A Sense of Place

The River Severn - Newtown

Dust, shale, pebbles, rock.
Sheet pavements of well-worn grey.
Ribbons of silver cotton weave and wave.
Fluid glass diamonds roll and rock.
Adolescent trees drip their leafy toes.
A stray white feather boat slips by.
Birdsong, life, a muddle of minnows hidden
Deep under beer froth and scum.
Ear-blind human carrier pulls one bank closer to the next.
Trickle, dapple, bobble, pitch.

Nic Page

Plymio dwfn, dwfn

The Painted Desert.

Sundown.
Whoooah!
Ambush at Hangman Crick.
Drive ‘em through the canyon.
Injuns on the skyline.
Appaloosas.
Geronimo behind that rock.
John Wayne behind t’other.
Nothin but varmint in that gulch.
Head em up an move em oooout!
Driest arroyo I ever did see.
So dry bushes follow dogs around.

Bob Webster

Plymio dwfn, dwfn

The River Severn

Seagull quartering, sky surfing
It's eyes on the chance
The wren singing, trilling
Minnows swarming

Crow flapping, lazing
Banks of green
Grey, dry shores
Water low and slow

The bridge crosses
The water's steady flow
Crust forming
Where the water eddies

Turn back time
Another river
Stronger, fuller, freer
Flooding the streets, the shops, the homes

A splash brings us back to now
Contained, tamed, controlled
The crow sounds the alarm
And the water twinkles, reflecting.

Julie Pearce

Plymio dwfn, dwfn

Soliel L’Oriel

Lay on my back in the afternoon sun
Making grass angels in the slow ranunculi and daisy.
The sun tightens my face, highlights
Soft hot smells of me and home.
If this is as good as it gets – take me now.

I own all of this.
The voices of nature intertwined with words spoken,
Dog bells and cries from the back of children’s throats.
All mine.

Serenaded by Raven caw,
Romanced by hidden foot steps.
I’ve lost the margin of where I end and it begins.
I am one.

Nic Page

Plymio dwfn, dwfn