Flickering Lamp Hotel (to Carol)

Drifting clouds and in the purple light

white sheep stand emboldened 'gainst the green;

a flock of birds falls from the sky

hitting a tree in a murmuration,

the starlings are here again

alltogether fizzing and whizzing on the field;

ravens nonchalantly glide past

casting an eye on the farm;

a magpie lands on the back of a sheep.

Up there wet buzzards wheel

and somewhere in the ivy clad oak

last night's owl slumbers.

Beyond the high moors and the pine plantations

up a long gorge beside a lengthening lake

forgotten in the hills

the Flickering Lamp Hotel hides in the woods, i

ivy clad oaks and dripping birches,

moss covered boulders, rushing streams, hart's tongued ferns.

The building, ordinary, nothing special,

front door ajar where the undimmed lamp

shows the way in from the sound of water

over the high dam the silence of the

unmoving lake

and the far off hawk's cries.

Power places in Wales are mostly small

hidden in woods, secret valleys, up rocky paths,

through bogs and streams, not easily found in the mountains.

Cwm-y-saeson, heather drenched in blood

Old Meg's grave high on Plynlimon's side

Taliesen's rock overlooking the ocean,

Ffynon Garreg and Llangasty Lake.

Find them if you can !

Far from the weekending Brummy voices

and damp chapels of a sunny afternoon

holy wells in hiding from the world

drip yet with passion, blood,

the veiled bright-eyed cunning of the Welsh

and the roaring music stronger than the wind.