Photo: Mawddach Estuary, Gwynedd

Foam - T. Arfon Williams

Each day when the spray blows bright, - from the deep

Monsters rise and surface; They sweep and leap into light,A saga of white seagulls.

Pan chwery chwa oddi uchod – â’r môr Mae hen angenfilodY dwfn i’r wyneb yn dodI’w haileni’n wylanod.

Christmas- Gerallt Lloyd Owen

Today, in His way I walk, - to the crib Of the Christ I follow;Though I kneel, within I knowI am Herod tomorrow.

Wyf heddiw yn rhyfeddu, - wyf ar daith Efo’r doeth i’r beudy, Wyf y sant tyneraf sy’, Ond wyf Herod yfory.

Dacw long yn hwylio’n hwylus

Heibio i’r trwyn ac at yr ynys,

Os fy nghariad i sydd ynddi,

Hwyliau sidan glas sydd arni.

There beyond that nose of headland

The ship sails on towards the island;

If my darling is aboard her

There are blue silk sails upon her.

Pan fo seren yn rhagori,

Fe fydd pawb â’i olwg arni;

Pan ddêl unwaith gwmwl drosti,

Ni fydd mwyach sôn amdani.

People point and marvel nightly

When a star is shining brightly.

But should a cloud once hide its radiance

They soon forget the former brilliance.

MEETING IN A LIFT – Vladimir Holan, translated from the Czech

We stepped into the lift. The two of us, alone.We looked at each other and that was all.Two lives, a moment, fullness, bliss.At the fifth floor she got out and I went on upKnowing that I would never see her again,That it was a meeting once and for all,That if I followed her I would be like a dead man

in her tracks and that if she came back to meIt would only be from the other world.

COULD HAVE - Wislawa Szymborska It could have happened.

It had to happen.It happened earlier. Later.Nearer. Farther off.It happened, but not to you.

You were saved because you were the first.You were saved because you were the last.Alone. With others.On the right. On the left.Because it was raining. Because of the shade.Because the day was sunny.

You were in luck - there was a forest. You were in luck - there were no trees.

COULD HAVE - Wislawa Szymborska You were in luck - a rake, a hook, a beam, a brake,A jamb, a turn, a quarter-inch, an instant...

You were in luck – just then a straw went floating by.As a result, because, although, despite.What would have happened if a hand, a foot,Within an inch, a hairsbreadth from An unfortunate coincidence.

So you're here? Still dizzy fromanother dodge, close shave, reprieve?One hole in the net and you slipped through?I couldn't be more shocked or speechless.Listen,

how your heart pounds inside me.

Un noswaith ddrycinog

Un noswaith ddrycinog mi euthum i rodioAr lannau y Fenai gan ddistaw fyfyrio;Y gwynt oedd yn uchel a gwyllt oedd y wendon,A'r môr oedd yn lluchio dros waliau Caernarfon.

Ond trannoeth y bore mi euthum i rodioHyd lannau y Fenai, tawelwch oedd yno;Y gwynt oedd yn ddistaw, a'r môr oedd yn dirion,A'r haul oedd yn t'wynnu ar waliau Caernarfon.

Un noswaith ddrycinogThe Walls of Caernarfon - W J GruffyddOne rainswept eventide I went a-walkingOn the shores of Menai in silent meditation:Loud was the wind and wild was the white billow,And the sea was hurling over the walls of Caernarfon.But on the morrow morn I went a-walkingOn the shores of Menai, and stillness was on them;Silent was the wind, and kindly was the sea,And the sun was shining on the walls of Caernarfon.

Night and Day - R S Thomas One night of tempest I arose and wentAlong the Menai shore on dreaming bent;The wind was strong, and savage swung the tide,And the waves blustered on Caernarfon side.But in the morrow, when I passed that way,On Menai shore the hush of heaven lay;The wind was gentle and the sea a flower,And the sun slumbered on Caernarfon tower.

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN – Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,And sorry I could not travel bothAnd be one traveller, long I stoodAnd looked down one as far as I couldTo where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,And having perhaps the better claim,Because it was grassy and wanted wear;Though as for that, the passing thereHad worn them really about the same.

The Road not Taken - continued

And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black.Oh, I kept the first for another day!Yet knowing how way leads on to way,I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sighSomewhere ages and ages hence:Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –I took the one less travelled by,And that has made all the difference.

LOSS – Wendy Cope

The day he moved out was terrible –

That evening she went through hell.

His absence wasn’t a problem

But the corkscrew had gone as well.

BLOODY MEN – Wendy CopeBloody men are like bloody buses -You wait for about a yearAnd as soon as one approaches your stopTwo or three others appear.

You look at them flashing their indicators,Offering you a ride.You’re trying to read the destinations,You haven’t much time to decide.

If you make a mistake, there is no turning back.Jump off, and you’ll stand there and gazeWhile the cars and the taxis and lorries go byAnd the minutes, the hours, the days.

THOUGH THERE ARE TORTURERS - Michael Coady

Though there are torturers in the worldThere are also musicians.

Though, at this moment, menAre screaming in prisonsThere are jazzmen raising stormsOf sensuous celebrationAnd orchestras releasingGlories of the spirit.

Though the image of GodIs everywhere defiledA man in West ClareIs playing the concertina,The Sistine Choir is levitatingUnder the dome of St Peter’sAnd a drunk man on the roadIs singing for no reason.

YOUNG GIRL – Jarkko Laine

Have you seena girl,standing in front ofthe rubbish bin,with a plastic flower in her hair,admiring the rainbowon an asphalt road?

SO WE’LL GO NO MORE A ROVING Byron So, we'll go no more a roving 

So late into the night, Though the heart be still as loving,And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,And the soul wears out the breast, And the hearth must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving, And the days return too soon, Yet we'll go no more a roving By the light of the moon.

MESSAGE TO THE EDITOR - Patrick Galvin Sir –The Lord pardon the people of this townBecause I can’t.When I dropped dead in the street Three weeks agoI thought they’d bury me in style.A state funeral was the least of itWith Heads of Government and the Nobility In attendance.I even looked forward to the funeral oration- In IrishWith a few words on my past achievements:Our greatest poet, a seat in heaven to the manAnd how I deserved better. But did I get it?My corpse lay in Baggot Street For a fortnightBefore anyone noticed it.And when I was finally removed To the mortuaryI was abused by a medical studentWho couldn’t open a bag of chipsLet alone the body of your greatest poet.Then, to add to the indignity I was pushed into an ice-boxAnd some clod stuck a label on my footSaying: unknown bard – probably foreign.If it wasn’t for a drunken Corkman

Message to the Editor - Patrick GalvinWho thought I was his dead brotherI’d still be lying there unclaimed. At least The man had the decency to bury me.But where am I? Boxed in some common graveyardSurrounded by peasantsAnd people of no background.When I think of the poems I wrote And the great prophecies I madeI could choke. I can’t write nowBecause the coffin is too narrow And there’s no light.I’m trying to send this Through a mediumBut you know what they’re like – Table-tapping bastardsReeking of ectoplasm.If you manage to receive thisI’d be glad if you’d print it.There’s no point in asking youTo send me a copy-I don’t even know my address.

REMEMBER ME - Christina Rossetti Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad.

SPRING – Dic Jones

May Day! send me a dove so peaceful,

Bearing leaves o’er tempest tearful,

Bring beams of sunshine swallow cheerful,

To shine on Daisy’s collar wintral,

Sing me a negro spiritual – yellow flautist,

My concert artist, with notes delightful.

A MARRIAGE - R S Thomas

We metunder a shower

of bird-notes.Fifty years passed,

love’s momentin a world in

servitude to time.She was young;

I kissed with my eyesclosed and opened

them on her wrinkles.

‘Come,’ said death,choosing her as his

partner forthe last dance. And she,

who in lifehad done everything

with a bird’s grace, opened her bill now

for the sheddingof one sigh no

heavier than a feather.

‘THE ECHOES RETURN SLOW'- R S Thomas

 I look out over the timeless seaover the head of one, calendarto time's passing, who is now openat the last month, her hair wintry. Am I catalyst of her mettle that,at my approach, her grimace of painturns to a smile? What it is saying is:'Over love's depths only the surface is wrinkled.'