Sacha Black’s latest writing prompt is Hiraeth, which I think is a Welsh expression for a very deep longing, a yearning for home. This is the theme of the poem of mine, She longs for what she has lost, that was published last month in The Ogham Stone, Limerick University’s literary journal, so I’ll reproduce it here.
Painting of Howth by William Orpen.
Often at the turning of the year,
When the grass is bright and damp with autumn rain,
And last buds open with the failing sun,
I listen to the windsong in the trees.
When white-winged gulls blow in from stormy seas,
And the tang of salt hangs heavy in the air,
I hear the waves break on a lonely strand,
And taste the smoke and ash in long-dead hearths.
When only starlight guides the homing geese,
Their booming voices singing sailors’ songs,
I hear the echo from the vaulted sky,
And feel the northlands in their beating wings.
But when the blackbird sings his end of summer song,
And the white gull skims the restless ocean foam,
The whispering comes from deep in blood and bone,
The wind, the stars, the heart’s pulse call me home.