Today’s choice

Previous poems

Elizabeth Wilson Davies

 

 

 

Watermarked
There are places in Wales I don’t go: reservoirs that are the subconscious of a people – R S Thomas

Cofiwch Dryweryn, that two-word protest,
white on blood-red background, landscaped in green,

mural on a ruined Llanrhystud cottage,
sixty miles from Llyn Celyn, where raptors spiral round

and around, looking for the easy kill. Dissent drowned out.
Brooding dark water above the drowned

post office, farms and houses, the chapel submerged, the
concreted over cemetery, only eight bodies exhumed,

no gravestones left standing. The school demolished,
children’s paintings left hanging on the walls,

all swallowed by the lake. Silence is here, but no peace.
Cofiwch Lanwddyn hefyd, drowned by the dammed

Vyrnwy valley, Cofiwch Nantgwllt hefyd, the chapel where converts
were baptised in the river, all dammed and drowned now

for these are blackened waters, except for droughts
exposing silted wrecks of entombed buildings.

Cofiwch Dryweryn, that two-word poem,
so often vandalised, defaced by a swastika,

a white power sign, Elvis, LOL, always restored,
its indelible declaration resurrected elsewhere

flooded over milk stands, bridges, bus shelters, beach huts.

 

Dyfrnodedig
Mae lleoedd yng Nghymru nad wyf yn mynd iddynt: cronfeydd dŵr a ddaw’n isymwybod pobl
– R S Thomas

Cofiwch Dryweryn, y brotest mewn dau air,
yn wyn ar gefndir gwaetgoch, wedi’i thirweddu’n wyrdd,

yn furol ar adfeilion bwthyn yn Llanrhystud,
trigain milltir o Lyn Celyn, lle mae adar sglyfaethus yn troi

ac yn troi, yn ceisio prydau hwylus. Gwrthwynebiad wedi’i
foddi, a dŵr tywyll yn deor uwchben yr hyn a foddwyd;

y swyddfa bost, y ffermydd, y tai a’r capel dan ddŵr, y
fynwent dan goncrid, a dim ond wyth corff a ddatgladdwyd,

heb yr un garreg fedd yn dal i sefyll. Dymchwelwyd yr ysgol,
gadawyd paentiadau’r plant i hongian ar y parwydydd,

y cyfan yn llwnc y llyn. Ceir tawelwch yma ond dim heddwch.
Cofiwch Lanwddyn hefyd, a foddwyd gan argae

Cwm Efyrnwy, Cofiwch Nantgwllt hefyd, y capel lle bedyddiwyd troedigion
yn yr afon, y cyfan wedi’i argaeu a’i foddi bellach.

Dyfroedd duon yw’r rhain, ac eithrio mewn sychderau sy’n
datguddio sgerbydau lleidiog yr adeiladau cladd.

Cofiwch Dryweryn, y gerdd mewn dau air,
a ddifrodir mor aml, gan symbolau’r swastika a grym gwyn,

Elvis, LOL, ond sy bob tro yn cael ei adfer, â’i ddatganiad
annileadwy yn cael ei atgyfodi’n rhywle arall,

ar stondinau llaeth, pontydd, safleoedd bysiau, cabanau traeth.
Dyfrnodedig.

 

Elizabeth Wilson Davies (@LizWilsonDavies) is a poet from Pembrokeshire in west Wales, United Kingdom. She has an MA in Creative Writing and a PhD in Post-colonial Literatures and her poetry has been widely published in journals and has won or been highly commended for competitions including Poetry Wales and the Bridport Prize.

Julian Dobson

Street after street, ears bright to bass and tune
of two thudding feet, gradients of breathing. But rain

is brooding. Sparse headlights, ambient drone
of cars kissing tarmac, merging

Oliver Comins

Working the land on good days, after Easter,
people would hear the breaks occur at school,
children calling as they ran into the playground,
familiar skipping rhymes rising from the babble.

George Turner

Some days, the privilege of living isn’t enough.
The weight of the kettle is unbearable. You leave the teabag
forlorn in the mug, unpoured.

Clive Donovan

If I were a ghost
I think I would shrink
and perch on wooden poles
and deco shades – get a good view
of what I am supposed to be haunting

Seán Street

There was a time when I took my radio
into the night wood and tuned its pyracantha
needle along the dial through noise jungles
to silent darkness at the waveband’s end.