The Fisherman

why would you go to sea, she said,
when there’s food to be had in the shops ~
to feel the strength of the swelling waves
and to know the threat of the rocks
and to hear the souls in the unfathomed deep
where the creatures of legend drift and roll
and dream of us in their sleep
and to hear the bell of the solemn buoy
and the voice of the fog horn blow
when it sings to us through the seething mists
in the storm as it bellows and grows
and the wild whipping wind
and the timbers’ groan
and to follow the stars in the dark
and to enter the harbour’s sanctuary
and rejoice to be home at last
where we sit to mend our broken nets
while you sit in your safe place at home

because
in the days
under the sun
it’s another story

Arthur’s Seat

High on Cader Idris’ peak, the lake,
bordered, bearded by reeds
not a ripples passes
across its silver mirrored face
the day is grey, enchanted

Arthur’s seat, a granite throne,
where I sit today, alone,
in quiet, dreaming contemplation
of golden days that may return
to bless the green land far below

”Are you here, are you there?”
my words escaping to air
the reeds sing and sigh in return
as they bow and are still again
as a wisp of a mist roles in