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Posts Tagged ‘ruins’

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YSTRAD FFLUR (Variations)

1
Flower valley, quietness complete.
To count the short years of the living,
To count the longer years of the dead.
2
Stones warmed by long late summer sun,
Dew still wet past midday, tears for the lost,
Prayers for them.
3
One arch, one door opening onto blue sky.
A strong door it must be
To have lasted the closing
of so many centuries.
4
Billowed on Deheubarth
Dreamed green weight.
An illuminated landscape
A foliate scroll, inhabited-
The whispers of history.
5
One stone archway,
aisles dew carpeted,
nave ribbed in cloud.
The constant choir is this little stream,
and sheep distant on grazed hills.
One yew of many remains
where the poet robin nests.
Pine and dark beech the only roofs now,
the wheeling kite the only call to vespers.
6
A vessel worn smooth with prayer heals yet and shall forever,
Blessed by its past and the dreaming dead.
A valley wide with flowers, a road ended in tranquillity.
7
Flower valley.
Nothing but peace.
Emptied of longing.
Rested under heaven.

—-

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Ystrad Fflur ( pronounced ust rad fleer) is the Welsh name of Strata Florida Abbey in Mid Wales, north-east of Tregaron. It means ‘valley plain of the river Fflur’, but in Latin has become ‘Flower Valley’. Little remains here except an archway and foundations, but the site and location are memorable in their tranquillity and history. Strata Florida held the official records of the Welsh Kingdoms and actd as the religious heart of the country. A well-known poet Dafydd ap Gwilym (14th century) is said to be buried under the yew in the churchyard. Deheubarth was the name of the Kingdom here. The Nanteos Cup, believed by some to be a contender for the true Holy Grail, was kept at Strata Florida before the dissolution of the monasteries. It was famed for its miraculous healing powers. We visited on a misty, sunny day in late summer. It has a similar atmosphere and sanctified silence to Iona in Scotland, the same intangible presence of history and vigilance.

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INVISIBLE FRIENDS 6

Time for a new batch of scribbles inspired by other’s words here, webbed together catching jewelled flies, eating or storing them for colder, frosted mornings…

OBIT.

Terse words
for a long peal of time,
a good,
an only, place ,
for such as he to rest.

—-

GIFT

Even so,
beautiful writing,
a dove released,
vanishing into cloud.
Knowing emptiness is,
at least, knowing something.

ASANA

My tongue,
a bookmark,
syllabub syllables,
sutras,
plough with brows furrowed,
let us lotus,
pray pray away,
body buddy bodhi,
enlonged lungs,
a crack of knees
( not a new noise, yknow).
A sound stretching out.


CASTLE WALLS

The draw of ruins!
What is it?
The harsh past crumbled back,
mulch,
earth music…..

—-

GHOSTS, FLEAS, A MUSE.

We,
Ghosts
Of poetry,
Stumbling lines,
Echoed,
Staring far off:
The effort
To recall.

—-

HAY BALES

Wheels fallen off the sun wagon.
It falters and droops
towards a fall.

——

COMPOSITION, DECOMPOSITION

A dance in slightest sound:
first mind rolling mutters,
then quiets as pen flows scratching,
the silence between words,
a rush of voices.
Silence is not an absence of sound..

—-

THE GREAT WORK

Selecting or not selecting,
wearing a mask,
choosing a mask,
revealing, hiding.
Dipping in a toe,
how deep these black waters of self?
How fast,
how airlessly drown,
out of depth,
no one watching.

—-

AS WELL

As well as can be.
When we fray thin,
with time or weather,
it’s only a sign, perhaps,
to deepen roots
and not mind the storm winds,
nor the thoughts
circling laments in empty skies….

—-

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