Poetry Blog by Chris Armstrong


Last night the moon

orange sickle bright

seemed too large, low

hung over hedges


briefly eclipsed

by passing trees

dimmed by

closer light yet


always the lit



its umbral orb


to me -

I was driving

in the moondark


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darkdrivingduskharvest moonmoonmoonlightnew moonnightsickle


5th September 2018



on the drive home

the transcendent wonder

of the clear ice blue rimmed with golden pink

and the blackness of trees

horizon silhouettes

and bats

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Epiphany in the Early Morning

Low early autumn sun

a lone long strand of spider silk

                stretched across the window glass

                above a tiny downy feather like a snowflake

shivering in the breeze

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Early Autumn Lake

Below the incurious sheep on the hill

                that stare at me as they endlessly chew

The sun is warm and I perch on a stone to watch quietly

As it is reflected off the surface of the lake:

                the part not covered with pond weed

                where flies dip and buzz

                dragonflies and damselflies dart

                     and hover:


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The Invitation

a sonnet


That thou may'st happly spend your day

Fair maid amongst the northern hills

With books and study that will oft defray

Your time and thought in winter's chills;

That there is pleasure 'mongst your shelves

Oh lady in your cottage home

Tis proven by each and everyone who delves

In dusty library vaults to hunt a tome;

That thy bookish studies are good I swear


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Towards Beachy Head

In the distance

the green tops to the chalkwhite cliffs

slope down to the sea

behind countless breakwaters

wading out through low waves

their wooden posts testament

to the shifting stones of time


Below the grey sky

the bluegrey water rattles the beaches

sloping down to the sea

between stark black breakwaters

mute guardians of the coast

each wooden barrier m...

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beachesbreakwaterscliffsgroynesseaskystoneswhite cliffs

On the Beach

Between the wooden breakwaters

I sit on the flinty stones

to watch the grey sea

waves rattling the beach


That foaming water

that was once the horizon

where I sailed

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beachesdreaminghorizonmerchant navysailingships


entry picture

stone, stone, shell, flint

the rattle of a beach

of beach steps

on stones

the endless stone rattle



groyne divided



And the waves

of a leaden sea

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The Interface

Books make visible the writer's soul

Which bleeds its angst by pen:

Spread thin across life's whited bowl  

A thin red stain of madeleine


Books may offer us an author's eye

That ensnares the reader within its brail

Or should writers light the reader's sky

And tear apart the shadowy veil?


Books will hold the writer's thought

And bridge the gap twixt pen and read...

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Cathedrals of Words [1]

It starts with that

the feel of paper

between the fingers

the paper worn by touch

the ink a little faded

but the weight of

the incorruptible text

resting on the eye

retaining its worth

for ever


Even before that

there was the heft of it

in the hand

the boards scuffed

the jacket torn

but the perfection of

that binding

resting on the palm

is ...

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It is a meeting place, this coffee house of ours

The atmosphere is friendly and relaxed,

And it is popular with everyone.

Its tables and the chairs are a mixture of styles and ages:

Metal or wood or comfy arm chairs, and benches

They must have come from an auction!

There is a full bookcase half way up the stairs

There are newspapers in a rack

Some customers read while they ...

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cafecoffeecoffee houseliaisonsmeetingswatching

A Dark Night

Kneeling at the window as if in prayer

He looks out at the night

The surrounding trees are black shadows

Barely seen against the indigo of the sky

No stars shine tonight

But an unrisen moon lightens the air a little

With an almost imagined spectral light

Somewhere over the distant lake an owl calls

And calls again

A late moth blunders against the open window


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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





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A series of 11 short poems


End of a Galaxy


A blink

In the silent depth of night



As the last leaf of the beech tree

As the silent tear of my love




End of Harmony


I see her dancing on the sands


I see her                                     as she sees me

and in that moment

sand, sea, sun, surf

vanish in the vortex



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in their bed

beneath the slates  


as in a dream

slowly aware




in the window airs


in the hush

of the night

palely lit by her lucent light

the night

calls to him

and he walks out

the night

absorbs him

summer dew wet on his feet

her cool breath on his naked flesh

the quiet mysterious night


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Who breaks a Butterfly upon a Wheel?

In that first perfect summer, that summer of love

when rifles bloomed and we turned on

and so nearly dropped out

in that year we met

and in the sun

we loved

despite clouds

that threatened us

and sought to break our love

a sad weight of parental love turned on

our first perfect summer, our first summer of love

In that first perfect summer, that summer of love


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1967divisionloveparentssummer of love


It is so many years

since I felt some part of me wane:

all those thousands of days

since we spoke of nothing -

could find no words;

and even many more

since there were whispers

as we lay naked in the night

or in the cottage garden

beneath the harvest sun


It is so many years

that I have known that dark void:

deep within my very soul

and in all those long ...

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The Bench

I sit outside the door

on a slate bench

my back against the cottage wall

in the evening sun

listening to a blackbird sing

the most astonishing sweet notes

In front of me

there is elderflower


buttercups spangle the uncut grass

and the old larch looms in its corner

beyond the ancient stones of Hafod

which mark my plot

The sun has not long returned


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Thirty-nine bodies

                lay on the ground

                in the summer sun

As I watched

                workers carried two more away

Around me

                life continued as usual

                a hum of activity



Thirty-nine bodies

                on that square of concrete

                that summer afternoon

As ...

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When I have gone

what waits this room

with its vacuum

                where I sat?



my chair sits sightless

musing at my absence

midst space bereft

                   my music play on?


After I have left

ask my empty bed

all sheeted void

                about my dreams



my mattress dent

minding my long night wraiths

maintain my ...

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Wind Dance

Sycamore leaves dance

In only the lightest breeze

They never turn askance

Like leaves on other trees


Sycamore leaves flair

Within their perfect ballet

In just the lightest air

Blowing up the valley


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Llyfnant 2 

version without the Welsh folklore


Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech

between banks of bluebells' hazy blue

where supple crosiers of new fern reach             

over verdant moss still damp with dew

a grassy lane runs beside the river


In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome

of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak

a far cuckoo calls all walkers home

but we pass u...

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ashbeechblackbirdcuckoohistoryLlyfnant Valleymossoakriversruinsstreamstreestroutwaterfallswoods


Under the yellow-green of sunlit beech

between banks of bluebells' hazy blue

where supple crosiers of new fern reach             

over verdant moss still damp with dew

a grassy lane runs beside the river


In the mystic quiet of a leafy dome

of grey bark ash, beech and mighty oak

a far cuckoo calls the dryads home

but we pass unseen by woodland folk

'til tylwyth teg w...

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ashbeechfairiesfolkloreLlyfnant Valleymossmythologyoakriversstreamstreestylwyth tegwaterfallswoods

The Summer of Love

Wandering through the sunlit trees

on grassy bluebell banks, brackened

by the unfurling of softly sensual shoots;

strolling in the tide turn rippling sea

as toes sift soft sea sand, silted

and lost to the advancing wave weft;

striding across bare barren felltop

on sheep shorn Spring sprung sod, surrounded 

by haze horizoned hills and hills and hills;

standing by the quie...

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My Sunset Haiku as a Sunset Englyn

My Sunset Haiku [1] as a Sunset Englyn [2]


A green flash from the setting sun - and night

Now sea and sky are one

Dusk from the gold orb is spun

Thus this mystic day is done





Where sea and sky meet

                a green flash from the set sun

Lighting distant shores



The Welsh englyn unodl union is a straight one-rhymed englyn consi...

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darkdayduskenglyn formenglynionhaikuhorizonnightseasunsunset

The Forest Glade

I saw her stand

exposed and timid

nervous, shivering

in the leafy sun

a dappled beauty

suddenly shy


I saw him stand

proud and sure

brash, potent

in the cool shade

a young pretender

suddenly hesitant


I heard them come

angry and loud

fast, rushing

through the heat

the older lads

suddenly here


I saw his doubt

alone and fearful


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A Silly Haiku

William had it wrong

                A haze of purple bluebells

Much more amazing

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what spills onto         the page

falls from                  my mind:

it tells of                   what is there

it tastes of                 my thoughts

so they are                spread here                      with care

                                                                        as verse

the page                    becomes

my mind                    bared


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The Artist [1]

In so few splashed acrylic lines

see Cornish fishing boats

take shape against the quay

the red hull and the yellow


See Cornish fishing boats

mirrored in the harbour sea

the red hull and the yellow

with the deep sky sunk below


Mirrored in the harbour sea

the jumble of masts and cranes

with the deep sky sunk below

and the distant sea above


The jumbl...

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artistsCornwalldocksFalmouthfishing boatsharbourpaintingPantounreflectionsseaships


There were those moments


against a Cornish rock

                in beach blackness

                with the shush of the rippling waves

                nearby in the night


in a Sussex garden

                with the hot sun

                dappling our backs


on a Ditchling hill

                with town lights

                spread below


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All the Years [revision]

In my mind

buried deep

                a golden grain

                of  Welsh


In my mind

our impressions

                in the hot sand

                where we


It is there

buried deep

                that single second

                that moment

                in which our



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beachGowerlovePobbles BaysandtimeWales

All the Years

In my mind

buried deep

                a golden grain

                of  Welsh


In my mind

shallow dips

                in the hot sand

                where we


It is there

buried deep

                that single second

                that moment

                in which our



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beachGowerlovePobbles BaysandtimeWales

The Young Lovers

Their voices harshly clash

and will not lie calmly

or rest in our ears

in peace


They rise loud over all else

and do not fall to our key

but strike out at us

in dissonance


Our song is raised joyously

and the harmonies sing

of the love we know

in concert


We have our air so their words

smash and fall to the ground

they do not stay in sight


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dissonanceharmonyloveparentsyoung love

The Navigator

Once I plotted my course

on nautical charts -

I used the sun and stars

to fix

                my position in the world


Once my ship sailed the seas

by my compass course -

I drew lines on a map

to guide

                me through far off seas to port


Once I was the pilot

steering from the bridge -

But she altered my course



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As I pass beyond my summer wall

Once more the land embraces my spirit

And its silence becomes my prayer

While I and heaven hear

The wind whispered psalm

As dusk caresses the tree tops

That surround my field fane -

I walk slowly through its grassy nave

Lost in my old memories

And pause at the far gate:

The sun sinks low behind me

And my long shadow stretches out in ...

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Soft Spirit of the Night

As I leave my home behind

To walk the far farm fields

The spirit of the land enfolds me

Its silence becomes my mantle

While I alone hear

Those wafted word

As the wind caresses the treetops

Whispering englynion

To lure me on

Through woodland and moor

Beyond fences, ever deeper into a land

Clothed in swirls of radiant mist

Rising from plashy pools and tarns


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The Garden

I step out

Into that mystic choir

That holds my heart

Where time, standing still,

Moves with the seasons

Quietly changing my world

With its elemental tune

While my song is barely heard:

A contrapuntal whisper

Struggling for harmony


For my land is my chancel

Hymns hum soft on its breezes

And prayer rises in its stillness

In this quiet place of remembrance


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I have ploughed one field

And seen the soil turn

To lie against its fellow

Under the greedy gull shout

Behind my blade.

Worm gorged, at dusk

They seek a distant tide line

And the furrowed field clamour

Slips silently into the night


I have broken the plough lines

Left to crumble in the sun

Where worms once toiled

My disk and dragging chain

Harrowed the la...

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On Hearing a Loved One's Fate ...              E quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle [1]

He spoke

And then it seemed

The mist and perhaps my mind swirled round

A sickening looping helix

From that still small sphere of heat.

In the chill of a dusk we descended

Beneath a frosted sickle moon

Descended into the Stygian blackness

Of land above a still lake

From which no lunar gleam escaped

The frigid darkness was intense, solid

Consuming all my senses -


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At the Grave

As the rains came we followed

As the rains fell we listened

And walked towards the minister,

Passing by the dark grave wherein she lies,

To drop another daffodil, a final kiss from life,

On the pale box below.

And on, to cluster round beneath the trees

Circling the family, rooted by some strange harmony

Of communion: a drifting mass lost in loss.

On the hillside, as the ...

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Esgyrn Eira

The thick ice on the pond is dimpled on its face:

The same snow that coated the field

Had landed on the frozen pool to yield

To ice its fragile beauty and feather grace

As dents


Body gone, only the skeleton of the snow is left:

The same snow that covered all around

Has lost its substance to the earthy mound

But dull white bones still haunt Spring's heft

As wraiths


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bonescountrysideesgyrn eirahedge banksicepondskeletonssnowwraiths

The Old Beech Trees

As an evening bat dips and feeds

Lost light dims down the summer night

To deep dusk blue as the bright sun cedes

To soft moon above beech tree height


In the gentle night's warm azure sky

The beech trees' majesty holds sway

Their silhouettes hide the lone owl cry

Black shapes caressed by owlish grey


These trees have lived so many ages

Their trunks have known the...

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They see me

Without a word

Through the sea white mist

Slow silent slip away

They see me

An empty vessel

Adrift from my moorings

Fading to the horizon

To move, like night, from sea to sea

They see me

Haze distanced

Lost to all and love

Hull down, alone

Eternally to drift

To tide or current whim

Sometime becalmed


Sometime storm blasted


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Role Reversal

¿Le gusta este jardín, que es suyo? ¡Evite que sus hijos lo destruyan!

Malcolm Lowry 1


It had been a good party...



As more arrived, we decided we had to go -

Too quickly; or perhaps too slow

For some, who said it would be best

For most if not the rest

Uncaring of the past

Or the gloom we cast

Bickering with old friends

About the future trends


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EuropefuturegardensleavingMalcolm Lowryparty

The Land of a Giant

Between the dark Ystwyth and the angry sea

We walked the cold stone beach

From the swirling river mouth

To the striated rocks beneath the southern cliff

Their upended strata pointing the way across Tan y Bwlch

Beyond the town beneath its northern cliffs


A Celtic god watches and menaces

Black Lugus on Pen ddinas Maelor:

We brave his fierce storms which shade our day


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beachCeltsCeredigioncliffsflotsamhistoryLleu Llaw GyffesLugusMaelor GawrmythologyPen Dinas MaelorPen y DinasRiver YstwythseastormTan Y Bwlchwaves


For Gwen, Anne and Eryl


In that happy heady grass-green Spring of my years

A time of lambent lamb slow lamb full days around a whited cottage

Lent us space and ease beneath the sun long sky

Golden glorious hours together in a single thought

With close chicken scrape and distant herd

When the swallows dipped to the fly buzz

When the kite climbed to a gliding speck


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Cambrian MountainscountrysidecowsEndymionfarmsfieldshorseslovemoonnightpastoralSelenesheepstarssunWales

Mostly Welsh

I grew up in Wales

Around the Swansea docks

I walked beneath huge cargo ships

Held up with props and blocks


I was made in Wales

Around the southern ports

I watched the big ships dock

My family guessed my thoughts


I was mined in Wales

Near valleys black with slag

And closing pits and picket lines

With many a mine lodge flag


I was forged in Wales


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docksexperienceheritagehistorylifemerchant navyportsseafaringshipsSwanseatravelWalesWelsh

One people

I will not fight, I will not stand

For border, nor for any land

I need not know, am not concerned

Your place of birth or language learned

Too many wars are fought, too many die

Over province, pride, triumphal lie


I will not guard, I will not bar

The stranger landed from afar

They need a home, and wish to settle

Want to work, to show their metal

We can only profit...

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Danger! No Swimming

A poem for Manchester Art Gallery


Lily of the water, Nymph thou art

Perfect buds rising from cold dark depths

Flower faeries with alabaster skin emerging

Waxen ivory clothing a golden heart


Show love! Watch over this foolish boy

Who would risk all amongst your beauty,

Careless haste for pleasure clouding wisdom

Your ancient roots may yet ensnare his joy



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dangerHylasNymphaeaceaeNymphsswimmingwater lilies

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