Owen Robin Davies p.1

Weather Front


Weather Front
I sat upon a bench today, hard against a wild hedge
and looked with awe as the sun rode on a dark indigo ledge.
Midnight blue it was, a foreboding dead straight line
cutting across the heavens with Phoebe dancing on its edge.

A calm presence there then, the air still, full of expectation.
My dogs felt it, sniffed the air and shivered in trepidation.
And closer it came, riding on a flock of finches,
the front below, darkening now, showing no sign of cessation.

The finches, chattering, fluttering, like a blizzard whiteout,
bowled through the ragged hedge, my dogs looking about.
But not for long, they knew, as then the wind came, on time
as my senses had told me, primeval, predicted without doubt.

The tiny birds were tossed before the wind, but above the dark front line
a pearly, opalescent, wondrous light, surely a sign.
Backlighting the heavens, a sense of drama, battle even,
between forces older than life, almost of time.

But I knew; my dogs did not, that later on perhaps
while the dogs, were asleep in a tumble on our laps,
high and low pressure would seek a median.
But listen now, above this tousled noise, the woodpecker taps.

A small sign perhaps, but reminiscent of calmer places,
as in life, when darkness shows about our faces,
most, fuelled by age and hope, deal with it, it hardly lasts,
Experience early on, has put us through our paces.

Copyright © 2011 Owen Robin Davies
Weather Front read by Owen Robin Davies

When fires are lit and night begins too soon,
at evening time when light begins to fail,
I catch a shadow in the other room
of someone moving, old, perhaps frail.

Poor light and tired eyes make me think I see,
but I do see him, though he moves so slow.
Is he the one I believe him to be,
or is it a trick when lights are low?

Loved ones passed on but remembered all the more,
may condition us with a familiar gene
to see just our own treasured ancestor,
Or is this someone else, not yet seen?

He may promise me all, like Marlowe's Faustus.
"Peace to you friend" I would say, if we could talk.
"And peace to you friend and all about us"
would be his reply and away he would walk.

We move through life in light, shadows at odd times,
why be shocked to meet others on the road?
But he is from the past with all the signs
of wisdom, and he doesn't carry a load.

So why is he with me, he utters no sounds.
To show me my future, how can he know all?
Itʼs comforting to know life has no bounds.
Atoms re-form, and then my load will fall.

Copyright © 2011 Owen Robin Davies
Tricks read by Owen Robin Davies

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