The first dew is drawing down upon the cello curve of hill and valley, Black waist and hip rounded with a quicksilver crest above the hidden source Of ghostly water, emerging so bashfully in its farewell to virginity; Frond dripping, sponge moss green distilling Through night cress beds needled with rushes, Pure as the driven stars, Pebbled with planets, In shining harmony with their lofty spheres for the beginning of the journey; Slipping free, streaming light, singing softly, Fondly falling like a day-dreaming daughter stealing away to sea.
Paul, a poet following the tradition of the land of his birth, was born and raised in the small village of Caerau, in the beautiful Lynfi valley of South Wales, and is now resident in Bristol, England. He has enjoyed a variety of different ‘careers’, including working on archaeological excavations, and for many years earning his living as a professional artist. He has travelled extensively in Europe, with an especial love for the cities of Paris, Florence and Venice, and has a great interest in philosophy, literature, history and the arts, which is reflected in his work. Paul says that he searched for years to find the right medium to truly express his ideas, and at last found the answer in poetry, something he has read and enjoyed all his life. In his own words, ‘When I started writing verse, I felt like a prodigal son being welcomed back to the home I left, many years, and many choices ago.’
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Paul Carpenter - Poet 