Storm at Ceibwr Bay

Cruel sea's fingers

claw the cliffs,

as drownings die.

Clinging to the rocks

two tearing worlds,

swollen ships sail by.

The swell snatches

catching their skin,
opal-ed eyes petrify.

Mad mesmerizing-s swirl
black-iced wings sore high,
common starlings flash by.

The stark white

of a singular curved gull,

a silver knife in the sky.

Sea's salty lips split
broken as the cliffs,

loud screams intensify.

A seal raises it's head

above the chopping sea,

hardly visible to the eye.

And dolphins leap

under rain-soaked sheep,

as the storms go racing by.

© Wendy Smit-Taylor 2015

Sea Storm

The Great Storm

Sea Storm.

The hand of the great storm

bends the bow of the willow

and whips the sea to foam…

The long stretched waves

drawn as gum along the tongue

are molten in the stride;

they roll their licorice-black

into the stew pot of its eye;

the mist rises 1000 meters high;

the boat rocks and holds its course.

There is an overwhelming sense;

might and unbounded strength

in this wild untamed auditorium.

Spread under imponderable stars

lit by the surround of the moon

commanding the tugging tides;

the churning of its orchestra

demands the gulls to dance

to the lift and rise of rhythm;

yet beyond its deafening...

a voice calls...

© Wendy Smit-Taylor 2016

True Colors

True Colors

Would that the world

Could see thro' my eyes.

Not the black

Nor the white.

Let color fill our sight.

© Wendy Smit-Taylor 2015

Eclipse of the sun 20 March 2015

This poem is about the images of Alzheimer - it is a mistake to think that someone who is ill with Alzheimer has forgotten how to love. Alzheimer is an illness - a thief.
Those who love us, need us. Go to them.

 Love Me-mory

I am water in a well

Laying deep

I look at the sun

Like a plucked cuckoo

In a strange nest

I don't fit or belong

My feathers are gone

Who put me here

Where I have no tongue

I am a sideboard

Standing by the wall

Stiff and wooden

Yet no-one knows

What is hidden

Look at me

I am a crust

Dried on the outside

Left in a box

Rub me into crumbs

Feed me to the birds

Birds can fly

I am a lost key

That fits no door

Locks have changed

I walk in muddled dreams

In corridors

That never meet

The doors of my life

Are closing

Imprisoned in my skin

There deep within

I do love you

I will always love you

Love
Is not in my melting

It is in my heart.

© Wendy Smit-Taylor 2015

The Bubbling of Poetry

shifts aside all greys of thoughts.

Awakening the ghost of singular gulls

dawning against the fresh pink of morning.

Flocks of bachelor birds tumble and delight,

turning, twisting, in-visible flight.

They play and command the skies.

And with the rising of first light,

stillness sounds ...

flowers shiver in the cold

willows bend

reeds wave in the pond 

summer is almost at its end.

gulls labour through the pinking mist

spots of cows on far hills

nibble on fields above the sea

small houses dot the hillsides

brilliant white,

emerging into clear, crisp sunlight.

wagtails hop

a cast of sea gulls lift into the air

then settle among the cows.

honking geese fly overhead

with questionable navigation.

their voiced heard

echoing against the cliffs of the sea.

  

© Wendy Smit-Taylor
2014  

Etched - Legacy

Letter to an unknown soldier

            it is an honor to be able to remember and thank all those that are no longer with us. 
           all gone, but they laid a legacy for us so that we can sit and write in peace, living in
           the kind of world that they laid down their lives for. it makes me terribly conscious of
           the responsibility that we have - to live good lives, and every so often - go out there 
          and clean our own doorstep! brush away the dirt of conflict, even when it comes in
          tiny little packages.

          http://www.1418now.org.uk/letter/wendy-smit-taylor/

Etched - Legacy.

Does the shattering of shells

bring peace...?

In the far, far distance

Thunders the echo’s of war.

Your chair is empty Charlie.

Your photo stands on the mantelpiece

Above the fire place;

Between the black clock

And the packet of playing cards,

All browned

With the stain of your fingers.

The mirror above the fireplace

Is as empty as your chair.

It does not catch your reflection,

It does not show it to me.

But if I look hard Charlie

I can see you

Engraved in its memory

Scratched in its glass;

Familiar lines

Cut somewhere deep inside,

As they are cut in me.

Deep inside.

Let us be your mirror Charlie

So that we will never forget your face;

Familiar to every generation,

Cut deep into the mirror-glass of our nation.

© Wendy Smit-Taylor

Letter to an Unknown Soldier

www.1418now.org.uk

LETTER TO AN UNKNOWN SOLDIER is a new kind of war memorial - one made entirely of words. Thousands of people wrote a letter to the unknown soldier to create this online memorial. Read this one, and thous

Letter to an unknown Soldier - 2014ands of others here.

Etched - Legacy.

Does the shattering of shells

bring peace...?

In the far, far distance

Thunders the echo’s of war.

Your chair is empty Charlie.

Your photo stands on the mantelpiece

Above the fire place;

Between the black clock

And the packet of playing cards,

All browned

With the stain of your fingers.

The mirror above the fireplace

Is as empty as your chair.

It does not catch your reflection,

It does not show it to me

But if I look hard Charlie

I can see you

Engraved in its memory

Scratched in its glass;

Familiar lines

Cut somewhere deep inside,

As they are cut in me.

Deep inside.

Let us be your mirror Charlie

So that we will never forget your face;

Familiar to every generation,

Cut deep into the mirror-glass of our nation.

© Wendy Smit-Taylor

Letter to an unknown Soldier - 2014