Welsh Landscape

Related poetry:

1. A Welsh Testament All right, I was Welsh. Does it matter? I spoke a tongue that was passed on To me in the place I happened to be, A place huddled between grey walls Of cloud for at least half the year. My word for heaven was not yours. The word for hell had a sharp edge Put […]...
2. The Welsh Marches High the vanes of Shrewsbury gleam Islanded in Severn stream; The bridges from the steepled crest Cross the water east and west. The flag of morn in conqueror’s state Enters at the English gate: The vanquished eve, as night prevails, Bleeds upon the road to Wales. Ages since the vanquished bled Round my mother’s marriage-bed; […]...
3. Welsh Incident ‘But that was nothing to what things came out From the sea-caves of Criccieth yonder.’ ‘What were they? Mermaids? dragons? ghosts?’ ‘Nothing at all of any things like that.’ ‘What were they, then?’ ‘All sorts of queer things, Things never seen or heard or written about, Very strange, un-Welsh, utterly peculiar Things. Oh, solid enough […]...
4. Landscape of a Vomiting Multitude The fat lady came out first, Tearing out roots and moistening drumskins. The fat lady Who turns dying octopuses inside out. The fat lady, the moon’s antagonist, Was running through the streets and deserted buildings And leaving tiny skulls of pigeons in the corners And stirring up the furies of the last centuries’ feasts And […]...
5. In Me, Past, Present, Future meet In me, past, present, future meet To hold long chiding conference. My lusts usurp the present tense And strangle Reason in his seat. My loves leap through the future’s fence To dance with dream-enfranchised feet. In me the cave-man clasps the seer, And garlanded Apollo goes Chanting to Abraham’s deaf ear. In me the tiger […]...
6. THE RULE OF LIFE IF thou wouldst live unruffled by care, Let not the past torment thee e’er; As little as possible be thou annoy’d, And let the present be ever enjoy’d; Ne’er let thy breast with hate be supplied, And to God the future confide. 1815.*...
7. A Landscape By Courbet Low lies the mere beneath the moorside, still And glad of silence: down the wood sweeps clear To the utmost verge where fed with many a rill Low lies the mere. The wind speaks only summer: eye nor ear Sees aught at all of dark, hears aught of shrill, From sound or shadow felt or […]...
8. Only Dreams A maiden sat in teh sunset glow Of the shadowy, beautiful Long Ago, That we see through a mist of tears. She sat and dreamed, with lips apart, With thoughtful eyes and a beating heart, Of the mystical future years; And brighter far than the sunset skies Was the vision seen by the maiden’s eyes. […]...
9. Landscape of a Pissing Multitude The men kept to themselves: They were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists. The women kept to themselves: They were expecting the death of a boy on a Japanese schooner. They all kept to themselves- Dreaming of the open beaks of dying birds, The sharp parasol that punctures A recently flattened toad, Beneath […]...
10. Lover's Gifts LVIII: Things Throng and Laugh Things throng and laugh loud in the sky; the sands and dust dance And whirl like children. Man’s mind is aroused by their shouts; his Thoughts long to be the playmates of things. Our dreams, drifting in the stream of the vague, stretch their Arms to clutch the earth, – their efforts stiffen into bricks […]...
11. On On yardbird corners of embryonic hopes, drowned in a heroin tear. On yardbird corners of parkerflights to sound filled pockets in space. On neuro-corners of striped brains & desperate electro-surgeons. On alcohol corners of pointless discussion & historical hangovers. On television corners of cornflakes & rockwells impotent America. On university corners of tailored intellect & […]...
12. Night Is On The Downland Night is on the downland, on the lonely moorland, On the hills where the wind goes over sheep-bitten turf, Where the bent grass beats upon the unplowed poorland And the pine-woods roar like the surf. Here the Roman lived on the wind-barren lonely, Dark now and haunted by the moorland fowl; None comes here now […]...
13. LOVE AS A LANDSCAPE PAINTER ON a rocky peak once sat I early, Gazing on the mist with eyes unmoving; Stretch’d out like a pall of greyish texture, All things round, and all above it cover’d. Suddenly a boy appear’d beside me, Saying “Friend, what meanest thou by gazing On the vacant pall with such composure? Hast thou lost for […]...
14. All Ye Joyful Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together! The wind’s in the tree-top, the wind’s in the heather; The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower, And bright are the windows of night in her tower. Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together! Soft is the grass, and let foot be like […]...
15. Zero for Mark Peters Not just nothing, Not there’s no answer, Not it’s nowhere or Nothing to show for it – It’s like There’s no past like The present. It’s All over with us. There are no doors… Oh my god! Like I wish I had a dog. Oh my god! I had a dog but […]...
16. The Answer You have spoken the answer. A child searches far sometimes Into the red dust On a dark rose leaf And so you have gone far For the answer is: Silence. In the republic Of the winking stars and spent cataclysms Sure we are it is off there the answer Is hidden and folded over, Sleeping […]...
17. Musings On A Landscape Of Gaspar Poussin Poussin! most pleasantly thy pictur’d scenes Beguile the lonely hour; I sit and gaze With lingering eye, till charmed FANCY makes The lovely landscape live, and the rapt soul From the foul haunts of herded humankind Flies far away with spirit speed, and tastes The untainted air, that with the lively hue Of health and […]...
18. I've Never Had It Done So Gently Before The sweet juices of your mouth Are like castles bathed in honey. I’ve never had it done so gently before. You have put a circle of castles Around my penis and you swirl them Like sunlight on the wings of birds....
19. Dream Song 114: Henry in trouble whirped out lonely whines Henry in trouble whirped out lonely whines. When ich when was ever not in trouble? But did he whip out whines Afore? And when check in wif ales & lifelines Anyone earlier O? —Some, now, Mr Bones, Many. —I am fleeing double: Mr Past being no friends of mine, All them around: Sir Future Dubious, […]...
20. Winter Landscape The three men coming down the winter hill In brown, with tall poles and a pack of hounds At heel, through the arrangement of the trees, Past the five figures at the burning straw, Returning cold and silent to their town, Returning to the drifted snow, the rink Lively with children, to the older men, […]...
21. The Rainy Day The day is cold, and dark, and dreary It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall, But at every gust the dead leaves fall, And the day is dark and dreary. My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; […]...
22. Welsh experience called out by the sun This easter saturday morning I’m sitting on a bank In pistyllgwyn (house of the sacred spring) Against a tall oak (close to a daffodil-clump) Overlooking the road Between brechfa and abergorlech On the west side of the valley Of the afon cothi Reading a poem by taliesin From the sixth […]...
23. Laws XIII Then a lawyer said, “But what of our Laws, master?” And he answered: You delight in laying down laws, Yet you delight more in breaking them. Like children playing by the ocean who build sand-towers with constancy and then destroy them with laughter. But while you build your sand-towers the ocean brings more sand to […]...
24. Oh, Ye Dead! Oh, ye Dead! oh, ye Dead! whom we know by the light you give From your cold gleaming eyes, though you move like men who live, Why leave you thus your graves, In far off fields and waves, Where the worm and the sea-bird only know your bed, To haunt this spot where all Those […]...
25. The New Ezekiel What, can these dead bones live, whose sap is dried By twenty scorching centuries of wrong? Is this the House of Israel, whose pride Is as a tale that’s told, an ancient song? Are these ignoble relics all that live Of psalmist, priest, and prophet? Can the breath Of very heaven bid these bones revive, […]...
26. The Wind took up the Northern Things The Wind took up the Northern Things And piled them in the south Then gave the East unto the West And opening his mouth The four Divisions of the Earth Did make as to devour While everything to corners slunk Behind the awful power The Wind unto his Chambers went And nature ventured out Her […]...
27. Where Go the Boats? Dark brown is the river, Golden is the sand. It flows along for ever, With trees on either hand. Green leaves a-floating, Castles of the foam, Boats of mine a-boating – Where will all come home? On goes the river And out past the mill, Away down the valley, Away down the hill. Away down […]...
28. Cats Cats no less liquid than their shadows Offer no angles to the wind. They slip, diminished, neat through loopholes Less than themselves; will not be pinned To rules or routes for journeys; counter Attack with non-resistance; twist Enticing through the curving fingers And leave an angered empty fist. They wait obsequious as darkness Quick to […]...
29. Infinite These solitary hills have always been dear to me. Seated here, this sweet hedge, which blocks the distant horizon opening inner silences and interminable distances. I plunge in thought to where my heart, frightened, pulls back. Like the wind which I hear tossing the trembling plants which surround me, a voice from the inner depths […]...
30. Author's Prologue This day winding down now At God speeded summer’s end In the torrent salmon sun, In my seashaken house On a breakneck of rocks Tangled with chirrup and fruit, Froth, flute, fin, and quill At a wood’s dancing hoof, By scummed, starfish sands With their fishwife cross Gulls, pipers, cockles, and snails, Out there, crow […]...
31. Reflections of caernarvon i I shall die yearning A hand Reaching out to A face that isn’t there A face Seeking a hand A stone Leaving its mountain- Wall in a wind Anxious to be a bird A bird Crying to be a wall Ii North wales The goat pisses The hawk hangs The mountain leans forward out […]...
32. Turn, O Libertad TURN, O Libertad, for the war is over, (From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute, sweeping the world,) Turn from lands retrospective, recording proofs of the past; From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the past; From the chants of the feudal world-the triumphs of kings, slavery, caste; Turn to […]...
33. While the Fates Sleep Come, let us to the sunways of the west, Hasten, while crystal dews the rose-cups fill, Let us dream dreams again in our blithe quest O’er whispering wold and hill. Castles of air yon wimpling valleys keep Where milk-white mist steals from the purpling sea, They shall be ours in the moon’s wizardry, While the […]...
34. She could not live upon the Past She could not live upon the Past The Present did not know her And so she sought this sweet at last And nature gently owned her The mother that has not a knell For either Duke or Robin...
35. Contrast The world has many seas, Mediterranean, Atlantic, but here is the shore of the one ocean. And here the heavy future hangs like a cloud; the enormous scene; the enormous games preparing Weigh on the water and strain the rock; the stage is here, the play is conceived; the players are not found. I saw […]...
36. Prospect NSW (For Anita Cobby) The hushed dark hugs the streets. Somewhere a cat snaps the silence. Dogs begin to bark, like a pack moving in for the kill. Women shrink in their homes. Shadows slip through the night and stars dim their lights as cars flash past. When they disappear, silence, heavy as hate, descends. Hours stretch like elastic […]...
37. America for Me ‘Tis fine to see the Old World and travel up and down Among the famous palaces and cities of renown, To admire the crumblyh castles and the statues and kings But now I think I’ve had enough of antiquated things. So it’s home again, and home again, America for me! My heart is turning home […]...
38. An American in Europe ‘Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and down Among the famous palaces and cities of renown, To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of the kings, But now I think I’ve had enough of antiquated things. So it’s home again, and home again, America for me! My heart is turning […]...
39. Landscape At The End Of The Century The sky in the trees, the trees mixed up With what’s left of heaven, nearby a patch Of daffodils rooted down Where dirt and stones comprise a kind Of night, unmetaphysical, cool as a skeptic’s Final sentence. What this scene needs Is a nude absentmindedly sunning herself On a large rock, thinks the man fed […]...
40. The Angle of a Landscape The Angle of a Landscape That every time I wake Between my Curtain and the Wall Upon an ample Crack Like a Venetian waiting Accosts my open eye Is just a Bough of Apples Held slanting, in the Sky The Pattern of a Chimney The Forehead of a Hill Sometimes a Vane’s Forefinger But that’s […]...