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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.