LatinosUSA

And Here We Are In Wales

This is a grey place,
grey slate, grey granite,
grey houses built of both.
And it rains a lot,
vertical, horizontal,
or swirling rain
falling greyly
from heavy misty clouds.

But when caught by a sunbeam,
it makes glistening slides
shimmering across the slate,
and falls in bright white tails
or snakes like silver
where the mountains leak it
to spill heavily over rocks,
it’s foaming, frothing, yellow ruffed
cascades catching rainbows as they crash,
then spitting them back out
in a fine spray of colours.

And now at night there’s no grey
in the dark blue, black sky
filled with gold and silver twinkles.
No grey at all in this place now,
there’s no denying.

First published in We Are Here Anthology, Orenaug Mountain Publishing, Fall 2024

~~

Niagara

Niagara is the biggest,
the grandest,
the most magnificent,
no maybes at all.
But the most beautiful?
Maybe,
maybe,
only maybe..

When I think of Pistyll Rhaeadr
frozen in winter,
its icicles gleaming
like diamonds in the sunlight.
Or the Moelwyn
leaking liquid rainbows
catching the sun
in cascading profusions
after days of heavy rain,
and I think
maybe,
maybe,
only maybe.

First published in Wax Poetry, Issue 9, Wales, May 15 2024

~~

The Crimea Pass

It was opened at the time of the Crimean War.
This does not seem to be a legend.
Though probably it was not built by Russian prisoners
who left their boots behind.
This does seem to be a legend.
After all, this is North Wales, and ours is the land of legends,
and we all know that the pub at the summit
served ale on Sunday lock-ins right up to the time
when the purple dragon was sent to burn it down to nothing.
Only pine trees remain
miraculously unscathed
to mark the spot forever.

And as for the dragon, he found a mate
with our native red and made happy families
in a slate cavern for many years.
But when the time was right
the still angry drinkers
raised their glasses
to cast a spell

which transformed all the dragons.
Changed them into the rhododendrons
which grow like pink and purple miracles,
breaths of dragon fire colouring the slate tips.
It’s something to ponder when you pass over the Crimea in springtime.

First published in Lothlorian Poetry, February 4 2022

~~

He Who Drowned The World

I used to see him lying there
stretched out atop the Moelwyn
in his favourite position
head on Mawr
feet on Bach
water pouring
from fingers
and toes
flooding the fields below
on its way to the sea.

Then one day I saw him leap
on to the top
of Nyth y Gigfran
right behind my house.
I watched him as he sat there,
his face turned away,
his water pouring,
the back field
already flooded.
I think he would have to swim back.

But I have no way of knowing.
I will have drowned by then.
We will all have drowned.

First published in Brave and Reckless, February 7 2024

~~

Another Country

Their move to North Wales didn’t go to plan.
It was so different from the south of England
and the house, bought in a phone call, was not as she expected.
There was so much she hadn’t been told over the phone,
and so much more she had forgotten to ask.
There were more leaks than expected,
but she had expected a bathroom,
however basic
and even the old toilet outside
didn’t work.

There was a lot to think of
a lot to sort out
in their new home
in this new place,
in a new country
where she knew no one.
So, she could be forgiven
for forgetting
to warn him.

She picked him up eagerly
after his first morning in school.
“Was it good?“ she asked.
“Were the other children nice?
Did you have fun?”
“It was great, Mum,” he answered.
She sighed with relief.
Something had gone right.

“There was one thing
that was really strange
though.”
She looked up alarmed.
“Oh no, what was that!?”
“They all spoke French!”
he said.

First published by Pure Slush in Home Anthology, December 2022