Poetry Blogs (heat)
16th July 2018
In places the grass is brown and dry
The garden is a desert of cracked peat
Plants dead and trees about to die
Only my sunflower loves the heat
But this is Wales, yet
nearly all of my bees
have never known these
Monday 16th July 2018 3:22 pm
This poem, from many years ago, is a fantasy about the liminal stage of a rite of passage. Looking back, I can see Celtic sensibility here that I was previously unaware of.
A Man I Know
A man I know stood beside me.
Looking up at paradise birds
he reflected their colours
with steel eyes in blinding
he began to speak:
Friday 10th February 2017 12:25 pm
A Wee Dram
The dancing flames lick gently at the grate,
a bottle splashes amber to the glass,
soft chimes reminding that the hour is late,
aromas drift of peat and harsh deer grass,
the smoky mist of morning, with each pass.
The glow of bonfires as I gently kiss,
letting the rich swelling flavours amass
and burn upon my lips, no thoughts but this –
“how can something so bitter bring suc...
Tuesday 16th December 2014 7:21 pm