deepundergroundpoetry.com
On the Trail of the Lonesome Mine
On the other side of dreams
Mountains are streams of blue
Beneath villages of lace and stone
Bracken breaks thru’ burial earth
Low tide of memory fails to breach
Spaces and places I could have called home
Others see ghost of Owain Glwyndwr
Dying on his charger for Pride and Nation
I merely see a stranger on the brow
of a blue hill the locals name ‘beloved’
And I don’t even know her name
Mountains are streams of blue
Beneath villages of lace and stone
Bracken breaks thru’ burial earth
Low tide of memory fails to breach
Spaces and places I could have called home
Others see ghost of Owain Glwyndwr
Dying on his charger for Pride and Nation
I merely see a stranger on the brow
of a blue hill the locals name ‘beloved’
And I don’t even know her name
Published 16th Dec 2022
Author's Note
ERULGCT 174. Pic. Snowdonia this week. Had intended this to be a visual poem, but feel words may desecrate the beautiful image. Welcome to my Cymru.
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The author encourages honest critique.
16th Dec 2022 4:59pm
There’s a sweeping historical atmosphere to this that’s impressive, infused with your typically gentle and Welsh voice. Like a secular RS Thomas, in a sense. The poem feels antediluvian, in a good way. The voice of time.
16th Dec 2022 5:52pm
Many thanks CR. A secular RS Thomas? I like that. If only eh? Love Ronald Stuart's poetry, but have no truck for his anti-English stance. Perversely, Dylan Thomas was his antithesis. Disliked 'Welshness' and Welsh Nationalism.
21st Dec 2022 3:52am
How is it not a visual poem? Every sentence is full of color. And of sight.
Excellently done, Rob. Epics do not have to be lengthy, proof is right here.
Excellently done, Rob. Epics do not have to be lengthy, proof is right here.
21st Dec 2022 10:49am
Thank you Styx. Appreciate the encouragement / support. In many ways, this is one of the more personal scribbles of the year.
Anonymous
16th Jan 2023 10:46am
The repeated reference to blue here has double meaning for me. Not only is it a direct reference to the melancholy of home surroundings, but it also made me think of the Preseli bluestone, so synonymous with the landscape of Wales. It felt as if this poem had buried into the land itself to appreciate its value.
16th Jan 2023 11:24am
Many thanks for the prescient comment. To be honest, I have never considered the Preseli bluestone as a reference point in my scribbles. I love the desolate landscape of the Preseli Hills. West Wales is almost lost in time and a wild haven for thought.
