By When all of the evils are back in their box,
and those who can have been paired in marriage –
to an ovation from an audience
of boy scouts, elderly innocents,
and coach parties from Rhyl and Wallasey –
we emerge into Theatr Clwyd’s bar.
We watch, in awe, through the long glass window,
a vestigial sunset above Moel Famau –
variegated layers of coral
beneath a looming indigo bank of cloud.
Below – in the darkening river valley
of ribbons of homes, old mine shafts, quarries,
used car dealerships, and the Alyn’s waters
out of sight over glacial stones –
a billow of smoke, snaking round houses
at the edge of Mold and onto the hillside,
is rising white as steam.
Moel FamauMoldRiver AlynTheatr Clwyd
Mary Clark
December 30, 2022Does ‘wow’ count as a comment? From your poems I get a sense of the many-hued moody place that is Great Britain. I love the emergence from man’s theater into the real world’s theater and what it means that we have this box inside us we have to explore.
David Selzer
December 30, 2022Yes, ‘wow’ counts, Mary! Thank you! As always, your comment reminds me what inspired me to write the piece in the first place.
‘…many-hued, moody place…’ That’s GB. I’m going to use that phrase at some point, if I may.
Jeff T
December 30, 2022Another lovely evocative poem, David. Similarly at the Buxton Opera house (a splendid Victorian theatre) with my son’s bemused Galician girlfriend. No coral light though. Just high-Derbyshire swirling drizzle and a black Cat and Fiddle road….. ‘oh no it wasn’t’… ‘oh yes it was. I was driving and you all fell asleep’. Axe Edge Moor looking particularly forbidding, their faces illuminated by the green dashboard Northern Lights.
Alan Horne
December 31, 2022Love the ominous cloud of smoke, David.
Ashen
December 31, 2022A dear place, I guess, lovingly evoked with melodic words:
‘… ribbons of homes, old mine shafts, quarries,
… a billow of smoke, snaking round houses…’
Best things for the coming year!