Dyma Gartref

Dyma Gartref

A Poem by Beccy

On the hills
above the grey houses,
but below the azure sky
there are ghosts
going about their business.

Some are gossamer,
they dance unconcerned,
others are dark clouds,
brooding, 
closing out the sun.

It matters not
as I chose the fragrance,
the coolness of clean air,
the wind songs, everlasting,
healing,  teaching of the
cycle of death & rebirth.

I can hear the land sleeping,
see the sheep, still as monuments,
a handful, specks of distant white, grazing.
They might have been there forever,
scenting as I do, the fragrance 
that lies all on the place.

The clock ticks, still I cannot leave.
instead, I listen as I am sung to
in different voices;
those of castles and cottages,
battle cries of ancient victories,
the joy of tilling the fruitful soil;
and so I walk the deep summer day
as careless, like tidemarks,
the hedgerows run laden 
with blackthorn and may.

By and by, a rabbit tilts its head
above a grassy slope; inquisitive,
hearing, as I do, the songs, 
though time has long erased
the written word;
and sunlight no longer falls
on castle walls and cottages 
that hug the ground, as stone 
without memory - left around.

But the rabbit knows. 

© 2018 Beccy



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Reviews

Once again, a stunningly good write. I can't really add a lot to what others have already said, save to say that you have created a perfect picture.

LB

Posted 3 Weeks Ago


Ah, Beccy!
Dyma Gartref, "Here's Home" in my ancestral Welsh.
One would be hard-pressed to come across a more beautiful, heart and soul-lifting, or endearing poem of Free Verse in homage to my wonderful ancestral homeland, LLanfair, Gwynedd, Cymru.

Diolch yn fawr, Annwyl Brydyddes … gyda cariad ! ⁓ Rischardt : )
(Thank you, Dear Poetess … with love! ⁓ Richard : ))

Posted 1 Month Ago


Richard

1 Month Ago

Do you speak, read Welsh,
Some in Wales do, but I understand most do not … it is, I think, .. read more
Beccy

1 Month Ago

We moved away when I was not quite a year old, so unfortunately not a word. Both my mother's and fat.. read more
Richard

1 Month Ago

"Diolch yn fawr, Annwyl Brydyddes … gyda cariad ! ⁓ Rischardt : )"

Thank you, Dea.. read more
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Ed
I’m very happy to make your acquaintance through your graceful poems. I’ve only read several so far—I just signed in for the first time today—but I intend to read more of you. And I must say, if your work is representative of what I’ll find here, I’ll be very happy to have discovered Writers Cafe.

Posted 1 Month Ago


Only the rabbit knows the changing that goes on with the land, the echoing of past ancient battles and forever gone castles and cottages are invoked in your imagination just watching the clouds go by. Very good. Will

Posted 3 Months Ago


Ah, the rabbit is all-knowing... I once wrote about the clouds being angles guarding the earth in the battle of light and dark, so I get this piece. I think part of our existence is about closing the metaphorical gap between earth and sky, learning and discovering that relationship, that connectedness. Smooth prose here.

Posted 4 Months Ago


This a quite lovely and affectionate poem that shows your deep bonding with the land and who has gone before. We ignore these ghosts at our peril!
There are many beautiful images in this that create an almost mesmeric atmosphere.
Great work Beccy.
regards, Alan

Posted 7 Months Ago


Thank you Ken. I suppose this is something of a meditation, which is what I expect you are referring to when you mention echoes of 'Meditation on the A30.' Not sure myself, but I feel both honoured and unworthy of the comparison.

Beccy.

Posted 9 Months Ago


I may be way off beam here but I hear echoes of Betjeman here and his meditations on the A30.
A surburban poem of the first order.

Posted 9 Months Ago


Love the way this poem begins.
The ghosts are just going about their business.
There's always a time, usually about four in the morning, when the earth stirs. Ghosts say goodbye, and the rabbits smell the air.


Posted 10 Months Ago


Oh yes, the rabbit KNOWS... you've managed to chill my coffee... well done!

Posted 10 Months Ago



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Added on November 24, 2017
Last Updated on July 18, 2018

Author

Beccy
Beccy

Northampton, Northamptonshire, United Kingdom



About
I'm forty one, single and have a lovely twelve year old son called Charlie. I've been writing poetry and short stories since I can remember. I had never really been inclined to share my writing until .. more..

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