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Posts Tagged ‘Wales’

LLANLLEONFEL STONE ( our geography)

There is a stone there, fixed there
(though only stubborn fools would try to move it),
that speaks when the light falls right from the small aisle windows.
Not yet worn smooth but mute enough to be overlooked by most,
as the owls were in the rafters.
As old as the crows in the yew grove dark and silent.
As old as the bitter spring that bubbles from the hillside
As old as the view perched high, a respite from season’s battles.
Hidden is Llanlleonfel, hidden in trees, hidden its path,
forgotten its signs, next to the farmyard,
a barn storing memories and lowing souls.
The words slope down, they fall down, bow down.
Sorrowful words in proud stone, like the world itself, like the world.
Hanging on by a thread to meaning and remembering,
a small rippling on the glass hard surface of winter light
long shadows cast between sunlit hills.
Two names named, so well known, now forgotten,
Waiting waiting tight in their shrouds for the day to waken,
To be judged and born again as heroes that they were.
Left here stranded as the roar of history passes by,
Nothing here now but sheep tugging at the hillside grasses.

Here lies Iorwerth and Rhiwallon,
(Yet they are all dissolved now to earth and water, breath and light),
Tightly wrapped in the world’s dreaming shroud,
As they ever have been, as we ever have been,
Swaddled between sunset and sunrise,
Growing and diminishing with shadow fall.
Worn down and away to whispers
to ripples, to silence.

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CALM ABIDING ON WILD PONY MOUNTAIN

Facing the silent mountain
I sit listening to the wind.
Thoughts like streaming clouds
Come and go.
Only the weight of woven sunlight
Keeps me here, shaped by colours,
And the road through the valley
That promises still so much.

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STORM PASSING

Sway , as wind makes the grasses.
Here then there (but silence in the soil still).
It, breathing, roars. Tears away what breath there is.
It, moving, alights and passes through all, a sudden thing.
It, breathing, shudders the solid, twists each sound.
The singing fires dance free and the slope of wings as sharp as scythes.
Sedge, winter dry, rattles with a serpent’s hiss.
On tip-toe we scramble homewards, whipped eyes watering.
Such a small thing, this flush of weather. Half a day
Flooded with impecable instants of translucent uncertainty.
And we, made small again and frail by ineffable, invisible airs.

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STORM PASSING

Sway , as wind makes the grasses.
Here then there (but silence in the soil still).
It, breathing, roars. Tears away what breath there is.
It, moving, alights and passes through all, a sudden thing.
It, breathing, shudders the solid, twists each sound.
The singing fires dance free and the slope of wings as sharp as scythes.
Sedge, winter dry, rattles with a serpent’s hiss.
On tip-toe we scramble homewards, whipped eyes watering.
Such a small thing this flush of weather. Half a day
Flooded with impecable instants of translucent uncertainty.
And we, made small again and frail by ineffable, invisible airs.

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LUMINOUS 2

The day has no horizons
aimless we are where we wander.

short hours lost, dressed in silence
free of consequence, free of purpose.

as if the world were just created,
six days gone and the seventh, wondering.

the burden of memory not yet felt,
luminous ghosts of joy in luminous surrender.

and the hum of bees
or distant traffic
or chanting.

2019/03/img_4292.jpg

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Night Air

NIGHT AIR

This is their hall,
their echoing hall.

Acolyte owls mist and dust the snow flurry
that is an endless decease.

Heat of heart and heat of blood
rises wavering, steams, dissipates.

Cold eyes, lidless, remain.
Smiling, our ancestors by their fires,
looking down to see whatever passes
(the long roads, the short roads
To their welcoming circles).

This is their hall, domed and dark
where the warm soul of breath expires.

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SNOW SEQUENCE

River words turn running slow.
To see, to say, to move on.
A winter’s day has little warmth.

A winter’s day has little warmth.
We huddle around our hearts,
Crunch bowed through snow.

Crunch bowed through snow
Finding footprints to keep to,
White hollows the slipping lanes.

White hollows the slipping lanes.
Lines of hedge float empty
Cold smudges reasons to move.

Cold smudges reasons to move.
Time falls in flakes ending all.
Weighted we bob, suddenly uncertain.

Suddenly uncertain,
This is not the world we own nor shape.
Even names for things have dissappeared.

Even names for things have disappeared.
The river mutters between teeth of ice.
Slick and black the waters smirk.

Slick and black the waters smirk.
Glass cold whispers sliding by.
River words turn running slow.

2019/02/img_4423.jpg

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