With the smell of sulphur hanging in the air from the nearby dinosaur of the steel works, it is easy to believe that the veil between myth and reality is thin. Kenfig Pool sparkling with a thousand diamonds as the sunlight plays across its deep waters. Hiding its darker soul from sight.
Sunlight on water.
The devil’s brew hangs on air
in this ancient place.
Standing on the wet margin, where water merges with land, I can easily imagine a slender arm emerging from the swell and thrusting a sun-struck sword towards heaven. But, that was in another time and another place. The myths here have a darker origin. They tell of seven springs filling a bottomless lake. Of Black Gutter’s whirlpool currents dragging swimmers down to an ancient city lost beneath the wind-whipped waves. Or so they would have us believe.
The margin between
land and water stretches out
and embraces me.
Tales of a poor man, who killed a steward for gold and silver, in order to marry the lord’s daughter. Then, on his marriage night, a wind blew through the town screaming of vengeance served cold. All was forgotten until a baby of the ninth generation was born. The wind returned and swirled in rage. In the morning’s faint light nothing could be seen of Kenfig, except for this pool the largest lake in Glamorgan. Dense carpets of Stonewort often form a lawn upon its surface and sometimes a church bell is said to toll its solemn notes from beneath the dank waters. Myth and nature merge here as easily as friends in a crowded room.
The story is old
and retold so many times
in different tongues.
But, enough of sadness. Amid the nearby grassy dunes blooms Moonwort, once believed to open locks and unshoe horses. Sought by alchemists. If only it could turn lead to gold and dreams to riches, poets would then own mansions! Within a foot’s step grow Lady’s-Bedstraw, Bird’s-Foot Trefoil and Common Restharrow. While, closer to the curving sea amid the sandy dunes, Orache, Sea Rocket, Sea Holly, Sea Spurge and Sea Stock also flourish. In the wetter low-lying patches, can be found Variegated Horsetail, Marsh Pennywort and Fen Orchid, that rare bloom that hides its primrose heads from all but the most careful eye.
Nature has no plan
its wild plants thrive where they can
out of reach of man.
Standing here, the pulse of nature springs from the ground and into the heart and mind. Distant Swansea Bay and Mumbles Head lie shrouded in sea mist. While, overhead, a Baird’s Sandpiper gives vent to its rising, laughing call.
A breeze swirls the sand
into intricate patterns.
Beyond the sea waits.
By Mike Everley
website: https://www.everley.link
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mj_everley
Line Of Poetry: https://www.lineofpoetry.com/mikeeverley
Twitter: https://twitter.com/mike_everley
Amazon Author’s Page: https://www.amazon.com/author/mikeeverley
Swansea and District Writer’s Circle: https://swanseawriters.co.uk/
5-7-5 Haiku Journal 