THE WRITERS' GROUP

In this section we will be publishing your songs, stories and poems about the Nine Ladies site, whether about the spiritual significance of the ancient monument, the folly of modern environmental policy, or day to day life on the campsite! Send your contributions to submissions@nineladies.zoom.co.uk

PRIZE COMPETITION

The entry deadline has now passed - all future submissions are on a just-for-fun basis :-) The winner will be announced shortly, so watch this space.

WHAT
HERE'S	FIRST PRIZE is a signed copy of Julian Cope's excellent book The Modern Antiquarian - more than just a gazetteer of ancient monuments in Britain. Painstakingly researched over eight years, with directions, descriptions, notes and essays, it has been raved over by "straight" types and others alike. The Nine Ladies stone circle is included, of course. This handsomely-bound volume comes in a heavy-duty slip-in box with peep-hole detail and you can win a copy for yourself without moving from your keyboard! Click on the book cover or here for further details. RUNNER-UP PRIZE is a free copy of "Total Liberty" - a journal of evolutionary anarchism. Good reading. For further information, check out http://freedom.tao.ca/totlib/index.html or write to Box EMAB, 88 Abbey Street, Derby DE22 3SQ. Finally there is a SPECIAL PRIZE of a bottle of cheap red wine for the best entry on the theme of "alternative lifestyle". As this is a special prize, winning it won't stop you from receiving either of the main prizes on offer if your submission is good enough!
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Here's a poem one good druid friend of mine wrote about Nine Ladies which I know she would love you to use. She has no computer so I am sending it on her behalf.

Blessings,
Maddy Johnson

Nine Ladies Stone Circle

Nine Ladies dance on Stanton Moor.

Clothed in fresh-made daisy chains
Nine Ladies dance to ease our pains.
Joining the enraptured ring,
Opening our hearts, we sing.

Nine Ladies Dance on Stanton Moor.

In answer to the bell-singing,
Confused, the compass-point is swinging.
Just stars above, birchwoods below,
Can the true direction show.

Nine Ladies Dance on Stanton Moor.

Dragon-power we have awakened,
Healing given, healing taken.
Communing with the strength of stone,
In solitude, but not alone.

Nine Ladies Dance on Stanton Moor.

Joan St Leger

dear all, please add me to your list as i have a great interest in derbyshire and what they are doing to it my ancestors used to play around stanton and the peak district, we were everywhere

many thanks, dian case

F I R S T P R I Z E W I N N E R	Stanton, My Derbyshire Gold is your dawning Dark is your night Your beauty unending In Moon and Sunlight Your hills they are soft Like a dragonflies wing A paradise perfect Where all birds do sing Your peaks hold a passion so wild and so free and I dream as I stand they are there just for me My very soul is in your earth Your outcropped rocks so wild and as I look I think of birth and know I am your child Your dark granite hights Fill my longest dark nights When no light is there I see the moor sprites They always will guide me And so keep me free From all chains that hold me In a life not to be I have walked your bleak moorland Your dales soft and green Drank your sweet water non clearer I'v seen I've picked your bright flowers, lain in your sweet heather You showed me a magic nothing can sever Up through the bright trees where the Nine Ladies stand Thank the old ones I am blessed by a magical hand Dian Case

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Stanton, My Derbyshire

Gold is your dawning
Dark is your night
Your beauty unending
In Moon and Sunlight
Your hills they are soft
Like a dragonflies wing
A paradise perfect
Where all birds do sing

Your peaks hold a passion so wild and so free
and I dream as I stand they are there just for me
My very soul is in your earth
Your outcropped rocks so wild
and as I look I think of birth
and know I am your child

Your dark granite hights
Fill my longest dark nights
When no light is there
I see the moor sprites
They always will guide me
And so keep me free
From all chains that hold me
In a life not to be

I have walked your bleak moorland
Your dales soft and green
Drank your sweet water non clearer I'v seen
I've picked your bright flowers, lain in your sweet heather
You showed me a magic nothing can sever
Up through the bright trees where the Nine Ladies stand
Thank the old ones
I am blessed by a magical hand

Dian Case

The Rape of Derbyshire

Come go with me this night so dark
Away among the stars we'll walk
I'll show you things while others sleep
Come go with me let's take a peek
Push back the foulest Man made air
The hurt, the sorrow ,the deep despair
Look back in anger at seeds we have sown
See the harvest of hate that now has grown
From Mans darkest greed, in a land that's on loan

So clear can you hear the cry's of despair
Of cold hungry children, of souls laid bare
Look down in shame for the night shows all pain
Touch this great sadness, for our Moon's on the wain
There is no turning back from this Hell of our making
Mother Earth she gave all, and no one stopped taking
We poison and drain her then tear out her heart
Raped and despised her, and that s just the start

As we walk throu the tears of so many hearts
We see in the dawning the rise of the lark
We hear on the wind her magical song
And think that the dark will be gone before long
So as another day breaks think what it takes
Try to sow seeds of joy, for all of our sakes

Dian Case

Hello Nine Ladies

I've written a poem for the competition. Hope you like it... it's called "Never looking down or up". What does it mean... who knows? But I hope it conveys some of the things I feel about the Nine Ladies circle.

Steve Doyle

S E C O N D P R I Z E W I N N E R	Never looking down or up We are all of us skaters Measuring out fleeting lives Upon the surface of things Like waterboatmen gliding from leaf to leaf Pond skimmers planning Sunday dinners Little guessing the emerald depths beneath Never looking down Or up Happy to ignore the above, the below Afraid perhaps of vertigo Just for once kick off your skates Feel the grass, coarse between your toes The wind's insistent tug on your hair And hear the voices of the ancestors Faint, but stop and listen! yes, still there Singing a song of wind and stone Star and bone Cold depth of seas Blazing majesty of sun And the cool, grey wisdom of trees Where can it be heard This wordless, ageless song of land? Listen for it in the morning song of birds, In the star-fixed stillness of midnight, In the steamy breath of lowing herds And water running laughing from the hills In echoing halls of forests hear its plea Wherever waves meet shore hear its argument Incessant battle 'twixt gods of land and sea But hear its voice loudest where the stones stand Nine grey-kirtled ladies of the morning Guardians of a deeper knowing Waiting for us to return to our love of the land. Steve Doyle

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Never looking down or up

We are all of us skaters
Measuring out fleeting lives
Upon the surface of things
Like waterboatmen gliding from leaf to leaf
Pond skimmers planning Sunday dinners
Little guessing the emerald depths beneath
Never looking down
Or up
Happy to ignore the above, the below
Afraid perhaps of vertigo

Just for once kick off your skates
Feel the grass, coarse between your toes
The wind's insistent tug on your hair
And hear the voices of the ancestors
Faint, but stop and listen! yes, still there
Singing a song of wind and stone
Star and bone
Cold depth of seas
Blazing majesty of sun
And the cool, grey wisdom of trees

Where can it be heard
This wordless, ageless song of land?
Listen for it in the morning song of birds,
In the star-fixed stillness of midnight,
In the steamy breath of lowing herds
And water running laughing from the hills
In echoing halls of forests hear its plea
Wherever waves meet shore hear its argument
Incessant battle 'twixt gods of land and sea
But hear its voice loudest where the stones stand
Nine grey-kirtled ladies of the morning
Guardians of a deeper knowing
Waiting for us to return to our love of the land.

Steve Doyle

Hi, glad to here 'bout the campout for the Ladies... Here's a poem inspired by them and Stanton Moor. I'll hopefully be up there for Beltane from Leicester,

Beauty and blessed love Be!,

Jason...

My Lady

Journey start was overcast and anticipated; bus to train, train to train,
legs to here. Moor start, less pace. Absorbing, infusing Silence & solitude.
Multi-shaded grey dandelion puffs race across pristine blue, winter sky. 360
degrees of Nature in Zero degree heat. Unseen ice crystals, queitly heard
underfoot, under cold foot. Hat, jacket, gloves - insulation - but not
against feeling. Ancient prehistoric mounds of stone caress with
indifference the local dog-walk, ramblers path. Past these, now the sparse,
leafless wood. Wind drops to a cooling feather touch - I stop. No birdsong,
but something... Then movement ahead? Through the trunks I spy a definate
orange flash and as I near the Nine Ladies I stop, entranced. For spinning,
spiralling, singing 'round, fair maiden floats. Golden ginger wavy hair
cascades over well covered shoulders and breasts. And I make not the
slightest of sounds. I watch engrosed, enthralled, enslaved; until she sees
me. Approach with no reproach, to the circle centre. Without thought or
premeditation, a request to dance. Dance we did, names? Who needs names, not
us. A sudden intense sunburst, kiss, heartburst. In that circle, I found
Home...

Jason R
also...
Red haired goddess,
Spinning round my mind -
Heartache, wide-eyed,
Feeling found

Fire in your head,
Fire in my heart,
Fire in the heavens,
Fire on the ground...

Walking in silence,
Connected deep within,
Through hills, under trees,
We perfectly glide.

All the stars,
Perfection of the full moon,
Surrender and release,
Crying in your arms...

Found completeness,
Now I can Be,
Now I can Be.

Jason R