Posts Tagged ‘skies’

I thought I had posted this late last year, but cannot find it anywhere, so maybe I didn’t, after all. The winter skies of the Cambrian Mountains and whispers from Taliesin and the Ordovices, Iron Age tribe of the uplands.


About its turrets are the wellsprings of the sea.
Clouds wrap the mountaintops,
Rivers run full with meltwater.
The dear horizon is our fortress,
Saviour from the revolving sky,
Pinned back to harmony.
One voice that is not one voice
That is one voice, the mind
Of the poet on wandering roads.
How is the poet like a hedgerow?
A tangle of blackthorn inpenetrable,
Interwoven, sharp with sorrows,
It bursts into pure blossom,
Its fruits are bitter truth that sustains
Through deep frosts.
How is it that poets and flowers are alike?
None knows when the sweetest
Shall spring up, though the seeds
Are everywhere.

The centre of the land here is a silent fortress, ageless.
Held motionless, it remains
Whilst the seasons roll their seas
Across the valleys.
Such emptiness in a heart, so
One can hear the tumbling flows of feeling
Before they cloak themselves in sound,
The sound before the language,
The language before the meaning,
The meaning before the comprehension.

The ravens knit the valley airs.
The weight of beauty, near unbearable.
So in the centre is silence untamed,
Rolled psalms of poignant distance..
Each path, each road, only now here
Because of the thousand weary feet trudged before
With stick and dog following the fluttering,
Oblivious flocks to and from the high pastures
Of heaven, the summer pastures of delight.

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A day of slow skies
Testing new brightnesses.

Cwm Dwfnant is lost
In dreams of cloud once more.

In the green centre
The river whispers

And the crows feel that
Spring is near now, over the hills,

And sunlight, too,
In the slate and stately rise and exhale.

A sleeping world,
Dreaming of waking,

Dreaming of a small unfolding.


Tinder, the horizon.
Laid just so
With blue on blue
To catch spark and roar
Come sunrise.


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Under a silent sky
Stretched with cloud,
Grasses loll green and pink and grey.

A firmament of birdsong
Curled, woven to sift shading green.

Tractors sigh and roar down the lanes.
Fields turned now and mown.

Stay quiet, stay still a while,
Hear how the river mumbles.

Fed we are,
Appeased by the width of things:

The deep caverned wood,
The slow, fine rains,
Flowers, now, of cloud.


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Flying West


The slow resounding chasm
In the raven’s deep voice.
Deep as sky, deep as
Heartbeat, as kept a secret
As cold hearth.

Flying west, slow
Wingbeat, mate-calling,
Wedge cracking open
Winter time, cold time,
Clear time.

Home at the centre
Of its view, air
Constellated as matter,
Matter weightless.
Bluff exaltation.


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