Member-only story

John E Marks
1 min readApr 6, 2020

--

Ynys Môn

North coast, cliffs sheer, gulls scream incessantly, Celtic monks set off in flimsy wooden ships to Ireland with only their robes, faith, literacy.

Their Latin inheritance pressed by invaders: Angles, Saxons, Jutes, Frisians

Isle of the Druids, Celts fought against the Romans 500 years before.

Tacitus provides the only Roman account of the Druids in Britain.

The Celtic army, led by female druids: these furies, in robes of deathly black, dishevelled hair, brandished torches

A circle of male Druids cursed the legionnaires, who stood stock still, limbs paralysed

tumble-down gravestones attest to endurance; Mon' is the Druid goddess, Modron, the Mother of Wales

Sky and sea and land combine to make the shadows of this isle endure, from time to times anon, with, all along, the echo of a song.

--

--

John E Marks
John E Marks

Written by John E Marks

Beauty is the only thing that time cannot harm. Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood. T. S. Eliot

No responses yet