yes, beautiful
Beautiful Question
yes, beautiful
Poetry
Lost Voices
the Valley Welsh
and the Cockney Welsh
rarely mingle, except for holidays,
when they descend on our house
and turn me out from my bed
‘never mind, cheer up, ducks, ‘
says me Nan, sprinkling violets onto cotton,
tossing fresh laundered sheets in the air
the men have arguments around the table,
how they love to raise their voices,
though they all agree
if truth be told
”edoocation for edoocations sake”
they lecture me
‘come by here’
and ‘mind now’
storm in a teacup
‘look you boyo’
‘see now,’ telling tales of Tom-the-Milk
and Willie-One-Hair
me Da’s Mam puts her pinny on
but settles in an armchair
pouring luke warm tea,
‘no sugar mind,’ she says
her face is always serious
and now, here come the Cornish
like a blast of sea air
from a far horizon
they travel ‘up country’
unwillingly,
late as usual,
laid back
smiling,
all the way from God’s Own Country
”hello me ‘ansome, orlroight?
some weather we’m havin’,
i’d love a nice cuppa tae”
and then the laughter starts
and the voices gather
around the piano
to sing in harmony,
the Welsh with a lean to the minor key,
while my father tickles the ivories,
‘there’s lovely’,
until the early hours
when me Pop says to me,
disappointingly,
with an eye on the clock,
”Time for bed me ol’ cock”
The Fairy Funeral
Great blog! Love it!
Clock-tower Dance
The clock tower stands to mark the time
It’s stood so long, it’s lost its chime
Three-six-nine the goose drank wine
The monkey chewed tobacco on the street car line
Six girls lean against the rail
Time drags on, a slippery snail
Clap pat, clap pat, clap pat, clap slap
Slap your thighs and sing a little song
Swings in the park and a witches hat
These six girls, too old for that
My mama told me if I was goody
that she would buy me a rubber dolly
They look at the rings in the jewelery shop
And flirt with the boys but they don’t stop
My aunty told her I kissed a soldier
Now she won’t buy me a rubber dolly
Five girls here will stay in this town
And trade their lives for a wedding gown
The line broke the monkey got choked
and they all went to heaven in a little row boat
One is going to fly away
She’s waiting, waiting for that day
Take your partners hand, slap back
Clap pat, clap pat, clap pat, slap
Portmeirion
My mother said,
“Bow three times, low,
if you see the new moon
through glass.
And be sure to turn
your purse over.”
We rarely went on holiday.
We had no money.
Not far from the sea ,
an Italianate village
overhangs a Welsh river,
with statues
preserved from the past,
stone mermaids,
washed ashore.
We stroll in a dream,
eating ice-cream.
Sunshine comes and goes,
overcast by scurrying clouds.
We hope the weather will hold.
On the pavement I found
a pebble,
a ring
and a discarded wrapper
that caught the sun.
It twinkled.
Scrawled on a scrap of paper,
”The end of the world is nigh,
don’t look now but we’re watching’’
There were roses and apples
piled in a basket.
I wondered who left then there.
The bell rings in the tower.
We went back to a cheap hotel.
It was over.
My lover is away.
My lover is often away
but it makes no distance.
I dreamed of my father last night,
we wandered room to room
as he shared his wisdom.
“How can we believe what they tell us now
when we know they have lied before.
Its all manipulation,
since 1984 and before.
Think about Aldous Huxley.
He knew.
That man had vision.”
When I was a child I dreamed of flying,
flying above the blue curve of a bay,
probably flying homeward.
Outside my window
is a wall, overgrown,
with moss and ivy.
Goodnight room,
goodnight window,
goodnight moon.
Hello Cupid and Psyche.
Astonishing
Many things come in twos
Two eyes, two hands, two feet,
Two ways of looking at the world
To make a view complete
The up, the down, are not the same,
But I suspect a third
There maybe many other ways
(Some of them absurd)
But who’s to say which view is real?
It’s all a twisted tale
The world is full of multiples
To put us in a spin
If you think you know it all
Let me put you straight …
I went out the other day
and saw me coming in!
Writing Prompts
If you are looking for inspiration I have just updated my Writing Prompts page
Hawk and Hare (a San San)
A sudden hare, across the field,
Swerves and shifts, avoids the breath of death,
In shadowed cloud and sunlight leaping.
Against the light, dark wings revealed,
Downward sweeps, a shifting hawk,
A breath held tight in frozen time.
The hare escapes the talons keeping.
This life, this shifted breath, this joy, is mine.
Journey in Ancient Hills
This is a found poem. Found using two index pages from Welsh Folk Lore and Folk Customs by Thomas Gwynn Jones.
Journey in Ancient Hills
The midwives pour milk and curd into wells,
with molten lead cures.
They bow to the moon,
mumbling magic.
The mountain hag is murdered
by trembling ghosts.
Naked infants, unknown,
with no names,
hear the night howl of dogs
predicting the omen days
of the one-eyed fish,
but no saviour remains.
Lost with my Otherworld lover,
we huddle with ravens
and brindled oxen
against the rain,
protected by trees
at the pre-historic hearth,
making offerings of pins and keys,
awaiting the reformation
and some incorruptible sign
of inseparable souls, at the last
Turn to the Tarot (a found poem)
it’s written by drawing two cards
it’s random
but so is life
far more than it ever seems
blocked doors
lack of will
no vision
confusion of purpose
no dreams
open yourself to the power
seek the Awen and the flow
let it flow through you to the world
focus, make yourself clear
trust and let go of your worries
snatch the magicians wand
unwise, with no direction,
hold the fool upside down
you see a hanged man
you’re getting out of your depth
freedom can be a prison
when you limit your mind
trust in your inner knowing
life is a serious business
but you can enjoy it too
it’s a journey of endless discovery
take to the open road
The Dreaming Path 