Rhiwbina Living

THE PICNIC
A basket of joy.
An afternoon of dreams.
A rolled up blanket opened
And spread like warm butter
On the parched earth.
Thin sarnies
And melted Penguins
Soft berries
And bashed up scotch eggs
Wrapped in foil
And love.
Warmed water
A platoon of ants
And buzzy things
And mozzies
And crawly things.
Sandwich crusts
And Penguin wrappers
Mushed up berries
And half-eaten eggs
Still wrapped in foil
And love.
We return home
Through whispering meadows
And wandering lanes
Sleepy and happy
To our bedtime rest.
David James
Whitchurch
Seasonal
Poems
NOW DOES SUMMER
Now does summer in all its glory reign
The season brought more fine by the herald that is spring
Its cloak of green that to winter did so restrain
And its warming breezes that of coming joys did sing,
In a field of so new a life to stand there proud
With golden rays its glory path to light
And creatures all their voices to trumpet and to sound out loud
That it may make their echoes wide and bright,
So then do blooms and blossoms on countless boughs to swathe
Their fragrance to float wherever air may flow
To meadows, hedgerows and many a garden to bathe
And further life to touch and there to onward grow;
The summer is of greatness in many forms to take
That nature in its span of time is ever more to make.
David Morris
Llandaff North
NEXT LIFE, YEAH?
We dreamed together, apart
Of a summer's day at the beach.
Just us. Doing normal things.
Watching the slow dance of the colours.
The creams, the blues, the pinks.
But we never existed.
And our outcrop stays empty.
Alec Harvey
Cardiff
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