Continuing our look at the work of local poets, we feature two more poems – Dragons and Pontcysyllte – by Stephen Kingsnorth. This time, he brings us two wonderful pieces that take us to Minera and Pontcysyllte. Additionally, you can find more of his poetry on his blog.
If you are a poet yourself, equally why not send us your work and we may be able to include it in a future issue?
Photo by Craig Colville, courtesy of Wrexham CBC.
Offa was fifty limit climb,
Minera way to final home,
towards mapped, the World’s End.
Kite flying, testing how wind blows,
just see how it will go down –
swallow-tail air, rip-tide tear,
curving swoop, plummet stoop,
puppet genuflects by strings,
near dabble fingers at church porch
soulful soar or soulless prise?
My hamlet welcome mat, a rushed rebuke,
syllables, rhythm, gender skewed,
that’s not how it is pronounced,
the dyke put in a stranger place,
uncertain whether I should speak,
so give voice in fresher air.
My early conversation, walking hill,
though soliloquy, moved to wings
as painted lady interrupts, takes the stage;
she soon retreats, better nectar fare,
attracted on by sweeter meets.
Oddly-drabber monarch stutters by
as in fewer clouded sky, she brolly raised,
ribs brand parade, current reigning name.
Cawl, rare bits of rarer meat,
griddled cakes and bara brith,
flow of speckled, amber, laver bred
about the table sheets, napkins, cloth;
outside beds, crowd blodau,daffs,
Welsh poppy gold, self-seeded, bold,
limestone woundwort creeps the leeks.
Here be Dragons, passant to the fore,
red in field of white and green,
carmine blood in tooth and claw,
but fire extinguished in the mouth,
where I found home on Offa’s Dyke.
I lift my eyes up to the hills
where mirage narrowboats float by;
defeating reason, just one way,
imitating single track,
known smoke delight when sweeps the sky.
They translate in space, at steady pace,
an elevated duck-shoot at fair,
automatons, to clear the way
for building queue on other side.
Thin arrow slits without oblique,
as castle-building in the air,
it bridged as if through stratosphere.
This engineer sees stirring waves,
as many tell fording the vale,
canal to take aqueduct, journeys underway,
aerial view of patchwork built.
How many died to highway craft,
fell overboard, sank downward, dived,
from above the track, clouding lives,
soaring arches, Pontcysyllte?
We hope you enjoyed our poems Dragons and Pontcysyllte by Stephen Kingsnorth”. For more of our poetry articles, click here.