.Large version of card.
History of the card including previous versions of the poem.
Happy St Walburgas Day 2006 (25th February)..
.Large version of card.
History of the card including previous versions of the poem.
Link to version of card with plain text verse & history
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The sight of a man blessed and blinded with passion
The site of a man that left much to his leavings that's free
A smile, and a male, that stood up through the fashions
A beam of delight that lit up more than me,
helps finding a fair way
ruled straighter by just one degree
Which is straighter than swung by the millions I see
Inspired by listening to Radio 3's Stage and Screen 23rd October 06, when I was full of good whisky. The rythm is from Love Who You Love from a flop musical called A Man of No Importance I may rewrite it .
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Bluebell Poem 2006
Written on 10th May 06 in the Black Jug, Horsham, after my, now traditional, walk from the Holmbush Inn, Faygate.
More history of the writing of this poem and a large picture of the first rough draft
Blue Rung Belles
Promises of a wood that waves
Surfs of light with wipes of shade
Peeling bells just trying scent
Purple dancers that highlight craves
Yet myth says shrivel where hard light’s played
Yet see them when they’re grown to plain
Still green, not heeding the route that paves
Without highlights from massive naves
Just haloed colour - joyous lent
So let’s cross your woulds for
the joy we’ll gain.
From a haze of blue
With loving sent
Hills so brown and golden
I did this on the train on the morning train from Inverness, between Inverness and Berwick-upon-Tweed. After being Poet in Residence at the Loopallu 2 festival in Ullapool. It is still really a draft version, but makes me breathe deep to read it though, and that happens rarely to me with my own words.
When I left with the dying bracken
With the hills so brown and golden
Like the eyes I left so flaming
With the lights of northern passion
This morn I faced the south to go.
As I pass the fields of barley
With the seed and stalk still growing
From the mists the wheels are flying
With what I’ve lost to northern plunder
As I face the north I know.
When I return to blocks and break ins
With lights and grime dull glowing
Yet the clouds of thought’s keep forming
On brief hills of northern pleasure
From a face my eyes will flow.
Of Caerdydd
The hut or bothy that gave us Bute Isle
Just one piece of a far flung fife
Gave the name to knighted edged lord
With carboned riches that forged the knife
The fort of Roman's once grew on Taff's pile
Then blackened hand and cutting strife
Gave the flame as steaming wealth roared
Left blazoned titles and widowed wife
The Tigered harbour that marks a new file
That smoothes the roughness, once so rife
May better bring from all the life scored
Make full hold of glory from the pit full life
I wrote this poem for the Cardiff poetry competition last year. All poetry competitions are parasitic, it costs to enter, and many people are willing to pay, despite the fact that the chance of winning if you are not know to the judges already, is as small as a lottery jackpot. I enter one or two a year, usually when I have a bright idea about the place the competition is set.
Caerdydd is the Welsh for Cardiff. It was a little town on the River Taff with a fair amount of history. In the 19th Century the land and mineral rights were owned by the Marquises' of Bute. They had much other land and the title came from a Scottish island named after the gaelic for hut.
The Bute's created modern Cardiff as a coal port. It was the biggest of its kind in the world, with Tiger bay being once famous for its racial mix, poverty and Shirley Bassy. The coal was mostly anthracite, some of the best coal for steam engines ever mined. The dock is now an impressive leisure facility, tarted up with lots of money.
11th Jan. 2007.Seeing the above on site I realised I had mis-copied my own poem, and git could stand some rewriting. The second verse did read:
The fort of Roman's that grew on Taff's pile
On blackened hand and cutting strife
Once gave the flame sa steaming wealth roared
Left blazoned titles and the widowed wife
Txt message poem
The peom below was written on 30th April 2006 to a character limit for a txt poetry competition based on spring.
A billion tons of sap will shoot.
To add green to skies.
Bud the breast.
Flame the eyes.
Flash the crest.
& swell the root.
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