I'm trying to be a little bit braver in 2024, and put some more of my creative stuff 'out there'. I know this blog doesn't have the biggest readership, but I'm starting here. This poem is called Pethau Hen, which means 'old things' in Cymraeg.
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| Mist-topped mountains in the Nantlle valley |
My mind slips to the pethau hen
The old things drawn in stone rings
Not a case of where, but when...
Whisper me the secrets the sacred mountains keep
The ragged cragged nooks where the dragons sleep
Hills where tragic princes raised their broken forts
And clouds grant gloomful cover to wild faerie courts
Capture and interpret the turgid burbles of the brooks
Catch those corner glimpses that retreat from second looks
Dig up the bones of giants who left nothing but their graves
And greet the gladiators hiding in the waves
Take me where the gulls cry death on the pebble shore
The mesmerising skyline as flat as it is raw
Give me reason to believe and grieve the driven pethau hen
And call them near to meet me in the cold redemptive rain
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