Under Summer Skies

You come with favourite brushes, pens,
pencils - your choice of painting media -
flasks, snacks, folding chairs, the planned
logistics of a day - plein air.

You might have scouted out your landmark,
opted for the Folly, the library’s gable wall
seen from the shade of a tree, the tower
of St Matthew’s, or a bridge down by the basin.

Perhaps it’s your first time here as your eyes
frame angles for clear layers, colours, light,
or have deep local roots, two sisters relaxed,
enjoying time chatting, painting memories.

The shifting Sun sends signals, reminders to pin
morning’s sharp shadows to the pavements,
show how time stands still in straight lines,
ignore the flicker of light through dense leaves.

Scratches of lead on pristine surfaces,
brushed whispers on crisp white pages,
the snap of pocket-sized paint boxes,
the sounds of art echo through the town.

As artists, you give voice to what we can’t see,
tell your truth in dialogues of captured images,
listen as Pontypool speaks wordless poems
of its history in hues of turquoise green, grey, blue.

Your canvas, crafted with paint, graphite, talent,
tells tales of lives lived by the bandstand, listed buildings,
our own crown jewels guarded by a rolling landscape,
a canvas without edges, studio without walls.