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.
Mara Adamitz Scrupe
on that new broke land I don’t anymore
recall there may have been a tree line or a hedgerow
a grove named & a bird’s sternum
George Sandifer-Smith
Spring 1833 – mists folding their sheets in the fields.
Isaac Roberts feels the turned earth, his father’s
farm an island in the hurtling Milky Way –
Sharon Phillips
Wet tarmac blinks red and gold,
names shine outside the Gaumont.
‘Stop dreaming, you’ll get lost.’
Bill Greenwell
Before the first turn of the key, before
adjusting the mirror, before releasing the handbrake even,
Dad said: there are two things you need to know.
Matt Gilbert
Alive, but not exactly,
as it fills the frame, flicker-lit
by lightning. . .
Rebecca Gethin
This morning
the room is bright with snowlight
and everything seems illuminated differently.
Lorraine Carey
Every Sunday he insists on beef
from Boggs’s butchers, a forty minute drive
away.
Gabriel Moreno
It’s hard to say what he did, my father.
His shoulders portaged crates,
he captained boats in the night,
chocolate eggs would appear
which smelt of ChefChaouen.
Henry Wilkinson
I rolled an orange across daybreak;
I waited for the moon to ripen.