Welsh Cakes at War
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- Posts: 1986
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Welsh Cakes at War
Dad returning from work,
smell of motor bike, petrol, leather.
The cold of winter, pipes freezing in the ty bach,
ice castles sagging down.
His steel helmet hanging on the door,
plastic neck guard, gas mask,
rifle hung out of reach,
His bayonet, in my hands,
blunted.
Mam baking, I hang
on her pinafored thighs,
She smells of flour, icing
sugar and spice.
My bedroom cold as an arctic floe.
Illness reaches out and grips
Vomiting, fever for days and nights.
It won’t release me, darkness,
death in the mirror
of the wardrobe door.
Mam’s eyes, black with fear,
deep as glacial pools.
smell of motor bike, petrol, leather.
The cold of winter, pipes freezing in the ty bach,
ice castles sagging down.
His steel helmet hanging on the door,
plastic neck guard, gas mask,
rifle hung out of reach,
His bayonet, in my hands,
blunted.
Mam baking, I hang
on her pinafored thighs,
She smells of flour, icing
sugar and spice.
My bedroom cold as an arctic floe.
Illness reaches out and grips
Vomiting, fever for days and nights.
It won’t release me, darkness,
death in the mirror
of the wardrobe door.
Mam’s eyes, black with fear,
deep as glacial pools.
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- Posts: 2688
- Joined: 03 Jun 2016, 21:03
Re: Welsh Cakes at War
Good one, Frank...I like how I'm surprised by the turn of events...good imagery, especially of the father and the smells....my only suggestion...take out one or two of the darkness, black, death words....one or two too many
good writing, esp. here:
Dad returning from work,
smell of motor bike, petrol, leather.
The cold of winter, pipes freezing in the ty bach,
ice castles sagging down.
His steel helmet hanging on the door,
plastic neck guard, gas mask,
rifle hung out of reach,
good writing, esp. here:
Dad returning from work,
smell of motor bike, petrol, leather.
The cold of winter, pipes freezing in the ty bach,
ice castles sagging down.
His steel helmet hanging on the door,
plastic neck guard, gas mask,
rifle hung out of reach,
Re: Welsh Cakes at War
Death hovers.
death in the mirror
of the wardrobe door.
The height of the child,
Mam baking, I hang
on pinafored thighs.
A good one, Frank. Enjoyed.
death in the mirror
of the wardrobe door.
The height of the child,
Mam baking, I hang
on pinafored thighs.
A good one, Frank. Enjoyed.
meenas17
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- Posts: 1619
- Joined: 01 Jun 2008, 09:17
Re: Welsh Cakes at War
Much in agreement, this is a good poem with the domestic dichotomy backdraped by the trappings of war
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- Posts: 1986
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Welsh Cakes at War
Thanks all.
Re: Welsh Cakes at War
Hi Frank,
It was the welsh cakes that drew me here. I could just eat a couple now!
I enjoyed this one - the way one stanza flows to the next, An unexpected ending.
Eira
It was the welsh cakes that drew me here. I could just eat a couple now!
I enjoyed this one - the way one stanza flows to the next, An unexpected ending.
Eira
Re: Welsh Cakes at War
Very good, Frank, the narrative is interesting and surprising. You've gotten really good at these shorter poems.
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- Posts: 1986
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Welsh Cakes at War
Thanks billy
Nice to see you posting here again
Nice to see you posting here again
Re: Welsh Cakes at War
It always amazes me how details can move a story forward, nicely done. I especially like the line with the mirror and the wardrobe door.
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- Posts: 1986
- Joined: 02 Mar 2016, 18:07
- Location: Between the mountains and the sea
Re: Welsh Cakes at War
Bob, Meena, Ken thanks for input.
Eire, how can anyone exist without a Welsh cake, bake some now.
Billy and Dale, thanks again.
Eire, how can anyone exist without a Welsh cake, bake some now.
Billy and Dale, thanks again.