Tag Poem

Hiraeth

freyathewriter 24 Comments 
Hiraeth
Hiraeth
Cymru am byth
in these stones lieth
rain, never-ending
turning streams into rivers
turning the wheel
the wheel
the wheel
breaking the stones
the bones
the bones
silver and lead
bring out your dead
count them
count them
bring out your dead

Hiraeth
Hiraeth
Cymru am byth
work them to death
for a crust of dark bread
darken the doorsteps
with the smuts on your breath
put them in barracks
work them to death
poison their bodies
with deadening lead
filling their pockets
with bones and dread
Cymru am byth
here, there lieth
the boys and the men
the drowned and the bloated
for the silver and lead

Hiraeth
Hiraeth
Cymru am byth
for the silver and lead
bring out your dead
turning them over
for the silver and lead
count them
recount them
we walk on the blood
of the boys and the men
of the gone and the dead
bring out your dead
cast in silver and lead

Hiraeth
Hiraeth
in these stones lieth
pray, a moment of silence
let them sing, witness
the troubles they had
Gwlad, Gwlad, pleidiol wyf i’m gwlad

Hiraeth
Hiraeth
Cymru am byth

For dVerse Poetics this week, Dora invites us to consider stone our muse for our poetic wanderings, whether it be gemstones, vast rocks, or somewhere in-between.

Where I live in Wales, I am surrounded by quiet hills and mountains that once roared with industry, stretching back over two thousand years. Whether it was silver, lead, copper or gold, the people of this part of our country mined it – you can only imagine the dangerous conditions in which they worked.

I chose to give a voice to the people of the past who worked in terrible conditions to bring the minerals out of the very rock of this land, weaving in some of the Welsh language at the same time. I have included explanations of the words and phrases that I have used below:

Hiraeth – a deep longing for something, especially your home
Cymru am byth – Wales forever
Gwlad, Gwlad, pleidiol wyf i’m gwlad – Land! Land! I am true to my land! This is from the national anthem of Wales, Land of My Fathers.

If you would like to join us in writing a poem inspired by stones, precious or otherwise, click on the link above and join us!

(Photo of the Cwm Elan lead mine, from 28dayslater.co.uk).


Transient

freyathewriter 27 Comments 
How can you prove something didn't happen
when the only witness is you?

When you’re the one curled up on the hexagoned floor
watching the blood seep through

the cotton weave of your favourite skirt
the one that caressed the slight mound

of your stomach, the one you’d hidden
for all those years, flattening it with

girdle pants to be just like the girls
with concave femininity, the ones

who glanced sideways at your tree trunk thighs
sneering as they passed you by

tree trunk thighs with muscles of water
as you scrabble around on the bathroom floor

scooping up blood rivulets in shaking fingers
drawing faces in the most intimate places

imagining eyes of an unavailable daughter
laughter of a boy running towards you

and your arms ache, your stomach burns
your heart expands and the lesson you learn

as your defective womb leaks all over the floor
is: this isn’t for you, it’s too late and too soon

for the world to welcome another like you

Over at dVerse Open Link Night, we are invited by our congenial host Grace to share a poem in response to the prompt she has set, or something else entirely. This week, I have decided to go for something else.

If you would like to take part and also have the opportunity to read other poets’ work, please click on the link, read the post and dive on in!

(Image by Jean Marc Pampuch at Pexels).

On My Arrival

freyathewriter 23 Comments 
I have thought on this shoreline
a thousand miles distant
wondering if my memory is false
a fever dream arising
from too few vitamins, or sunstroke 
or being beaten senseless 
by forty foot waves
or deafened into stupidity 
by howling storms

the jewels, oh, the jewels
of sunlight reflecting
off mere glass windows
more priceless than pearls
for they are the portals to where you are
rainbow iridescence dancing 
and reflecting a moonlight
I fancy we share, sometimes

something so mundane
as washing on a line
warms my yearning heart
shirt-tails waving in the breeze
skirts, dresses, a silk chemise
such a teasing prospect
for this man, yearning
yet fearing all will be grey
on my arrival

A child’s romper suit, really?
is it swinging in the zephyr
as my ship draws ever near?
I can almost touch the downy cheek
of the little mite who wears it
safe, warm at night
while I ride the waves
pitching and yawing
with my fellow men
salt spray stinging
bringing tears, such tears
to searching eyes

They call me Captain
but that is just my role
my soul, my heart
is anchored here
at this shoreline
where I am free

wife, I see you
wave, wave with all your might!
daughter, I am finally here
I cannot wait to hold you
for the first time
I am home
at last

Egon Schiele, Houses with Laundry (Suburb II) (1914)

Tonight at the dVerse Poets Pub, Melissa is our congenial host and she is inviting us to respond poetically to one of four of Egon Schiele’s paintings, with no restriction on poetic form. I love Schiele’s work and this particular painting captivated me with all the jewel-like washing hanging on the many lines, and the repetition of colours in the windows of the houses beyond the shore.

I immediately thought of the vantage point of the viewer, and wondered who they might be, other than Schiele the artist himself. As you can tell from my poem, I went on quite a journey with my imagined seafaring narrator!

If you would like to take part in ekphrastic imaginings, please do come and join us here at dVerse. Head on over to the post linked above, read about some of Schiele’s short history, his paintings and his legacy, write your poem and follow the instructions Melissa has kindly included.

We look forward to welcoming you!