A poem for St David’s Day

014August and sept 2015 034 

My angels were singing : a poem for St David’s Day 

This poem was written a few years a go now – and I have shared it previously. I wondered about ‘recycling it ‘ but (rightly or wrongly) I love this poem, and, given that St David’s Day is an annual event, well….here’s to him, to Wales and the Welsh, and ultimately ; to us all!

Ddiwrnod da ac yn flwyddyn wych I ddod.

 

I stood near the house

where Grace once lived,

My angels were singing.

 

I watched as birds

and daffodils dived.

My angels were singing.

 

It’s spring and the sun

bursts fat and alive.

And my angels were singing.

 

Old crow, silhouetted against Carningli rock,

purple shadowed on blackened burnt bracken,

gorse and heather reeling :

the after shock.

But my angels were singing, still.

As seagulls wheeled across the bay,

catching sea breezes,

tumbling at will.

 

The Irish Sea lies beneath

becalmed and silvered blue,

and my angels were singing.

 

Wales’ favourite saint remembered

the new season breaks forth, springing,

flowers dancing, church bells – ringing.

His angels – singing.

 

Seasons, people, live and die,

here and now is for the living.

But remember those you love or loved –

do try.

And let your angels be singing.

Let your angels be singing.

 

 


Pembrokeshire – the first few days of February 2015

Hush!

The moon, a fat yellow cheese,

gobbles the duskling skyline above Morfa Head.

Later, silver tongued and stealthy

it lights the path for a night time wander

as three dogs and I

ghost along the lanes

badgered, foxed, rabbit worn, and,

turning for home and the deep bliss of the warm bed,

far out on the horizon

a ships light splits sea from sky

and hangs, suspended and watchful.

Yesterday

grey rocks grinned upon the hillsides

spiked, toothsome,

scarring the mountain, snow bleached and soft pillowed.

Today, we walked below Carningli

warmed by thin winter sun

though the wind, when able,

did not hesitate to cut a cruel song,

the grass frost blasted and resentful.

Hush!

A horse nickered,

dogs cavorted and capered,

occasionally raising a sceptical ear to the distant cries of long lost cousins.

Jet planes droned above

buzzing the sea shadowed sky.

Across the valley,

a ragged stone wall crooked a finger,

beckoning, cajoling

“walk on, follow me”.

The hills, plumped and greened,

sun plumed, farm groomed,

sweet air steamed,

all, carelessly platformed

nature framed,

snapshot and scattered

Pembrokeshire, adrift,

ship shaped and sand blasted,

ever kind

to my mind’s eye.

5/2/15


A poem for my father in law

Poem for Derek Beazley. 16/7/24

 

Ten years on

You are remembered,

Cherished memories.

Perhaps ethereal ?

Substance, somehow , immaterial.

Yet,

Your cairn still stands solid,

The view sweeping Nevern, Newport Bay and into the great blue yonder.

The gorse whispering,

Catapulting

Honey dripping scents

Across mudded marsh,

Rocks streaked and grey,

And heather

Impervious to grazing

Imperious with weather.

Ever the day,

The green backed mountain

Bowling skywards away.

 

The sea stumbling over Cat Rock

Cat calling gulls

Wind wards sailing.

Larks rising in harmony,

Carningli too,

Cloud ridden and proud.

The ghosts

Iron aged

Must have gazed in wonder

When you emerged

Uphill riding

November misted

Your dogs, ponies

Unerring horse sense,

Picking your way along the paths

The bridle way swarthed and steep.

And now?

No more miles for you

” Before you sleep, before you sleep.”

 

Sometime farmer, gardener

Mountain man and guide,

Hotelier, meeter, greeter

So much more beside.

Husband, companion,

Fond father with the Laconic film star drawl.

Startling grandchildren by

Jumping

Wolf like

From behind the wall.

You were Everyman

Welcome friend

And “Speed the parting guest”

Now departed, yes

But ever shining steady

Amidst

The brightest

And

Amongst the very best.


My Carningli Queen

Latest photos (Jan 2013) 006

Carningli
Crowns the bay
As I stare hard
On this perfect summer’s day
At the blue-green world
Yawning beneath me.
Gasping to the top
I clasp at stone
And lay a new gift –
A blessing, ordered to complement
My bent –pin wishing well thoughts –
Atop the gathering cairn.
Rested, renewed,
My legs construed
To return me to you
And your melon scented kisses.
You – the jewel
In my Carningli crown.


St Davids Day – my angels were singing

Latest photos (Jan 2013) 006

My angels were singing : a poem for St David’s Day (I have shared this with friends before but hope it bears revisiting)

 

Concocted over a few spring like days, out walking the dogs, watching the birds, and thinking of those who have died : Derek, who loved Pembrokeshire and rode on Carningli most days, and also of my grandparents (and others), who do – I believe – watch over me.

I stood near the house

where Grace once lived,

My angels were singing.

I watched as birds

and daffodils dived.

My angels were singing.

It’s spring and the sun

bursts fat and alive.

And my angels were singing.

Old crow, silhouetted against Carningli rock,

purple shadowed on blackened burnt bracken,

gorse and heather reeling :

the after shock.

But my angels were singing, still.

As seagulls wheeled across the bay,

catching sea breezes,

tumbling at will.

The Irish Sea lies beneath

becalmed and silvered blue,

and my angels were singing.

Wales’ favourite saint remembered

the new season breaks forth, springing,

flowers dancing, church bells – ringing.

His angels – singing.

Seasons, people, live and die,

here and now is for the living.

But remember those you love or loved –

do try.

And let your angels be singing.

Let your angels be singing.

 

 

 

My latest collection, Marcism Today, has recently been published and is now available from Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk Marcism Today front cover