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.