Sunday, 11 November 2012
Saturday, 23 June 2012
Thursday, 10 May 2012
Friday, 10 February 2012
Tuesday, 24 January 2012
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Friday, 13 January 2012
Friday, 6 January 2012
Stories from Home
This time I have now I fill
with careful listening –
my heart’s knock against the table,
the paper’s sigh, its soft harmonic rasp
beneath my hand.
There is the rook, a distant farmer’s call.
There is the solitary buzzard’s high beseeching whistle.
There, last autumn’s leaves chafe the summer twigs.
There are the dogs across the valley
in their prison-barn.
There is the recurrent bee, its hesitant buzz distinct now
from the fly’s nasal careering.
There is the aeroplane, its distant growl not coarse like the tractor
three dry fields away.
There are the sheep, moaning, like catarrhal old men.
A pheasant proclaims in guttural contralto
that it lives
in Cilybyddar Woods.
There are no soliloquies from the songbirds here in August -
their intricate springtime questions
have long been answered.
And there’s the house -
steadfast here since Owain was a boy -
creaking and snapping its cladding in the sun,
reeking of hot wood and
willing to share the pleasures of cool,
dark rooms.
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
News from Scotland
Having heard from a friend in Scotland that he'd enjoyed seeing the photographs on my blog, it has encouraged me to continue displaying them. I was tending to lose heart not having had many comments - so, thanks very much G! xx
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