Here is a response to a visit yesterday to the Petrified Forest in Mundon which was recommended to me by a friend from Wivenhoe.
I found it beautiful rather than scary, but I still could not resist the temptation to pen a spooky poem.
One theory is that the trees drowned because of the water table rising which was my inspiration for the rivers of blood.
The Petrified Forest
Your doors are obvious –
craters on the dryad moonscape
where the dead lurch with awkward footsteps
from St Mary’s to the underworld
beneath your rigid carcasses.
All the churchyard tombs have lifted
as corpses ooze over the flatlands
feast on blood rivers under the relics –
contorted with screaming faces
frozen in petrified silence.
Ichor does not wash from earth
it multiplies underground
awakens chambers, deadly creatures
gnawing greedily on roots
until knights become skeletons.
This forest does not remember leaves
or the liveliness of the seasons.
Even ravens are afraid to land
on the venomous witches fingers
pointing upwards to summon lightning.