sunday drew to a close

the grate was
black-leaded
the tea was
steeped
the book sat
comfortably
sunday drew 
to a close
after a fine day
we slept

purview

purview 

a seat by the fireside of my mind

insipid are the tears of yesterday 

a sallow tallow of thin dreams

snow-bound in bottle-bottomed windows 

a vignette of tomorrow’s cold avenues 

all the bolted doors on every cobbled street

around every corner of life’s sorry tale

it’s later than you think and then of course 

it arrives

No puss

‪I’m coming back‬

‪my darling cat‬

‪don’t you dare jump‬

‪into my seat like that‬

the taking, and the giving, of the seed.

the taking, and the giving, of the seed.

the taking, and the giving, of the seed;

can you not see, what this says to me,

the fulfilling, the very essence, of our need.

society forever setting out the creed,

where the mating mind must assuredly see,

the taking, and the giving, of the seed.

that nurture of the future is the deed,

for the children of our children, so goes the plea,

the fulfilling, the very essence, of our need.

but on what does art in our hearts there feed,

and from the harshest emotions set us free,

for the taking, and the giving, of the seed.

and the fine fashions of our status forever plead,

in perpetuity that these statements be,

the fulfilling, the very essence, of our need.

but love, you say, is devoid of greed,

yet in that self same selflessness agree,

for the taking, and the giving, of the seed,

the fulfilling, the very essence, of our need.

the sea and me

‪in the sea ‬
‪in every storm‬
‪it speaks to me‬
‪it means no harm‬

‪of every past‬
‪of today’s tomorrow ‬
‪at last hope’s thought‬
‪at past grave’s sorrow‬

‪for it wails‬
‪for it is Wales‬
‪for me is thee ‬
‪for thee is me‬

‪my sea ‬
‪sees my‬

‪yesterday ‬
‪my today‬
‪and of course‬
‪my tomorrow‬

Across the mirror of our time stay true

Across the mirror of our time stay true 

For although you did not see me I do see you,

That little boy, the little me, upon that snow slide freeze;

That through the mirror of our time rings true.

And all along that long night calling out, who

Will come and risk toboggan upon bleak knees;

For although you did not see me I do see you.

Boys, boys, under these stars come do,

Greet the claw moon and the blizzard pleas;

That through the mirror of our time rings true.

And the love of pals seeming all down times blue

Laugh every snowflake wild upon the breeze;

For although you did not see me I do see you.

For now is your once and only chance to

Feel the shiver stir the rime upon stark trees

That across the mirror of our time rings true.

For all of time’s long night through

The wild wind calls down a wilful tease;

For although you did not see me I do see the you,

That through the mirror of our time rings true.

GBDT

GBDT

‪the giant barking dog turd’s‬
‪ geodesic dome‬
‪i’ve never seen anything like it ‬
‪ quite this far from home‬
‪any passing resemblance ‬
‪ to persons alive or dead‬
‪is purely coincidental ‬
‪ or so belief be led ‬
‪so cast aside all doubt‬
‪  leave intellect behind ‬
‪the giant dog turd’s out and‬
‪ about to change your mind‬

XR

the hot air‬

‪of extinction rebellion ‬

‪is in jail‬

‪so no more global warming‬

‪we are all safe forevermore ‬

the ninth life

the ninth life

and so remember, 

the cat’s ninth life remains in

the shadows of the always wind;

there, in the hedgerows of the mind,

bright in the moonlight of a sudden movement, 

stalking to jump upon an illusive tear.

reflections

reflections

the rain drops run off the ducks

and into the duck pond disturbing 

the reflection of the two ducks

on the duck pond watched by the

two lovers on the bank 

reflected in each other’s eyes 

and in the rain drops

and in the ponds ripples 

and in the duck’s eyes

and they all reflect

that 

reflections are 

just that

geodesic

geodesic 

doggy dumper

chasing a rabbit

thumper thumper 

and then the chimneys fell

and then the chimneys fell

and then the chimneys fell,

one by one by the ton of

ancient soot billowing applause

from the lads in the sidings 

wagoned in trammelled bravado.

some by explosive nostalgia,

some by pick and prop and fire 

and hope for the tugged heart strings,

bricked in piles, taking the stacks

down brick by brick, upending the past.

so now they are gone.

the boys and the men the boys

planned to grow into the furnaces 

of the old testament, in the black book

of the psalms, of sadness long chanted,

and now, finally, the grime on the headstones

of the past falls away.

take the long path to the reed beds

resurgent where the water coolers 

towered. where the slag tips glowered.

give the children their ponds, their 

tadpoles, and finally, again finally,

let sleep take the day away. let us

use the chimney bricks to lay a

road away from the past, and through

the windows of our eyes, espy

everlasting ...

substrata

substrata 

oh to have been at Oxford 

to have developed a reader’s ear

to have talked with talkers walking

in the days before the war

after reading Vera Brittain 

in a musty second-hand book

cheaply bought in vain to gain

the dust of a dry tears look

spider spider

spider spider

once again in dark childhood corners 

lurks what the dark in darkness hides

for exploding across this mithril meadow 

a belly on eight stilted legs rapier glides

the spider jumps and we jump back

ancestors screaming quick hide and hide

as "got you" is pulled back quick as a flash

it’s fangs remaining to chew on our insides

Dylan reads ‘Return Journey’

the dead voice of christmases past

haunts every yesteryear of

our ageing in the raging of

the town that never was

to be again alive for just 

one more time before

we too are dead 

voices of christmases past

The Mumbles train

the Mumbles train

running red in veins 

the Mumbles trains

rail against those who destroyed

the shaking, chili hot leather seats

where the eyes of a child focused,

hands a polish on the brass rail as

the Mumbles train rocked, and

the sailboats tocked to a stop 

at nab rock 

at the end of the pier show

Either side of the hill

Either side of the hill

It’s where the ships' hooters came from,

the other side of the hill, 

where the docks are;

or the black works, on the black river,

on the other side of the hill.

Get up there boys

and spin your rainbows,

immiscible in oils,

in spoils, in whirls,

in worlds apart 

in all your similarity;

for there is no circularity 

around the hill,

where the boys spill;

for after all, after all,

they hail from

either side of the hill

poem power

poem power

it’s not the words,

but the way they woo, and

carry your books to school for you. 

argue, kiss, in parting moods,

moon in the one eye,

sun in the other,

lifelong friends,

the lover’s lover.