IN THE WELSH HILLS
In the intense bright cold
an army of ferns,
their unfurled bronze banners
swaying in the bitter wind,
fill the hill from top to bottom,
fed by memories of ice and fire,
and times when blood drenched
the steep battlefield
and at first light
the women came with ritual
to release husbands, brothers, sons
to their Otherworld –
by pulling out their male hearts
and leaving them to rest
on the face of the corpse.
In times of famine though –
hearts would be dedicated
to Celtic Gods,
blessed, then eaten.
And still to this day,
if the black-haired girls of the hills
set their eyes on a boy
his heart is theirs –
and still they wear their black hair long,
prefer their men’s hearts big.
Tim Goldstone’s poems and stories are published or forthcoming in numerous journals and anthologies, including The New Welsh Review, 11 Mag Berlin, The Offing, The Wild Word, Riverbed Review, CultureCult Magazine, Lamplit Underground, Tír na nÓg, The Speculative Book, The Chamber, Crannóg, Lamplit Underground. Prose sequence read on stage at The Hay Festival. Poetry recently presented on Digging for Wales. Material included in BBC, Waterstones, The Royal Court Theatre and Sherman Cymru Theatre websites. Has a BA in English and History. Scripts broadcast on TV and radio. He has roamed widely, and currently lives deep in rural Wales.