Lemon Soap, Mountain Stream, Llangorse Lake, Daniel & Other Poetry

By Rowland Hughes

Featured in New Lyre Summer 2022

Lemon Soap

My grandmother loved lemon soap; 
it was her special Christmas indulgence. 
The tin bath pulled comfortably close  
to the coal fire, a torn square of towel 
for a flannel, and her precious soap, 
still wrapped in its original paper, 
placed carefully onto a bone china saucer. 

The ritual was serene, 
her long grey hair tied back from neck 
and face, she lathered her body 
as though bathing a new born baby. 
At this time, she was special to herself, 
frequently lifting the soap to her nose, 
as though smelling an exotic rose. 

Holding the firelight in her eyes, 
an old body dissolved into the water 
and a child crept into her skin. 
Her world lost in a time of stillness  
and thought.  
This was her moment of light, 
a China doll taken from its box and  
nursed awake with love. 

Mountain Stream 

As a child, 
I gave it the gift of my soul, 
poured dreams into its fast  
flowing light, its language  
pure and understood. 

And now,  
what light there was, 
is darkened by the shadow  
of a man’s life. Birds dart  
in and out of an empty sky, 
no trees to hold the  
weightlessness of their song; 
a silence I never knew. 
And in the silence,  

I hear the trickle of words, 
in a language I no longer  
understand. In the distance, 
a child scatters stones into a pool,  
making patterns of light.