The Wye Valley
tempests hurled at night,
stars collided, with satellites.
We followed words, broken thoughts
pages half-spun, where cross-currents of
discourse floated, and barometric register floated..
Walked through jerky visual fields
mountain breeze cooled, truth was near
homespun philosophy of heartache and tear.
Where some of us wander, we wander still
belonging to no one, effective enough to be invisible,.
time overtakes us all, elapses into moments as orison unfolds
balancing acts, hands stretched out, edged on by memory
conjurers in quick succession, weave their magic.
To Abergavenny,in search of currents, threads
a poets footprints, led us there
ghosts of elecricity, whispered in the air
drifting, transforming with raw energy
as echoe reverberated, and nothing lay naked
abstract motion ,danced drunkenly in the foreground
followed waking streams, where chaos bubbled into order
passionate nature ,ran its course
lists were meaningless as moments pursued.,
Ferociously walking, relearning iaith
we translated everything into ourselves,
there are traditions, that carry the truth of seasons
at the end of the day our tongues released
secrets shared beyond the borders.