A MID-SUMMER POEM FOR MY SONS SHEM LLEW (Cardigan Bay) and ‘DAI BACH’ (Northern Beaches, Sydney) …

There is a wheel inside my head

Of wantonness and wine,

An old, cracked fiddle is begging without,

But the wind with scents of the sea is fed,

And the sun seems glad to shine. 

The sun and the wind are akin to you,

As you are akin to June.

But the fiddle! . . . It giggles and twitters about,

And, love and laughter! who gave him the cue? –

He’s playing your favourite tune.

The Coming of War: Actaeon by Ezra Pound

An image of Lethe,
and the fields
Full of faint light
but golden,
Gray cliffs,
and beneath them

A sea
Harsher than granite,
unstill, never ceasing;
High forms
with the movement of gods,
Perilous aspect;
And one said:
‘This is Actaeon.’
Actaeon of golden greaves!
Over fair meadows,
Over the cool face of that field,
Unstill, ever moving
Hosts of an ancient people,
The silent cortège.