Listen, I know you could hear
I saw you looking
From the beyond
Memories of you are treasured
No matter the bitter end
We all make mistakes
But those wrongs pass
As did you
Farewell
Words – my contribution
Glyderau
Dominating presence, distant popularity;
The Everest of Gogledd Cymru.
A classic climb with countless stories;
One more will follow.
Seasoned.
Spring blossoms paint a thousand colours in vain;
Threads of emotion entwine aimlessly, reaching far and wide;
Past events bind and entangle my soul ever deeper.
Summer moon cannot soothe even a sliver of my heart;
Impartial Heaven and Earth are are not my obstacle;
To know and act in harmony is enlightenment.
Autumn waves drift across a thousand mountains of lost leaves;
Antlers lay fractured on soil ripening with fungal growth;
Colours shine yellows, reds, and browns signalling life in a new light.
Winter snow builds to gently bend a single blade of stubborn grass;
Life on hold as survival becomes a testing testimony;
Throughout this long year, I have stood strong: I go on.
1915
Onslaught
Grotesque
Long-forgotten
Excrement rotting duckboard
Lice-infested vermin blurred within our souls
Stagnant distorted mirrors fractured without reflection
Obscene suspended fates
Pointless sorties advance and retreat our limbo
Slaughtered soil shelters no seed
Incompetent with fear for the front
Incomprehensibly unable to step backwards
Confusion reigns
Glory to the flag
For King and country
A noble death awaits those called to the shallows
Amongst it all, the known and unknown shoulder to shoulder
Rhythmically pulsing
Inequality
The fine line between a tent and a council flat.
The missed payments, stacking bills, and demanding phone calls.
The desperation of a meal ticket that hangs just out of reach.
The humiliation of going to a food bank and asking for help.
The indignation of waiting in a hospital corridor.
The hope and fear of never quite reaching your goals.
Pupil enlightened
Went to a foreign land to teach a language;
Came away a pupil enlightened;
Yet deep down, insecure, lost, and frightened.
Returned once again, a teacher of sorts;
Exchanged words through gained culture;
Yet inside parts lay torn up like leftovers from a vulture.
Empty dreams, wayward walks, ambitious ideas;
No urgency to take first flight;
Stood there looking up at everything bright.
Hope came along, a bundle of delightful fears;
Taught by all, time to tackle doubt’s countless chapters;
For the next part, praying for aspirational longing raptures.
Soul
I got myself variety of problems, for my soul, and my body, and my mind can’t take it anymore.
But here I stand, future in hand, cherished memories at hand, and the future is closer than yhe door.
The winds blow long, the heart beats strong, the path I follow is one I fall for.
For all I see, taste, and feel, and all I hear, touch, and smell, is hope and hope reached for in restore.
The days of dark, are out of the park, no longer distracting me with feelings I abhor.
Cold moon.
Bells clank and clatter
far off on the hills up high.
Above the wild white wonder
as large as the sky.
I departed for a walk
on a winter’s day;
Scattered tufts of frozen blades
guided the way.
I tasted the excitement
on the wind’s frozen air.
No animal moved freely
under my glare.
Children slid, jumped, and threw
their newfound toy.
Ran my hands through the powder
embracing each flake of joy.
The trees groaned under
weights as heavy as a house.
Soon the sun would say goodbye
like dying flames shining on a winter’s grouse.
Their arms wrapped up
against nature’s blanket of chalky dry milk.
Glistening fields of brightness
reflecting the overwhelming beamed sun on silk.
Keeping gifts in mind beyond
the long-passed autumn nights.
The excitement of finite December
filled with hope and delights.
Fall.
The leaves fall.
They embrace the ground.
Their fall is one of love.
They nourish the soil.
The roots return.
Branches stretch out.
The sun warms.
New leaves grow.
Ready to fall again.
Wilfred’s Nature.
A company dressed head to toe in pain: fatigued by angry winds.
A far-off rumbling battle ignores the deadlier than bullets elements here.
The ferocious roaring winds build repeatedly dispatching misery, suffering, and pointlessness.
No protection: coverings withdrawn; hunted by the weather, we, the repressed, cower;
Our suppressed trenches the shape of graves.
We each imagine our death: isolated hope. Gone.
You’ve abandoned us. Betrayed us. YOU!
Our faith in You: departed.
Our soon to be omitted faces freeze. You witness us empty. Our minds swallowed.
Into the void march the many.
Faith forgotten and faded.
We the forgotten turn to soil.
Our voices scream no more. Tears boiled once dry within buried pockets.
You have cast us off. Obliterated. We the erased
Sensationalism
Phenomenally mad and angry,
they got themselves into a balmy.
The shouts and the screams,
Drowned out the dead dreams,
All because of another land’s army?
Newton Heath
This way to the motion
This way I finally go
God hand me a chance to reply
God deal me a possibility
Grab your thoughts and let’s go
Round our way
Drabness wraps silent days
Buried beneath, I could be
Time to escape this forgotten place
This way to set motions
Pioneering experiences are rife
We should seek our recompense
We should escape to seek luminescence
We slide a pathway downwards
We slip on stones downwards
The supermarket lay dormant
Even the pound shops sag lazily
This way full of emotion
This way we cannot go
God hand a hope in hell
God deal out and show
Drabness wraps silent nights
Dull broken tower blocks sagging
Buried beneath I could be
Dull broken tower blocks flagging
The market is gone
The library fades from thoughts
The canal is filled with unwanted waste
The bars have barred-up broken windows
Long left the football team
The cemetery has been buried further
The old spire stands unsighted
Its stained-glass soul shattered
The locos are rusting beyond repair
The Vale’s trees collapse in gales
Brookdale, a car park of gas-heads
This way for our motion
This way we finally go
God hand us a chance to fly
God deal us a possibility
31st
A whisper from the wind; a rustling beyond the grasses; the shiver down the spine; a flutter unlike an owl.
The head switching to alert; the echo of muscles tensing; a twined strand of cool mist; all senses firing at once.
Musty tastes of autumnal rot: the creaking strained lean of trees; light depleted skies; under a clouded moon.
Gentle steps struggle to find silence; leaves, twigs, and earth cast sounds; like drumming snaps to my ears; uncovering creeping creatures.
I should have stayed in; I should have cast no shadow today; and now the evening arrived; my shadow has departed.
Notification.
When I was much younger I wore a purple shirt
With a sky blue hat which didn’t go, and didn’t suit me at all.
I spent my pennies on Aero cappuccino bars and magazines where you had to collect each issue to make a model. I never completed them.
There were times where I had no money left to buy bread, milk, or cheese.
I used to sit down for a day each month when I was tired but never rest for long each day.
I’d ring door bells and leg it, and eat Chewits until the dentist would shout at me.
And I kicked balls against walls
And drink full bottles of Tia Maria in one go
And I’d accept every dare knowing risks would follow.
I’d swim butt naked in lakes and never wear a jacket in the rain.
And always wear shorts.
I wore shoes of ill-purpose and eat without worry
And demolish cakes and chocolate bars like breathing air.
My morning would be filled with coffees and Vimto in excess
And beers, beers, ales, and beers would pass my lips daily.
I’d hoard Manchester City badges, shirts, and programmes.
And now I find myself paying rent, bills, wearing sensible clothes, not cursing, and trying to be healthy
I try to lead by example. Set a good name. Play the good game.
Less football, more rest. Less TV, more reading. Less news. Less worries.
Maybe I don’t really wanna know how the garden grows
I’ve lived and practiced and made mistakes
So now I’ll live, love, and make new mistakes
You’ll be shocked and surprised
Am I slowing down? No. Just starting.
When I carry on, until I’m old, I’ll try to wear shorts.
Inspired by my Mam’s love of the 1961 poem Warning by Jenny Joseph.
Crumpsall.
I was born here.
Today to help someone.
Yet, I feel like a product recall.
Seen some come and go.
One day, we all know.
Platform 14.
Unmoving floor, a walkway without tread.
Far away and far off. Platform 14.
Almost to the horizon, beyond a travelator.
Up stairs and along a fair way. Platform 14.
The timezones crossed often lead your way.
Rammed carriages versus spacious misplaced trains. Platform 14.
Visit the world, a gateway to Blackpool.
Delays, delays, delays… and freight passing. Platform 14.
Is the moon closer or the sun further?
Pass through the bowels of Piccadilly. Platform 14.
Exposed to the elements: a wind tunnel or a sauna.
A detached island left hanging outside. Platform 14.
“STAND BEHIND THE YELLOW LINE!”
Platform 14: visit Manchester some time.
Directions
I’ve been stuck in standing traffic
After going twice around the roundabout
Unable to find my turn off
I turn into the wrong lane
Heading against the flow
Headlong into you
Playground Blues.
Winner stays on; bell has gone; looks like Champion is our John.
Clock is ticking; defender is nicking; choice of the picking.
Up steps Daz;
gives it to Gaz;
who crosses to Saz.
The goal is gaping; the truants vaping; all of a sudden net is shaking.
The cries are heard from afar; teacher shouts, “nul point”;
Damn – VAR.
Hunt’s Pot (by Pen-y-Ghent)
Beneath the grasses: legs held dangling,
Soft earthly ledges of rich limestone with pure airflow.
The smooth voyage by rail no trouble at all
With striding pathways of steel, through vales of appeal,
across lands cast in green carpets. Beneath cloudless skies
Which beam light into deep crags, the cracked fragmented
Grounds of eternity. Dramatic streams fade from surface
To run a course beyond that of passing eyes, under
Forgotten routes beyond roots. From within the crack
Above life embraces opportunity and greenery reaches upwards
Tumbling automatically without consideration.
Its eagerness to devour air and grow stronger.
Survival of beasts under leafy drapes and salient
Canopies of loath shade across clumsy stacks of statuary shattered stone.
This emerald-laced cauldron sways with breezes lightly.
Winds have bombarded, ice has frozen the past, and much matter
has been dispelled. But today, in the soft sun, this Hunt’s Pot
is Heaven on Earth. Savage not now.
Glydwr Fach
Suitable clothing essential; weather forecast doubtful.
Rise upward substantial; pathway gladly delightful.
Leisurely windproof defences; innocense heartfelt sails.
Purity overlooks consequences; understanding enormous fails.
Symbolic titular crests; hearing howling gales.
Passion references requests; waterproof wandering fairytales.
Glydwr Fawr
Fifth tallest heap of stones.
A rocky outcrop summit.
Scramble hard. Scramble long.
A new height:
views abound.
Drystone walls and paths of gold.
Vagrant.
I see myself in the faces of the homelessness.
I see the long stares and uncertainty in their eyes.
They are we and we are them.
Treading a fine line between have and have not.
I see the hunger, desperation, and worry.
I see the lost love, the failed support, and a state that has abandoned.
They are we and we are them.
The line so fine it hangs on a cliff edge.
I see the need for help and belonging.
I see the pathway to drowned dreams in pools of booze.
They are what we are and we are what they are.
The fine thread line dangling from a torn jacket.
I see the hope in your eyes when human kindness embraces.
I see the joy when words are heard.
You’re like me and I’m like you.
The line between have and have not closer than you know.
I hear your songs, your rants at pigeons, and your belly rumble.
I hear your tears near-silently fall to the floor.
You are me and I am you.
The damn line we crawl in life.
I feel it all.
But not as they do. Not yet.
Maybe soon.
And you’ll be like me, just like you.
And I’ll be you.
Lost in Nature
Lost in nature, we forgot the time; Chasing mountain hares along a line; Admiring butterflies hanging on fine; This was a day where we forgot the time.
Let out until darkness, we lost our way; Plenty of words we could speak and say; Through flags full of colour we did pray; This was a day we could play our way.
Under stars that shone down on us; Hands in hands feeling the buzz; Taking the moments, each one a plus; Not one feeling deemed superfluous.
These were the places, the times, and the escapes; Swallowed within sprawled landscapes; Every connection spans and takes shapes; These moments, these memories: wonderful escapes.
Stop the boats.
Stop the boats. Build a bridge.
Britain is full. Full of talent and welcoming.
Pull back the benefits. Make everything free.
They bomb the hospitals. With packages of flowers.
They desecrate values. Values added by workforce.
They disrepute our creation. Creation of meaningful multicultural love.
“Make Britain great again.” A great big hub of togetherness.
Too many seek asylum. Only lunatics seek asylum in these social conditions.
Our border security is compromised. Compromise: we have shores all around us.
Climate is displacing people. We’re an island and it could soon be us displaced.
They come here just to avoid detention. Didn’t we arrest you for more?
They impact the economy for wages, public services, and debt. A soap opera of lives before.
There is no social integration. Poverty, housing, and acculturation are new, right?
Humanitarian crises are not our responsibility. Are you human?
They create a labour shortage. Nobody wants to work anymore.
There is no political populism. See also: the Internet.
The backlogs are too big. Work smarter.
Irregular migration was caused by war. Stop selling bombs to bomber nations.
Migrants have vulnerabilities. Tell that to the victims of Operation Yew Tree
The journeys are dangerous. Make the journeys fair and simple.
Healthcare is strained. Stop underfunding and selling it off in the first place.
Social services are crippled. Perhaps the fraud cases in the system needs more tackling.
Our national identity is being lost. The identity imposed upon many has had hundreds of years of changes and adaptation.
Human rights prevent us doing the right thing. Until your Human Rights are breached.
Discrimination will rise. You’re doing a great job, already.
These refugees don’t understand us. Welcome and educate all.
They come to divide us. You DIVIDE us.
I didn’t put my right arm up. Yes, sure… Adolf.
Stop the boats. Build a bridge.
Lured
I’m lured to this corner, for what reason I do not know.
Tempted by all senses.
Drawn out of my shadows and head unburied.
The sand parts for my steps.
Distant engines roar into activity, tensing my every muscle.
Hope sits at the departure lounge.
A new day awaits, fresh with pineapple juices and greenery.
I return to you.
IBE
Sometimes you have to leave to thrive;
Your pathway takes a new direction.
Don’t worry, we’ll survive!
Take the steps away and feel satisfaction.
You leave behind smiles, confidence, and joy;
Little faces and heads crammed with more.
Systems you have fixed that once did annoy;
You did something many did adore.
You made a difference and thanks for that;
Many things changed, this much I know.
No farewell gift, leaving card, but one caveat:
Here you’re living in your Mum’s shadow.
All the best for the future!
Battle.
Read my eyes. Read them carefully.
I heard you. I really got your gist.
I’m not talking. My words are silent.
I am trying to think. And block out your sounds.
I heard every little thing. I am not deaf.
Why are you so unkind? Don’t you see me?
Look at my face. Read the expression.
A plethora of scribbled emotions. Keep out of my path.
Think I’m deaf, do you? Look at me.
Look closer. See my body raging.
See that deep upset. I won’t speak.
I don’t want to erupt. I am close.
I have plenty to say. I hold back.
You push me and push me. And some more.
Keep on pushing and pushing. Pushing the hate.
Nothing positive to say? Thought not.
Can’t you shut up? Think of better words.
Don’t I have feelings? You hurt me.
You really have made me sad. Unbelieveably angry.
I count. Don’t I?
H.P. one
Didn’t drive there; took the train. Cleaner.
Fare was fair; a voyage to fresh air. Dreamer.
Book in hand; sat in the land. Concealer.
Hull Pot is known; Hunt’s Pot unshown. Revealer.
From within the cracked crevice; a crag distant. Dramatic.
Layers of limestone; collapsed downward. Fantastic.
Roots draped low; light reflecting glow. Unsystematic.
Flowers tumble outwards; water plummets loudly. Automatic.
Spikes protruding seats; stream into ground eats. Entice.
Stacked clumsy ledges; tufted lonely shrubs. Imprecise.
Solid without flow; frozen is the mass. Shelf ice.
Emerald filled cauldron; grasses swaying lightly. Paradise.
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