"glastonbury" poems
Come Glastonbury, demand your suitors
Eliminate the negatives of their days
Show the signs of cheer and promise
Crystal clear and sun bright
The walkways between the tiny shops
Where escaping through to back doors and out
Inside spirits claim your soul
Wrestle your pathetic reliance on consumerism
Your slavish concern for fashion
And your unhelpful TV dinners
There in Glastonbury only truth is spoken
Revealing the weaknesses of our human frame
Our minds that suffer from prejudices and bigotry
Cleanse your soul, become yourself
Give up the senseless living that has dominated
And driven our daily chores and lifestyle
Discard them all and believe that man
Is just a tiny part of this cosmos
A spirit and energy of the completeness
Not the embodiment
Not the utmost but a small part
Perhaps a much lesser being than any other...
Despite everything we are special
You are special in your individual capabilities
Each soul a grain of stardust
Waiting to be reunited in the cosmos
With the rest of the wonderful plethora
Be calm in the knowledge that you
Your heart and soul
Are one and only
Unique
Even today in Glastonbury
Apr 23, 2012
Apr 23, 2012 at 8:48 AM UTC
Many make up the festival
so many warm hearted
Who would deny a place
to the hot fire
of the hash fudge maker
Jun 29, 2015
Jun 29, 2015 at 5:17 PM UTC
On our bikes, day after day
Wheeling along the West Country Way
From Georgian Bath, that Jane Austen knew
To Glastonbury Tor, our challenge still new
Where are we now, is it this way or that?
Another cool stretch on a railway track
No one fell off, no one got hurt
Except now and then by a few cross words
And so over Exmoor, our longest day yet
It was football, not cider in our Somerset
Sea views and fresh air in Westward **
We could have stayed longer but on we go
The hills are getting longer, tall hedges either side
Our legs are getting stronger now we've found our stride
The Eden project was on our route
So we had to stop and see
The scene was complete in a bio-dome
With David Attenborough filming for tv
Past holes in the ground where they dug the clay
Along old canals our journey panned out
Then over a beer at the end of the day
Out came the map for the mileage count
On through the ancient landscape we go
Past the odd castle or stately home
Past sheltered coves and beaches of sand
And on to the end -Lands End-
Where we ran out of land
Mar 22, 2013
Mar 22, 2013 at 4:39 PM UTC
I promised myself
"I will get there next year!",
With the people I trust though. Not the ones from the crowd.
we will save together,
and re-watch the history,
and plan every outfit, every detail to a tee.
we will travel together, laugh together
and come across unforgettable moments together.
But nothing will be planned once we step in the gates
to realise we are ready.
being Graduated and Free
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 6:19 PM UTC
The Holy Grail, the Chalice of Our Lord
Borne to Glastonbury, the Isle of Avalon
By the holy man of Arimathea
Then lost, and quested for by noble knights
The Holy Grail is present still, each day
In vessels blessed for sharing Eucharist
Whose Elevation in the Upper Room
Was then, is now, and forever will be
In setting fit, in prayerful accord:
The Holy Grail, the Chalice of Our Lord
Dec 22, 2018
Dec 22, 2018 at 2:54 PM UTC
The ancient town of Glastonbury stands proud
known for its famous Tor.
And leylines that converge in fertile earth
surrounded by human history.
Mystical, today commercialised they flock
soaking up power and to rock.
As this isolated Somerset town is engaging
colourful characters thrive.
Bringing the past and its history to life
as Pagan and Christian mingles.
Once an island surrounded by marshland
an aura of magic is at hand.
Here there's a sense of timeless wonder!
The Foureyed Poet.
Aug 5, 2012
Aug 5, 2012 at 10:35 AM UTC
The ancient town of Glastonbury stands proud
known for its famous tor.
And ley lines that converge in fertile earth
surrounded by human history.
Mystical today commercialised they flock
soaking up power and to rock.
As this isolated Somerset town is engaging
colourful characters thrive.
Bringing the past and its history to life
as Pagans and Christians mingle.
Once an island surrounded by marshland
an aura of magic is at hand.
Here there's a sense of timeless wonder!
The Foureyed Poet.
Nov 17, 2012
Nov 17, 2012 at 11:50 PM UTC
In sparkles and butterflies she's coming to grace the stage,
it's said,
astonished to be made aware,
the stage at Glastonbury 2014,
is to share,
Dolly Parton and her bits,
diamante maybe dressing her ****
the queen of country,
along with Debbie Harry,
what a strange combination,
let us all pray,
that Glastonbury doesn't drown this year,
I fear perhaps it will!
(C) Livvi
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 3:49 AM UTC
It’s Friday 30th June 2013
And I am not not at Glastonbury
The circus inside my stomach believes it
As it relives the act of the opening night
The generous performance of Prosseco
That now sing somersaults inside
It comes with not not being at Glastonbury
This weekend I’m a transient party goer
And I’m spreading the love of not not being at Glastonbury
Anyway who needs Glastonbury?
I’m here choosing my music track by track
On the way to meet my gran
Yeah, Granny Mac’s not not at Glastonbury either
So bring it on not not Glastonbury
Not not being at Glastonbury proves expense
Almost like Glastonbury itself would be
And now without phone
Not not being at Glastonbury develops realistically
‘Nother day and not not being at Glastonbury took me home
With old friends drinking aplenty
And more
Not to brag but I even jogged at Not not Glastonbury
Through fields and through the city
Undoing the damage done whilst not not being at Glastonbury
Tonight not not being at Glastonbury
Will peak when we get involved culturally
Shakespearean act performed in his Globe
You don’t get that at Glastonbury
But we’ll hold a drink through
Making the most of not not being at Glastonbury
By tomorrow my insides will feel like they’ve consumed Glastonbury
But here’s hoping we’re still able to get our art hit
Endurance is part of the test of not not being at Glastonbury
First thing in the morning and we’re counting the pennies
Because we’re not not at Glastonbury
So it’s never a bad time to buy *****
We’ve a young Argentinian as extra company
One of so many friends made at not not Glastonbury
Intent was succeeded with a turn of events never forseen
It went wonderfully wild whilst not not being at Glastonbury
Post play and pop with pa
Whilst wondering further afar
Party greets on a reclaimed beach
A gift given not by Glastonbury
So right now the Thames is actually the best place to be
Due partly to the unpredictability
For you know good times and good people come with Glastonbury
But the friends and offerings not not at Glastonbury this year
Have shown a surprising shared love for not not being at Glastonbury
Even if the comedown tries to equal the fun
It would be worth it this time, not not being at Glastonbury
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:15 AM UTC
The first time I saw you,
I didn’t expect to fall for the fact that you always hold my hand first,
Before you even kiss me
Or wrap your arms around me.
I didn’t expect to fall for the way you watch me when I trace the bones in your body,
Giving each its specific, anatomical name.
I didn’t expect that every time I looked at the stars,
I’d try and find Orion’s Belt
Because you have these three freckles that connect like a constellation on your chest.
The first time I saw you,
I didn’t expect to find myself thinking about your voice,
Or the scruff on your chin,
And how it felt when it’d brush against mine every time you kissed me.
I didn’t expect your smile to become a force
That could weaken me to my core,
And fill me with warmth and a quickened heart beat.
I didn’t expect that every time I saw the lights from Hartford,
I’d be thinking of your laugh when I couldn’t stop admiring the view from your house.
The first time I saw you,
I didn’t expect I’d fall so hard for you.
Jan 7, 2017
Jan 7, 2017 at 10:40 AM UTC
I keep wanting to write about you,
And I think it's because we haven’t talked in a few days,
But honestly I’m not sure what to write.
When I think of you,
I see your smile grinning so brightly at me,
And I feel your hand holding mine tight.
But I don’t know what to write,
Because when I think of you I just want to talk to you,
And hear your voice and your laugh,
Even though you’re usually laughing at me.
I don’t know how to write about the respect you show me,
Or the fact that you always want to know more.
I don’t know how to put into words the way you make me forget about the bad,
And fill me with good.
I keep wanting to write about you
Because I met you at the wrong time and I fell too hard.
I want to write about you because I don’t want to let go yet.
Jan 16, 2017
Jan 16, 2017 at 3:42 PM UTC
There was a time when the world seemed
an easy spoil of conquests
within reach-and we were young and blinded,
sure of our steps in every wrong direction.
We were free and unspoilt, unchristened
in the many facts and figures that took us
down a long road to destiny.
Who cared about the roofless sky
the waters rage, the waterfalls incessant spill
and magnificent spray that baptised us
in wonder. Who cared about the drumbeats
at the dead of night
and nightmares that gripped the soul
in its tangled knots. We were Woodstock
and Glastonbury, full of Vietnam wars
and journeys to the Moon and Nixon and
FlowerPower. We were filled with everybody
else but ourselves. We were free
from the chains of society.
And then the cells closed in, the ranks faltered
Moguls took over the stockmarkets
and the jobs were dismantled and monopolised
the riches were ransacked and the free love potions
that came with cannabis and upside down waterfalls
bleeding chairs and rock music
beads and baubles and denim fantasies
became tagged with slave labour and oil spills
and mountains of rubble stored in giant cities
of concrete boxes. All the worlds cities were locked
in invisible borders that shot people down with laser beams
and synthetic drugs and coloured t shirts.
We were locked back into our freedom cubbyholes
that were now governed by empty heads with dark glasses
and steel rimmed belts that zapped you into line.
Four decades of smouldering in the rubble left us
limbless and mindless
technology does our work now
and our brains are frozen and hacked with strange numbers
of which we know little. We cannot love again freely.
The remnants of those decades still linger
on the borders of the soul where butterflies
once flew and songs were belted out one after the other
into giant stadiums where people danced with bare skins
coated with mud and magic. The pink stripes never really
vanished, but our bodies still alert to joyous music
that the whole world clapped and rattled to. Gone.
Our world was taken from us
and the poor ******** that now stretch down the clogged
highways of the mind and roadways of
consumption without work will never understand
how we lived and learned and laughed
in that free open world.
Author Notes
Nostalgia. Thousands will agree to what I write of a time gone by. We are now trapped in a sterile world where automation and technology have overtaken our will to be ourselves once again. Soon we will be gone into that other world where freedom exists again.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 19, 2014
Apr 19, 2014 at 1:21 AM UTC
“You may be declared the winner, Papa
—but you never beat the game”
(Grandson: Glastonbury Connecticut: November, 2021)
Dec 10, 2021
Dec 10, 2021 at 3:31 PM UTC
Gregarious Gregg,
He could take lofty people,
Down a pegg.
On his travels, place's no-one went,
The thrill of a postcard,
From where was it sent?
There would be chatter,
Rumours of his return,
What stories would he tell us?
How green was the fern?
On our way to Glastonbury,
We walked into a pub,
The landlady looked at Gregg,
With love in her eyes, "free drinks for you and your friends"
Fun and laughter was had by all,
Outside we asked him,
"So what's the story?"
Gregg just smiling,
"I've never seen her before"
Gregarious Gregg,
Everyone listened to the words he said.
Passions would arise,
With that sparkle in his eyes.
On a road trip,
Around the Ring of Kerry,
A man thumbing a lift came into view,
It looked like Gregg, but just couldn't be
True!
No-one knew I was here, the odds didn't fit,
But, there he stood, that look upon his face,
"I thought you might be around"
he said.
The passing of time,
We all slide our different ways,
Things you think will never end,
Gently drift into the haze.
Occasionally I'll bump into an old friend,
We chat about old times,
Soon Gregg's upon our lips,
Never leaves our minds.
Maybe we should visit him,
He's only somewhere in France,
Or leave things as they are,
Firmly in the passed.
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 1:56 PM UTC