National fervour

                                                                            Did the symbolism visit,

                                                                            reminding you of the day?

 

                                                                            Fiery,

                                                                            with amber eyes focussing,

                                                                            glint of red in its scaly tail,

                                                                            a stamping of nationalistic pride

                                                                            in each clawed foot.

                                                                            The red dragon.

 

                                                                            Or,

                                                                            as the icy ground yields,

                                                                            resplendent yellow hoods

                                                                            emerge from shrunken landscapes

                                                                            with smiles for spring.

 

                                                                            Children,

                                                                            the lace of flannel petticoats,

                                                                            the frilled bonne of a tall hat

                                                                            gracing busy playgrounds

                                                                            and spinning wheels.

                                                                            A curtsy.

 

                                                                            St David,

                                                                            a release for pent up winter

                                                                            pride, when the icing tops

                                                                            of the Celtic mountains

                                                                            slowly disappear,

                                                                            reassuringly.

 


To read more of my poetry, and that of my guests, go to the short stories and poetry tab.

If you would like to join us at the Bangor Cellar Poetry Club, contact me via the contact page.