The Dark Mound in the Hazel Grove: A Poem for Bryn Celli Ddu
- apeach5
- Sep 15
- 5 min read
Updated: Sep 19
Introduction to A Bryn Celli Ddu Poem
Welcome back to Stone Temple Gardening, where we dig deep to cultivate new understandings of the ancient past!
This latest post is a poem about Bryn Celli Ddu based on my research and experiences of the site and its landscape explored in depth in a long series of my posts that are all collected under the Bryn Celli Ddu tag in my navigation page at the top of the home page here.
I hope you enjoy it.
A Bryn Celli Ddu Poem: The Dark Mound in the Hazel Grove.
“A Bryn Celli Ddu Poem: The Dark Mound in the Hazel Grove is a lyrical homage to the sacred landscape of Bryn Celli Ddu, a Neolithic monument on Anglesey, Wales, whose layered history spans the Mesolithic to the present. Drawing on extensive research into the site’s archaeology, geology, and celestial alignments, the poem weaves a mythic narrative that celebrates Bryn Celli Ddu as a living temple of earth and sky. At its heart is the blueschist rose quartz Gorsedd outcrop—a rare geological formation with an anthropomorphic profile (chin, nose, forehead) facing the heavens, revered here as the Stone-God, a natural deity that anchors the site’s spiritual potency. The summer solstice aligned “female” standing stone, round and adorned with a feminine face and rose quartz “hair,” gazes at the Gorsedd, embodying a daughterly reverence for its ancient lineage. The poem traces the site’s evolution—from the Mesolithic "moon cloaked hunters" marking post Ice Age human presence, through the Neolithic henge, stone circle, and passage tomb, to its modern rediscovery—casting it as a place where cyclical time collapses the past and present. The “crack-echo-ring” of the Stone-God’s echo/voice, reference the making of the outcrop’s ancient cup marks aligned with the stars, and the solstice light piercing the tomb evoke the builders’ efforts to capture the cosmos in stone. References to the “great Standstill” (the lunar maximum) alignment to the Tyddn Bach monolith, “burnt hazel” (ritual deposits), and the newly discovered lost circle of Tyddn Bach (a nearby site) ground the poem in archaeological detail, while its deliberate mythic references and repetitive cadences mirror the eternal rhythms of stars, seasons, and salmon spawning in the nearby sacred river. The ornate middle section reflects the Neolithic people’s agency in adorning the natural temple with monuments, the arrival of the Beaker culture and the destruction of the second stone circle while the final line, “And listen...”, invites both ancient and modern listeners to hear the landscape’s enduring voice. The interplay of the Stone-God and the female stone underscores a dialogue between earth and cosmos, nature and culture, memory and forgetting. This poem is an invitation to stand at Bryn Celli Ddu—physically or imaginatively—and attune to its sacred pulse, where the stones still wait “for ears to hark and hearts to hush.”
Bridget Braint.
Editor of Duwies Dwr
The Dark Mound in the Hazel Grove: A Poem for Bryn Celli Ddu
And then came the melt,
as ice unclenched His frost-white fist,
the island breathed again.
Moss crept back,
like a memory over Stone.
Moon-cloaked hunters roamed through the thaw,
feet stirring slush,
through the pale ghosts’ ash.
They found a power there—
a crag, hunched like a question,
His chin and brow carved by earth’s deep hand
listening to the River’s braided tongue,
facing the wheel of heaven.
A breath in Stone,
like a beast dreaming
beneath His cracked carapace.
A craggy hierophant,
Stone-voiced and veined
with soft fire.
Far above,
the Northern Bear watched,
forever circling...
forever... circling...
As roots grip deep
as Stone endures.
Then the flint-fisted came
fire-hearted,
bearing blazes,
with a hunger to hear
the granite-garbed God.
And the River ran,
and the Mountains dreamed.
The Mountains dreamed...
The Stone-God,
gazing ever skyward,
answered their call:
“Look to the heavens.”
And then the radiant round awoke.
Blessed by the mark of kin,
buried with burnt hazel,
a whisper passed to soil,
breath and bone entwined,
where vows wove communion
with the Listener in the loam.
Standing,
a Stone, patterned like the first thought,
set into earth as a promise.
A sigil to those who have gone,
and those who will follow,
follow,
follow...
Seasons turned,
as Stars sketched silver signatures
on black parchment.
They wheeled on... and on...
Then new blood quickened,
each bearing a vessel of dreams,
a chalice full of change.
They listened too.
And the rock spoke again.
A crack-echo-ring of being,
as they carved their cups,
sibilant signs on sleeping slabs,
markings aligned to the circling Stars—
four sparks on the rim of night,
mirrored in Stone,
calling the heavens to speak.
They found music in the hewn hill’s flanks—
ringing Stones, spirit-toned,
each a syllable
in a sentence lost to time.
They still watched the silent Stars
flare and flirt across the dusky dome,
before the Sun scaled His gilded ladder.
And the Circle leaned in.
Along Sol’s gilded chord,
a rose-grained guardian soft-curved stands,
a quiet supplicant,
forever touched by the golden gaze of day.
One for the Solstice—
the Sun’s daily dial,
a ring on the finger of God,
Forever facing Her lineage
marking midsummer’s fire.
Above another
bows to May Day’s rest,
a sharp shard of dusk,
His circling companions,
now sleeping in quiet earth,
faces smiling in long-lost dreams…
They mark the point
of the Moon’s wide wander—
the great Standstill,
when Selene’s silvered shadow
gleams long-limbed,
at full stretch,
straining Her girdle,
testing the will of eternity…
They caught the sky in their rings of Stone,
like fishers cupping
a flashing dream,
lightly held for a heartbeat.
The glittering prize of golden light,
like a fleeting vision
snatched from the longest day.
Yet no circle holds forever,
and Stars stray from their track,
as they let slip the silver cord
that once pulled heaven back.
And so the Old Stones fell—
Crash, crack, clang!
A reformation of ruin.
Circles broke like promises.
They buried the sky that day.
Cairn laid over chamber,
girdled with a Stone giant’s sash
in orbit around,
tracing, curbing, holding
the ancient sacred ground…
Now.
The passage pierces the mound
like an arrow of light.
Where Midsummer’s smile spills in,
scattering golden dust
across the bone-thick dark,
bringing Summer Solace
to the cold Stones within.
Waiting inside,
a single Stone still stands.
Shadow-bound.
Perpetual.
He does not speak.
But He remembers the ancient sky…
And the Mountains watch—
Silent, snow-skulled,
listening to the winding wind
through Hazel grove,
that drinks from dream-fed waters
where wise Salmon swim.
And the River tips Her tongue,
as Her children spawn again…
And the silent Stone within?
He still waits in shadow,
as He always has,
for ears to hark
and hearts to hush...
And listen.
Alexander Peach 2025
A Bryn Celli Ddu Poem: The Dark Mound in the Hazel Grove
I love this poem and I particulary admire the second stanza which I found very evocative, "Moon-cloaked hunters roamed through the thaw, feet stirring slush, through the pale ghosts’ ash." There's another line which seems to crystallise the soul of those people 'They buried the sky that day.' and I can almost feel the moment the capstone slides across to complete the work.