Monday, 18 October 2021

reading r s thomas

 reading r s thomas 


the eternal search

other words for other things

wish coin in the fountain

his mind turning inward

from down in that well

the bucket brought up silver

but when the sun went in

down the bucket went again

perhaps what darkness offers

is the eternal state

Saturday, 16 October 2021

counting down

 counting down


let us paint and write 

the minutes to the end

not for us to pretend 

that it might not be

count them down 

now with me

and see that

never mind how much

i love and think of you 

for  for  me

the minutes to the end

have moved that much closer

now my friend

count them down now with me

never pretend it is not the end 

this we have to comprehend 

that finally it is finally this 

and with all of this 

and with all our mind

contend

Wednesday, 13 October 2021

sure?

 sure?


there are no dead

there never has been

they never have been

the living imagine them that   were

we cannot even say ‘they’ no longer exist 

because they have all been recycled  yeth?

death an hysterical anagram of life

the living imagine death as being  something

the living imagine death as being  somewhere

how they imagine and wish it were  but

truth is the only thing that has passed

away with you now               tomorrow 

wasn’t it yesterday we said tomorrow 

and here we are and they are not

for them tomorrow never arrived

the dead are no longer here

or there or anywhere

now                   where was i ?


Tuesday, 12 October 2021

upper bank station

 upper bank station


what is it about this station

trains run through  but not one passenger alights

in fact no passenger trains run on this track now

only saddle-tank goods trains trucking through

  stare at it long and hard

see where the platform ends drop away 

cross the boarded walk to the other side 

look down to the midland (docks) or up to the junction 

to morriston and the valleys or the swansea vale works

see the level-crossing keeper’s stone cabin

with a coal fire and a hearthed kettle singing

  nothing happens here anymore

  nothing happens here anymore  look at

the children dropping chippings down the chimneys

of the trains that engulf them in steam on the 

naughty boy bridge galvanised over the line

their shoes scuffed reaching from the triangles

wrought below the top handrail of seeing

  nothing happens here anymore

look  oh god look at the sparrows stuck

spread eagled dead in the sun-melted tar 

under the dislocated grindstone askew

abandoned and as dead as this station

  nothing happens here anymore

the old villagers tell of sunday school outings

open carriages full of excited excursions

to the green fields above the smoke 

those days  never to be seen again 

for those days are gone 

  nothing happens here anymore 

than the thoughts of what was upper bank 

if it ever was anything at all

something must have happened for us to say

  nothing happens here anymore


do you know there is a tunnel right under the station


Thursday, 7 October 2021

frog spawn

 frog spawn


up to mattie’s gutter come on mun

run past the pub and the chapel run

past john shop’s chicken run run

fast past the pointed wooden pen

oozing the tar called bitumen 

full pelt down the grass to clay

the stream sped over where the

caddis fly lay and on up

the dampness flowing from the well

three red bricks high and square

to look if there is any frog spawn where

on this febuary morn of a boy borne wild 

upon the heels of a growing knowing child

oh yes knowing that the white grasses

blowing under spring’s bluest the sky 

and why oh why is the spawn so late

scare raising the crows of walk back’s fate 

all is windward on these wayward days

and days and days of visiting the well 

again and again until one day yell

it’s there! it’s there! and

handed home to my tank in my shed

where the stickleback swims alone

i said here is the spawn that will bend 

and grow and do you know 

in a few months time if we feed 

and throw in a rock or two

the legged little ones will know

that it is time to go and i will wait

all of winter’s waiting wait

until spring is once more at the garden gate 

and wings on heels we’ll run and run

to find the frogspawn under a low spring sun

its black bright eyes are blinking blinking

and thinking how the warmth returns

to a new year long in its running wild 

of that well borne wistful february child 







 

the cigar

 the cigar


and all the suns that are wrapped tight

long in days in leaf and rolled 

into one man’s pleasure 

the thoughts ashed and curled

sky mooned drifting milky in the whey

they settle the mind   if mind it is

to float this way and that 

time and again it simply is 

ahh it is   it    simply       is  

I am not a diabetic!

I am not a diabetic!

Now repeat that after me,

and maybe you will see,

that whatever my glucose status,

it is me you see - yes me!

So please don't stick a label,

for now you know and see,

that I suffer from diabetes,

as you might, one day,

perhaps, maybe.