please
lamenting
reoccurrence
a siren voice
calls in the mist
is there anyone there
asking
is there anyone there
upon the rocks of the past
the future flounders
tides come and go
but never stay
say you will ask
is there anyone there
to lament
please say you will
fun is largely a tiny word
run the paper chase
follow the windy words
flying through the trees
rip the witch’s knickers
pin it to the page with quills of laughter
play tug of war with roped words
the sky need not be the limit for tiny words
do they not spread the seeds of truth
to the ends of the mirth
spar rows
there’s one
and another one
loads
there it goes
is it the same one
it is isn’t it is it
sparrows sparrows
sparrows sparrows
sparrows sparrows sparrows
spar rows
shoot it down shoot it down
it takes flight
the snipe poem
shoot it down
shoot it down
before its too late
you never know what it might say
shoot it down shoot it down
or you will rue the day
you let it escape the marsh’s embrace
too late too late
it is out over the woods and far away
by god you are going to rue this day
furnaced men
mother shawled by the welsh wind’s hands
the dereliction of her children stands
with walls that weep the white lime of time
begone smoke-turning winds be done
the furnace is lit it has begun on the
fire-furnaced sanded bright-faced men
all veins sweat-muscled and fractious grins
deep in pupils wide and irises smarting when
the metal sparks and slag’s red flow begins
to leap the gaps of trepidation’s dare
as the sherbet runs from their jerry tins
and there the metal men are forged where
each his place in time dares wins
in hierarchies long laid down
every man enmeshed in working there
where stares compare decision’s frown
and dirt encrusts their creviced care
then my son yes only then my only son
when they drop the cupola’s ashen load
the beginning of your end’s begun
as you’ll follow your father down that road
that has it ups and downs for sure for sure
as it runs fast towards bravado’s lure
but just as the pig-iron melts it’s facade
so you too will say by god was hard
but where else would comrades melt together
their friendships annealed and forged forever
long after the furnace has poured its filial load
they’ll say by god we walked that molten road
for a whole full week has passed
a poem to Swansea Council
the green recycling bags again
were missed on Thursday last,
and again on Friday, Saturday, Sunday,
again on Monday, Tuesday, too
and now that Wednesday has sped on past
a lone voice in the wilderness cries out
hello hello
is there anyone there?
for a whole full week has passed
the jazz club glanmor
riding on a song
to the other side of town
dark streets
every girl a shadow
every light a door man
the jazz club
stamp my hand man
where’s the watney’s dark
the king a trump card
look at all my medals
you gotta believe me
i’m the king you see
the real king you see
it’s hereditary gene
i’m telling you aren’t i
listen to me
i’m off back to my palace
tomorrow is another day
some card is coming to stay
we’ll trump that
me second wife and i
hereditary you see
this gene meme game thing
and then the glorious 12th
alone with a word or two
there’s no going back
i have burned my metaphors
cast off from the onomatopoeia
the raft of analogies has been dismantled
becalmed are the psalms in my sails
the sargasso sea spins the flotsam
and the jetsam words
the malapropisms have slunk
the personifications have sunk
the alliterations were the first to sink
the depth of my problems are imponderable
the height of my folly likewise
the rubicon has dried up
all idioms appear idiotic
anagrams are oxymorons
the word signs are toppled
i am lost to at sea
listing and listening
now that i have the invisible ink
i will write the unseen
bring your own lemon juice
come closer
an attracting image
a magnet & iron fillings
the child looking under the paper
we looking under the picture
now when was that
time and magnetism
is there a physicist in the house
drum roll
you are it
the wind is playing touch
wooo come on
wooo come on
through the cracked window
we run the edges of our imagination
and fall over each other
for you are it now
finishing
all the hooks of time
barbed through the skins of me
still drawing blood
all these years later
no end until
