The Bus



This poem is from my Glastonbury Collection (2013), unpublished. The collection is about the world-famous Glastonbury music festival, which is local to where I live, in Somerset.

Every now and then

When the world sits just right

A gentle breath of heaven

Fills my soul with delight...
                                                — Hazelmarie Elliott, from A Breath of Heaven,



Now that he has arrived in Castle Cary

the man stands on the platform,


at the sea of people that now make home the small station.


He throws his backpack over his left shoulder

and edges his way to the back of the queue,

    smiling, his heart

fluttering into ‘a gentle breath of heaven’,

the air laden with music and the smell of

    fresh lavender;

the sky clear but for a lonely contrail

now a besom and a sea duck.


He sits down. The bus heads towards Shepton Mallet

to spontaneous applause,

    singing and dancing,

and reliving of every good memory

that fills the ‘soul with delight’.


The road to Shepton Mallet

is winding, the bus vanishing ‘now and then’

    dipped by rhynes,

riverlets the marshland wears like a necklace;

the old firs that line its wings gatekeepers

to the spirit world,

gatekeepers the sea ducks

walk through like ghosts.


The pewits circle overhead …

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