Poems – Poetry by Sylvia Fairclough

The Politics of Fear

This was published by Cinnamon Press in 2009, in an anthology called In The Telling. I was reminded of it on Wednesday, while Rachel and I walked along the Cardiff Bay barrage, during a two day celebration of our friendship. What a deep and terrifying power lies in the movement of the sea. The seasideContinue reading “The Politics of Fear”

Rites of Passage

This was first published in an anthology of prose poetry, by Cinnamon Press in 2011 – This Line Is Not For Turning, It’s late; crowds of kids drink and josh on the grass lawn in front of the Royal Crescent. A boy, tumbling from the bushes, adjusts his trousers. He stands, comfortably, on the pathContinue reading “Rites of Passage”

Unavailable

This was first published in an anthology of prose poetry, by Cinnamon Press in 2011 – This Line Is Not For Turning. One reviewer saw it as about travelling and moving on; for me it’s about loss. I wrote it after the my mother, Florence Bird, died. I still miss her. Someone had folded herContinue reading “Unavailable”

Future Tense

I knew I’d need an eraser as soon as you started to talk, hands fidgeting across the table.Carefully constructed linesof struts and quoins fade,leaving smudged expectations.I put the pencil down – best leave tomorrows unplanned. Wales, 2011

The Necklace

He rented a van for his stuff and sent their son,who is good at manoeuvring, to do the heavy lifting.Cycling gear, unseen in the outhouse, was forgottenin the to and fro of cutlery and paperwork.Bikes, for which there was no room in his new life, cluttered the next few years – grazing her shins, blockingContinue reading “The Necklace”

Obstructions

This poem only really made sense to me a couple of years after I’d written it. I don’t want to set a narrative for any readers it might have – but I’m happy to share if you’re interested! Under the Black Mountain clouds smear the sky purple, blue and black; bruised colours. Rain scours theContinue reading “Obstructions”

Breadcrumbs for Ukraine

She feeds the birds with bread and margarine, small morsels for shy robins placed on the backs of benches. At each of fourteen feeding sites she stops; a Way of Grief to seek atonement. Each uneaten scrap is mourned. Aged 6, a hungry child had seen her grandma fall and beg for food on fertileContinue reading “Breadcrumbs for Ukraine”

Lloches

Mae’r ddaear yn ymritho yn nerth – yn gymrus, naddodd o graig gan iäen. Ond, fel mae sbôr rheden yn brwsio yn erbyn eich coes, edrychwch i lawr. I mewn i’r pant, gwnaeth gan eich esgid, mae pwyllun yn ffurfio, staeniodd gan tanniniau o’r gweryd dan eich traed. A draw fan’na mae’r glaswellt yn crynuContinue reading “Lloches”