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.
Clare Bryden
how do I begin?
Yvonne Baker
an etherial whiteness
that covers and disguises
as a strip of white frosted glass
Hilary Thompson
Ambling up North Street
on a Saturday afternoon
at the end of a long Winter,
I am stopped by two women
Irene Cunningham
Lavender seeps. I expect my limbs to leaden, lead the body down through sheet, mattress-cover, into the machinery of sleep where other lives exist.
Graham Clifford
The Still Face Experiment
You must have seen that Youtube clip
where a mother lets her face go dead.
Her toddler carries on burbling for twenty to thirty seconds until she realises there is nothing coming back to her.
Susan Jane Sims
After you died,
someone asked:
What was it like
in those final sixteen days
waiting for your son to die?
Jane Frank
I imagine returning to the house.
Furniture is piled up in the rain—
the ideas that won’t fit.
Ilias Tsagas
I used to dial your number to hear your voice. I would hold the receiver for a long time as if your voice was trapped inside . . .
Jim Paterson
Shove it, that farewell
and the sky shimmering with frost
and the waves wrecking on the shore