A dog’s tail, an empty chair, an empty terracotta pot. Anticipation. Lush. Inside outside interaction. Who waters? Who sits? Who is the sleeping collie waiting for?
Yellow wall and red geraniums, green growth of many shades and shapes. Who chose the vibrant warm wall colour? A corner of a cane table with text heavy folded paper. A broadsheet. Who reads?
Can we guess the occupants’ race or creed or country? Could it be North America or Europe? It doesn’t seem parched enough for Africa or most of Asia or Australia. Water to spare for pretty household plants, a collie in the house not herding sheep or cattle. Time enough for reading the Times.
Just a glance at a small corner of a lucky life lifts and heals my heavy heart.
This is an ‘ekphrastic’ poem, ie a prose poem written in response to an image
I have been learning about different poetic forms from Alison Smith who runs the free Facebook group ‘Womens School of Metamorphosis, Radical change from inside out’
Two more poems, ‘Buddleia’ from another train journey
And ‘Pwll y wrach’ ( which means ‘witch’s pool)
bursting out bravely from crevices and chimney pots round the rough edges of abandoned plots of land behind razor wire and barbed wire on bomb sites
round broken concrete bunkers and crumbling wartime airstrips, army camps and waste dumps sooty spaces and looted places
into all these the grey green leaves reach their arms of new growth and so the buddleia bush embraces debris and decay and deathly ancient traces
and stretches up her waving arms towards the blue blue sky and without help or nurture or encouragement attracts with her nectar the humble hope filled butterfly
Pwll y Wrach
‘pwll y wrach’
I read it in my book just now ‘Witch’s pool’ How evocative Did she drown? Herself Or her cat Perhaps Or did she use The glassy surface To reflect Her face Or read her future Or just wash her tired feet
I wrote this short piece when I read the place name ‘Pwll y wrach’ in Richard Gwyn’s marvelous book, ‘The Blue Tent’