A Welsh House
From the painting 'Welsh House'
by J David Lloyd-Edwards.
Our house did little
more
Than scratch the
landscape,
Stones clawed from
hard soil
Piled one on
another,
Rough timber frames
Around doors and
windows,
The hard, grey slates
Weighing down.
At night when we
longed to sleep,
Wind forced its way
Through cracks,
So that everything
rattled
And wheezed. The
dogs
Hair on end never
still
And the thin cats
huddled
Before a lukewarm
hearth.
When we awoke to
rain
And the complaining
Of animals, it
seemed
More like a
tombstone
Than a home. A
single tree
Standing on either
side
Like pall bearers
Waiting to be
called.
David Subacchi
David Subacchi
David Subacchi, is a gifted poet from Wales who has just released a new book of poems,
"Where is Wales?" The link below is a FB clip with him narrating a selection. His book info will be sent with contact.
Tags:
Poetry