Whitchurch and Llandaff Living Issue 68

poetry
Poems penned by the local community
GOLDEN TREES
It is one of those alluring autumnal mornings:
sky a pre-Raphaelite blue
with the sleepy moon still visible
and the welcome sun leisurely rising.
Trees guard the Victorian library,
I sit outside the coffee shop and stare
at vibrant golden leaves swaying in the fresh air.
Branches dance in the gentle breeze,
a few leaves flicker to the ground,
the first of a mighty battalion
as shade from a tree dances
on the plinth of the sombre soldier.
Great storms will soon arrive but I allow
myself to relax...if only for now.
Guy Fletcher
Rhiwbina
A CHILD'S EYE
That wondrous look of sweet surprise
Seen only in young children's eyes,
On first standing, from a crowd
Sway, sway yet do not fall
Seeing their first rainbow form
See the lightning flash in their first storm,
Or seeing their first snowfall
Or hearing their first cuckoo call.
They see jewels on a frosty lawn
For they see with the eyes of a newly born.
Look at a winter's star-strewn night
Look through a young child's eyes
And you will see - Heaven.
B Leonard
Rhiwbina
WHAT REMAINS?
THE VIEW FROM
CHURCH ROAD
A land of water power, coal, and
steam
To set great wealth in store for
chancers few.
A sham division, and a hard
regime;
The wheel turned that others
might accrue
And build, and plan. Track's
carriages and trucks
Soon marked the bounds askew.
above; below;
By brick and stone, an ever
changing flux
of terrace; yard; the lawn; the
portico.
Now whitest render grows about
these grounds.
Baronial gates and railing cock a
snook
At some, for ev'ry painted sill
dumbfounds,
And ev'ry quoin, bright, casts a
slight rebuke.
But cross the bridge, and never
see a drive,
where prize hydrangeas in front
gardens thrive.
Nigel Phillips
Whitchurch
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