, Uncategorized

Today I Will Buy Roses

roses-1I loved the lily,
You hated the scent,
Said it smelled like a death bed.
You asked me, am I dying?

The lilies wilted downstairs,
Death affirming life.
I couldn’t answer,
Spoke the truth.

You gave me the red dress,
draped like rose petals.
I should be more extravagant,
You said, wild and graceful.

You examined your hands,
Life cut a path on your palm.
We agreed it was nonsense.
I remember your wildness,
your grace.

Today I will buy roses.


Filed under Uncategorized

When I Look at me.

If could remember, my hands are webbed for speed and my spine flexible. If could press down in the earth and accept all that is me. Then I would know from whence I came. Golden…

Source: When I Look at me.


Filed under Uncategorized

Girl, you are a woman now.

blood on your lies(A personal poem to remember power.)


Girl, you are a woman now.

How will you run

when the flood comes?

Life bears down

sore and tired.

Deep wounding

and you realise,

there is blood

on those lies.


there is no ‘away’.

When the wolf

comes prowling;

embracing wildness,

forgiving the lack

of teaching,

ask her.

Girl, woman, mother soon.

Raw mystery.

A hundred thousand beating hearts

encircle history.

They are the pulse before

and the whisper after.

So, women, how do we run?

Some run to find

there is nothing

to run ‘away’ from.

Some remember to

run with the wolves’.

None of us were taught how.

We just ran!

Lisa Goodwin 27/7/2016

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Rubbish Glastonbury Poem

glastonbury rubbish.jpg

They said ‘Love the Farm and Leave no Trace,
But you can’t be arsed
Cos you are off your face.
You’ve been partying for days,
But look at the state of this place.

An abandoned evacuee camp;
They came, they trashed, and they left.
All the litter for the pickers.
All the tat for the tatters.
All the food for the seagulls, if they could get it out of the packets.

All the boots in the car parks,
In almost every parking space.
All the trolleys broken in the race
To be first out the gates,
While the land fills up with our disgrace

You make up lies to soothe you
Like we can recycle, upcycle, re-use.
Make a thousand go carts
Out of all the spare parts
And send them to migrants.

With sleeping bags, roll mats,
Cookers and camping chairs.
Your dirty shoes and his muddy flairs.

Someone will pick up the pieces,
Cool boxes full of faeces,
Who the hell does a dump,
In the middle of their tent?
A steaming monument to represent
the level of descent they underwent.

It’s not rocket surgery,
You were potty trained in nursery,
But you can buy more with your college bursary,
Buy one get one free in our disposable society
While people are starving in a time of austerity,
lunching out your stuff ain’t donating to charity,
So lets’s get some clarity …

All the munters are knackered by Monday.
So why don’t the punters pack up on Sunday?
Put your stuff in the lock up
Party all night, ready to go at sun up
You can sleep easy on the bus.

They said ‘Love the Farm and Leave no Trace,
So have a bit of dignity
And tidy up the place.
We’ve been partying for days,
So let’s respect the land and leave with grace.

Lisa Goodwin – Glastonbury Festival 2016


Filed under Uncategorized

#RegularSonnet No.1

This could be the start of something.

RegularSonnet is my way of acknowledging that I want to hone my skills and practice sonnet writing regularly yet not really committing to one a day, or one a week. Still there is this idea to produce 100 sonnets over the course of an undetermined amount of time, so here is the first on the way to 100 regular sonnets relating to everyday life and observations.

Shall I compare thee, laughter, light and love,
to expectations of the common man?
Is water, food and shelter not enough,
to make us feel we’re dealt a decent hand?

For all those seekers, reaching for the light,
who grasp the shadow of the early morn.
Who, waking hungry from eternal night,
then face the rising of a daily storm.

Yet, is it safe to sit amidst the shade?
To witness all the damage that’s been done.
To hold the darkness, then to feel embraced,
By gems of truth that never seek the sun.

Can love and light and laughter then remain,
when what we hide in shadows is betrayed?

Lisa Goodwin. 24.05.16

Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

NaPoWriMo 19 – How to walk on Broken Glass.

Hello there,Day 19 of

Day 19 of NaPoWriMo here – welcome back. only 11 days to go, and I am packing a lot of raw unedited poems away for later reworking. This one came quite quickly.

Here is the prompt; Today, I’d like to challenge you to write the latter kind of “how to” poem – a didactic poem that focuses on a practical skill. Hopefully, you’ll be able to weave the concrete details of the action into a compelling verse.

I teach firewalking and glasswalking, so here is a poem based on one woman’s memorable experience at a workshop ….

A crisp bed
Of glass shards
Laid out on a
Sharp white sheet,
Inviting and
Your blood-soaked feet.

Allied with trust,
Knowing FEAR persists
As Friendly Energy
Announces Risk.
Truly, it’s effortless.
The first step
Is the deepest.

Look ahead, visualise
Getting to the other side.
It’s easy once you recognise,
You’ve walked on glass
Your whole damn life.


Filed under Uncategorized