Maenllwyd - Three Poems

Arriving in the yard

I switch off the engine

and gaze at the view,

evening sun on the rolling hills

yellow fields, dark woods.

In the sudden silence

a buzzard mews,

distantly guiding sheep

dogs bark.


Entering the gate

I come home to my hermitage,

welcoming trees brood

and the old door creaks on rusty hinges

falling plaster needs sweeping from the floor,

softly on cold flags moisture gleams.


Lighting the fire

I watch slow smoke rising,

hang in the windless cwm.

The smells of the hills

roll in through opened windows,

thankfully I breath out city air,

inside my room

no sound.