Keith Gwilliams Poems

As the smoke drifts in the shadows
Quiet now with bolted doors
No more crowds – just empty tables
Round the dark and silent floor
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There is beauty in the fire that man controls
The roar of the white heat of the furnace
The red heat of the kiln
The spar and rumble of the forge
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I’m looking at a jigsaw with a picture called ‘Still Life’.
I see a rose, violin and bow, some music and some books,
A lighted candle and a quill.
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(Written after a visit to Avebury Stone Circle)

Standing amongst the stones I had arrived.
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There's a patter of rain on the window pane
And a clatter of feet in the dim-lit lane
And a sound of wheels as now and again
A traveller passes by.
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Cats, cats, cats, cats. Black cats, white cats
Brindled and grey cats. Cats of all shapes and sizes.
Some are just moggies, some win prizes.
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I am often asked! Well occasionally I have been asked!
Someone asked me once—I think I have been asked
How do you write poetry?
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(Written on seeing an artist at work - Scarborough 6 April 1985)

He was an artist all right.
You could teel that from the moment
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