Molly Maid – in celebration of my niece. A poem that has been ‘brewing’ a little while…

Molly maid


It is November

the 4th to be precise

and the morning mists trailing above the estuary.

Llanstefan to my right

gulls wheeling and waders rootling about

in the flattening mud

as the train clanks and creaks along the way.

The ruins of a castle, ghost silhouetted and sharpened by

the profile of black rocks

caressed by grey blue waves.

There is sunlight on the headland

and sunshine in my heart

and the train whistles in sympathy with my exuberant mood.

I sit and smile at

A man with blue stars tattooed

upon his hands.

Knowing that, even now,

your star is flung

high and bright in the firmament;




Caravans rest, snail like upon the landscape


piebald ponies in a waterlogged field,

spiked with gorse and yellowing leaves

the rivers fat, full flowing


the world a better place for the knowing that

you have arrived, safe and secure

untarnished, pure……


Molly maid, niece of mine


A diamond brightly shining


Nothing tawdry for you and,

please that it might prove to be

A life less ordinary for you.