Silk of midnight cloud,
the tender reminder of an endless
June evening.
It is a lazy dark tonight, the moon
a pearl earring snagged on the penumbra
of Tryfan. The model village is dozing,
Then, a siren like a baby’s tired cry,
and helicopter flit as jarred insects.
Houses light up. The fire
is young but the windless night
shoulders the crackling.
The coil of flame drips down
the Conwy Valley and orange slick
snarls wider. Mist is choked
in a panic of smoke, the coolness
charged by risk. The tear
in the cloak of the mountain
is a sick loop through to the core
of centuries. It is midnight, the fire
grows like a rumour.
glynfedwards 
Dear Glyn,
How is your Arthur coming along?
He’s almost six months to the day. Rolling, gurgling, raspberry blowing and becoming obsessed by the dog. He’s almost bigger than my fascination or stamina can keep up with. Do you have children?
Dear Glyn, only now saw your reply after reading “Perce’.
Children, no, only words and 40some trees, real trees, in the ground.
I love your verse & call you Bard, & hope your lad is an idyll childe.
Thank you! At 6am this morning I’d have happily exchanged Arthur for a tree or two. Thanks again- you’re always very kind.
Like the idea of “lazy” dark and the phrase “sick loop … centuries.” Written I guess on the longest day.
And a fire on a hillside growing out of control. The poems you wrote on the 5th have an addictive rhythm!
many thanks, looking for some critical feedback: trying to match rhythm to subject/content.
Wondered about the references to fire in “longest day”, wondering if it was ceremonial/volcanic: the range of suggestions you can take from poetry is very wide, and I enjoy that.
keep blogging, please.
As wide as a word. And you, keep writing.
‘a pearl earring snagged on the penumbra’ marvelous.
thanks. I enjoyed your story that began with the taxi tide. You capture the threat that arrives with the dark in China.
Love this … took back me back home to my Wales. Thanks for stopping by my blog. 🙂
A Wales of wonder…and wondrously bad weather
Oh yes! How well I know 🙂
Were your otters in Wales? I assumed that sea was west coast America or ‘Local Hero’ Scotland.
Scotland – south west, just off the Mull of Galloway. I’m from North Wales – Porthmadog, and am currently having a years unpaid sabbatical from my job. For the moment I’m with my parents up here. It is beautiful here, but oh, how I miss the mountains, and the language! Hiraeth.
I’ve just had a lesson on ‘the hundred nuances of ‘hireath” by my girlfriend. Your pictures make Scotland seem magical, which now makes Wales utopian by comparison. Nos da.
The joys of the untranslatable Welsh language 🙂