Swathed, mist cool
Tasting blue dawn
As still as an egg
Hushed as only August can be
Held in a lap of seasons
Replete, ripening,
Remembered now
The bite that is frost,
The gradual fall inwards.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged art, August, dawn, hill country, landscape photography, landscspe, late summer, light, mist, photography, Poetry, seasons, sky, valleys, Wales on August 20, 2015| Leave a Comment »
Swathed, mist cool
Tasting blue dawn
As still as an egg
Hushed as only August can be
Held in a lap of seasons
Replete, ripening,
Remembered now
The bite that is frost,
The gradual fall inwards.
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged cold, December, hill country, impermanence, landscape, mortality, Poetry, Wales, Winter on December 2, 2014| 3 Comments »
In Winter Hills
A shallow
cold stream
of inconvenient air
Is winter in the shaped and cocksure city.
It fills only the void between buildings
And the thin, guttering bones of the homeless.
But a raw six months is winter
In the hills of the northern world.
It builds itself a dance of long-knived layers,
Sucking heat through the ice-spangled drills of starlight,
Peels back and back the year’s green thrust,
Draws out a most echoing hollow certainty
That just one wrong turn, one unlucky day
And this thin, frayed thread shall splay,
Split red and run itself to mud, to ice,
To empty earth, to earth a carcass chord,
A final cold bed,
concluded iron,
sighed
silent
mulch.
—