A red kite, but no osprey (dedicated to Catrin Finch and Seckou Keita…and the Dyfi Osprey Project)
Posted: August 2, 2018 Filed under: Photo, Poem | Tags: Catrin Finch, Dinas Osprey Project, flowers, Harp, Kora, music, Pembrokeshire, Photography, Poetry, Seckou Keita, Senegal, Wales Leave a comment
(PHOTOS by Marc Mordey – the Penrallt Eagle, created by the blacksmiths
at Dinas, Pembrokeshire)
(The music, like the bird itself
Soars
Above the Dyfi Estuary,
and over the mangroves
fumbling their way to the
Isle de Palétuviere
as the pirogues drift down glassy water
and a pelican dominates the jetty)
In Pembrokeshire,
a red kite
eddying the cloudless sky
imperious above our crop dusted fields
might spy
siskin, finch, wood pigeon
a thrush, jack hammering a snail
between two stone dogs
keeping their green mossed vigil
A young jackdaw
striking a cormorant pose
bewitched by the chimney
beating time on the ridge tiles
(It’s hot, this year)
There are swallows skimming
and Amazons at sail in the bay
muted blue below
(and the harp still swoons
and the kora
flying fingered fishing line
rocks a gentle rhythm
whilst I am at sea
in a pyjama striped hammock)
Blue tits, dipping for water
in the stone bird bath
that celebrates a golden grand-parented wedding
of 50 years ago
There are lilies blooming
amidst the dying embers of foxglove
and jasmine perfume teasing
romping in a green gaged balloon of bush
St John’s Wort in full throttle
And pink flushed, sunset resplendent
oliander, a whisper of Greece
and the road to Milapotamos
that we took
so long ago
(and the opsrey, Dinas, fledges
takes fleeting, freewheeling flight
and feels Wales on its wings
maybe anticipates
instinct, deep chested and hidden
Senegal sunshine
fat flowing river
sea hawk’s delight)
The honeysuckle is draped
and honeyed
whilst the weather vane is stilled
the umbrella stifled with gaffer tape mends
no breeze
no sirocco
blowing the wind southerly
from Africa
to lighten the atmosphere.
(but, no fear
for the music still plays,
swaying, stirring, evoking
the sea,
Carningli
Dinas Head
Morfa Head
and the Land of Song beyond
still here
still here)
My angels were singing
Posted: March 1, 2017 Filed under: Photo, Poem | Tags: Pembrokeshire, St Davids Day, Wales 3 Comments
(the view from Carningli. Newport Bay Pembrokeshire. photo by MM)
My angels were singing : a poem for St David’s Day
This poem was conceived over a a few spring like days, during February 2008 – out walking the dogs, watching the birds, and thinking of those who have died, who do – I believe – watch over us.
Nearly 10 years on, I am still fortunate indeed to live and love in a most beautiful part of Wales, and, in my opinion, one of the loveliest places in the world. This is, I reckon, my ‘go to’ poem!
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.
Dydd Gŵyl Dewi hapus
Strumble Head
Posted: July 1, 2016 Filed under: Poem | Tags: birds, Pembrokeshire, Poem, Wales 2 CommentsAt Strumble Head
A half hour stolen from the day, so
I came to Strumble Head.
The sea, blue grey rolling hillocks.
An oyster catchers cry splitting the bay.
Foxgloves, daisies, sky blue candy tufts,
and a cormorant, jet streaming the billows.
The intermittent mirrored wink of the lighthouse
gleaming, sun streaming.
Always, the inner gasp as a breaking wave
behoves a porpoise – or impossibly not.
Simply in my dolphin dreams?
Ever, the reverberating of the gulls,
persistent squalls, mews, occasional screams.
Outside this bubble, a world becalmed
The noise, the mighty chaos and upheaval,
and the smaller fuss, went on.
In Germany, a man, armed
Took a fatal spree, a cinema shooting run.
A composer died, aged one hundred.
Refugees lay, exposed in 50 degrees of heat,
unhindered by aid, a blanket between seven,
no tents, no water, no food.
As the waves primped and plumed,
I wondered
how it is that,
across this planet of ours
the odds remained:
Uneven.
As people on our islands voted
Again, again, again…
My mind was tumbling, Strumble bound
To past walks with you, picnics and dogs.
A curious seal, whiskered and severe
Head bobbed brightly in a cove we know.
The coast path meandered, stumbled.
Lost, then found.
Then, returned to my small reality,
albeit cage dragged and reluctantly.
My heart and soul ablaze, it’s true.
For Strumble, Penrallt and so much else besides.
Gifted, treasured,enormity
this sea bound, cliff scaped endless beauty.
The odds are stacked,
my card marked…
My reward:
From, my ever treasured you.
This poem was written on the day of the UK Referendum (aka Independence Day – ha, the irony!) I shall continue to seek refuge in the beauty of landscape, environment and the unconquerable nature of Nature itself. And, am grateful to all – most especially HB, for this was written expressly for you – who have spoiled me with love and affection.
I am indeed, a most fortunate man.
A poem for St David’s Day
Posted: March 1, 2016 Filed under: Poem, Uncategorized | Tags: birds, blue sky., Carningli, Newport, Pembrokeshire, Remembrance, spring, St Davids Day, Wales 6 Comments
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.
How I wish – A London, Christmas love song.
Posted: December 9, 2014 Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: British Colombia, Canada, Christmas, London, Martina Lindqvist, New Zealand, Photographers Gallery, Poem, Poetry, South Africa, Uber, Wales, weddings Leave a commentDedicated to Jules and Bea (Beazley) for their wedding, 6th December, 2014. May all your wishes come true.
How I wish
You were with me now,
On this west bound train.
Your head nestled on my scarf shrouded shoulder,
As hills, estuary and city-scapes slide by.
Seeing occasional bouldered tops, and
Winter scarred fields, with
Cows and sheep reddened in December, shadow sharpened sunlight.
The train roars by, and
Crows scatter, shocked but unruffled.
And the tinnyness of maddening music
Moleing in someone’s headphones
Is suddenly stifled.
How I wish I was with you
In Oxford Circus sunshine.
Salvation Army songed,
Santa thronged
Peacock motif light strung
And subdued Swiss shopped.
Walking wok wards
Or sipping our piping hot coffee
In the Photographers Gallery.
After viewing wind chilled,
Snowbound and desolate Finnished landscapes.
The portraiture of Martina Lindqvist,
Startling and sublime;
Living and loving, on
best borrowed, London time.
How I wish I was with you in an Uber car,
Being teased and cosseted all in one go.
The South Circular,
Wedding party bound and perilous slow.
The paper lights
Small globes in a sun boundaried marquee.
The confetti, floating ghost petalled toward the uneven floor.
The rusted statues gaping at a glitter of guests,
Speeches, stumbles, extracts and jests,
Celebrating this days marriage –
And other such states of union.
Past, present, the family bond,
Wherein New Zealand Eritrea, South Africa
Wales and well beyond,
Played their part,
In sumptuously stated affairs of the heart.
I’m here, and the glass raised is in genuine spirit, but
In my mind I’m on a Lizard Mountain
Eagle crested
Canadian roof topped once more.
And then
As now,
My word is forged, feather breathed,
To cherish, to adore.
How I wish I could be with you,
Now
And evermore.
The Secret Life of a Postman
Posted: October 19, 2014 Filed under: Book review | Tags: Cambria Books, Lloyd Jones, Mr Jones, Mr Vogel, poetry review, Wales 1 CommentI remember reading , and thoroughly enjoying, Lloyd Jones novel, ‘Mr Vogel’ and making the mental note that ‘I must read more of this man’s work’..but then, somehow, the opportunity has not arisen (or I have not made it happen).
Just lately I was gifted a copy of Mr Jones’ new collection of poetry – ‘The Secret Life of a Postman’, and what a fine present this has turned out to be.
I have been working my way gradually through this impressive selection of poems – it is a big volume and there is a deal of complexity in the words and rhythms of the poet : not a book to be absorbed at one reading, but a delightful, literary chocolate box to dip into and relish (and we are talking high end confectionary here!)
The range and dimensions of these poems is, simply, quite staggering ; poems of love such as ‘A brief history of love’ paint a vivid picture in relatively few words, whilst the title poem is both lyrical and enigmatic. Some are curiosity writ large , ‘Guidance notes for people wishing to design a golf course water feature’ being but one prime example. There are poems that reflect upon Wales and Welshness – for me, ‘Sacrament’ being a beautifully written and constructed poem that captures so much of that very special essence. ‘Poet in the kitchen’ gives a tantalising glimpse of the writer at work, and a good number of the poems here are intensely, yet not intrusively, personal in their tone. The writing is both of and in the moment – as well as some of the lines and subjects being steeped in history and classical reference.
It is very difficult to pull out favourites from this collection but, as the time of writing, I particularly want to commend ‘Aleppo’ and ‘The service’ ; I guess because, as is the case with poetry, music, novels and art the world over, something particular, specific and uniquely subjective makes me (you) reach out and embrace a verse, an image…tugs at your heartstrings and stays in your mind.
I am convinced that there will be poems for all herein that will leave an indelible mark and bring you back to this excellent, enjoyable and, on occasion, testing anthology. A great achievement and a writer who deserves to be celebrated well beyond the magical borders of Wales.
Marc Mordey To buy this book : go to http://www.welsh-american-bookstore.com/News/lloyd-jones-secret-life-of-a-postman.html
15 10 2014
A link to a blog piece on our National Poetry Day (2014) event
Posted: October 6, 2014 Filed under: Photo, Poem | Tags: creative writing, Diana Powell, Dominic williams, Ffwrn, Fishguard, HelenCarey, Lowri Evans, Mel Perry, National Poetry Day, Pembrokeshire, Poetry, Seaways bookshop, Wales Leave a commentlovely photos and a nice piece from Diana – we had a brilliant evening, a richness and diversity of poets , wonderful music from Lowri Evans and Lee Mason, delicious crepes provided by Beatrice of Ffwrn (and served – with great aplomb – by Helen Carey) ….think we will return!!
http://dianapowellwriter.blogspot.co.uk/2014/10/pancakes-poems-at-ffwrn-fishguard.html?spref=fb
thanks Diana
