Carried on the wind, sometimes words just fall in your lap
As autumn ushers in the season of gusts and gales, our latest poetic offering seems heaven sent. Indeed, for its author, artist Karl Young, it all but appeared out of nowhere.
"It's one of those poems that writes itself, where you need to step aside and let it happen," says Karl, who grew up in South Africa but eventually settled in North Wales, via Massachusetts, some 15 years ago.
"In a neighbouring field there's an oak tree with a hedge close by. I see this tree in all weather and wind, bending and bracing. It's a centre for flying life and for mine in North Wales. It's this image of the oak tree in a storm that seeded the poem."
The tree (above) can be found in Llidiart-y-parc, the small settlement where Karl lives which looks across the river Dee towards Carrog. "Here my writing and painting absorbs Welsh scenery," he adds.
POET OF THE MONTH:
There is a word that takes leaves from the oak
A word that makes them gather in the hedge
A word that comes before a storm
A word that goes fertile and strong
A word that howls from the west
That today is giving my house its best.
But words can be worse than wind
When like the wind they shape and wound
To often blow with a gust of neglect
Rushing out with a misplaced intent.
These windy words sweep beside us
These windy words go misunderstood
They scatter over path and root
And are better left deep inside us.
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