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.
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owls fly closer in December twilight,
call to each other across the garden.
Martin Fisher
Inside, in the half-light, the iron rot took hold.
Forgotten service–obsolete.
Salt-coin neglect.
The money flowed inland,
Moored on an hourglass choke.
No one told the sea.
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Out of morning
a misted light,
glowing fire
in the air.
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Who chaired the inquiry
Into the Bradford City
Amirah Al Wassif
Beneath my armpit lives a Sinbad the size of a thumb.
His imagination feeds through an umbilical cord tied to my womb.
Now and then, people hear him speaking through a giant microphone—
Singing,
Cracking jokes,
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In the portacabin that morning, men smoked
and looked at last week’s paper again.
There was no water to fill the urn.
The first job – to get connected
Toby Cotton
A blustery day –
the wind too strong for kites
or for lifts to the sky.
“To a thoughtful spot,” it cites
and pins me to the earth.