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Monday, January 08, 2024

Pethau Hen (a poem)

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.
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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