Rhiwbina Living 62
Summer 2024 Summer 2024
SSSSH Ssssh. The woodland is still. Its quiet tones shimmer as bulbs push through the earth and bluebells nod their heads, glorying in soft breezes gently passing by. An aged tree lies where it has fallen, helpless victim of a gale’s fury. With head buried in decaying leaves and roots facing the sky, it remains immobile, neglected, anchored in damp earth. Above it, a youthful green canopy dances and sings heralding with joy the lighter nights and summer days. Sssh. All is still. But wait… There is movement - a flowery skirt, scarcely visible against this woodland’s luscious backdrop, a tiny concentrated face, arms balancing, foot over foot, foot over foot, fingers tremble. The forest holds its breath. A squeal of joy, a radiant smile, victorious hands punch the air. And the fallen tree - ugly and bare basks in the knowledge that he, of all the trees in the forest, is the chosen one - a child’s delight. Sue Chalkley Rhiwbina 38 Seasonal Poems HERE IN THIS GARDEN Here in this garden the pleasant sunlight rays Fall on blooms that hang from ancient wall And gently flow into a coloured maze There scents to creatures reach that heed its call, How like them I am when within your gaze As under your charm I quickly fall And voices turn to a murmured haze So great it does my soul enthral, And so it has been for many days As do I walk from hall to hall Though would I for your presence praise And wish of your time so ever small, So I do miss thee that my heart does ache And would I willingly your hand to take. David Morris Llandaff
poetry Poems penned by the local community CHARITY SHOPS ARE FOR ALL SEASONS Like a lucky dip, mid-day addictive, (though not a dupe, a dab hand at 'Bric-a-Brac'), a whack whackily exacting, (but for more than a 'bob') We imbibe these unembittered lives (our pride tried!) in overdue. We dive in, delve, deciding in an instant The standing of lustre jugs - distorted? Kokloma ware - a risky assortment; wary of coloured glass - too exhorted, and always scornful of what weighs in light. Right texture? (vexing if it's not) Gilding over bright? (too much excitement!) Do I want it? (Quite. It does invite.) Have I room? (secret heirlooms are not enough.) It might equate with 'stuff'. Tough. Why scoff? A treat is good. Adaptably. Adept, I've accepted it already. Renewed. I review 'a treat is good' (a dud for the befuddled) Shrewdly, I brood. Food for thought if bought. And I always do. Nigel Phillips Whitchurch ENDLESS MEADOWS Through fields of gold, the summer sun does dance, Soft whispers of the wind, a gentle trance. The meadow blooms with colours bright and fair, A symphony of life in perfumed air. Beneath my feet, the soft grass sighs and sways, Each step I take, a dance among the rays. Butterflies flit, their delicate wings unfurled, In this paradise, I feel the world. The buzzing bees hum a sweet melody, As I stroll through nature’s grand tapestry. The wildflowers bow in the warm breeze’s wake, Their beauty a gift for the heart to take. The sun caresses my skin with loving light, As day turns to dusk, a magical sight. The meadow whispers secrets of the past, A timeless moment, forever to last. In summer’s embrace, I find my true home, A place of peace where my spirit can roam. Among these meadows, I find my true rest, In nature’s arms, I am truly blessed. Melissa Francis Llandaff 39
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SSSSH<br />
Ssssh.<br />
The woodland is still.<br />
Its quiet tones shimmer<br />
as bulbs push through the earth<br />
and bluebells nod their heads,<br />
glorying in soft breezes<br />
gently passing by.<br />
An aged tree lies where it has fallen,<br />
helpless victim of a gale’s fury.<br />
With head buried in decaying leaves<br />
and roots facing the sky,<br />
it remains immobile, neglected,<br />
anchored in damp earth.<br />
Above it, a youthful green canopy dances and sings<br />
heralding with joy the lighter nights and summer days.<br />
Sssh.<br />
All is still.<br />
But wait…<br />
There is movement - a flowery skirt,<br />
scarcely visible against this woodland’s luscious backdrop,<br />
a tiny concentrated face,<br />
arms balancing, foot over foot,<br />
foot over foot, fingers tremble.<br />
The forest holds its breath.<br />
A squeal of joy,<br />
a radiant smile,<br />
victorious hands punch the air.<br />
And the fallen tree - ugly and bare<br />
basks in the knowledge<br />
that he, of all the trees in the forest,<br />
is the chosen one - a child’s delight.<br />
Sue Chalkley<br />
<strong>Rhiwbina</strong><br />
38<br />
Seasonal<br />
Poems<br />
HERE IN THIS<br />
GARDEN<br />
Here in this garden the pleasant<br />
sunlight rays<br />
Fall on blooms that hang from<br />
ancient wall<br />
And gently flow into a coloured<br />
maze<br />
There scents to creatures reach<br />
that heed its call,<br />
How like them I am when within<br />
your gaze<br />
As under your charm I quickly fall<br />
And voices turn to a murmured<br />
haze<br />
So great it does my soul enthral,<br />
And so it has been for many days<br />
As do I walk from hall to hall<br />
Though would I for your presence<br />
praise<br />
And wish of your time so ever<br />
small,<br />
So I do miss thee that my heart<br />
does ache<br />
And would I willingly your hand<br />
to take.<br />
David Morris<br />
Llandaff
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