Poetry Blog by Chris Armstrong


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


O, where roams your delicate soul

Does it yet travel the seas

                gliding afar with the Arctic tern

                or is its delight in quieter waters

                in dappled river pools or streams

Is it content to rest in the cool damp shade of the willow

watching minnows play

                diving among the nymphs

                and sacred lotus



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Alcedo atthisAtthiscalmdesireHalcyonHylasKingfisherlosslovepassion

A dream itself is but a shadow

In the grey cloudlight of a pre-dawn moon

something stayed my dream

a stray insistent noise heard through sleep

the uncertain call of the hunting owl:

I am knelt naked at the window -

beneath, the frosted grass glimmers in the pale creamglow

hazy through the early swirls of mist

but not a shade or waft disturbs the spectral scene

although my flesh seems chilled by some slig...

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Aberystwyth Scenes, 1970

It was always The Cabin

before her lectures


                and Flic demolishing

                                The Times crossword,

                                sharing the clues but

                                writing the answers

                                as she read, smoked,

                                pushed her blond hair


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1970sAberystwythCeredigioncoffeeCwrt MawrPrice AlbertSkinners Armsstudent lifestudentsstudyTalbotThe Cabinuniversity


Those love letters from the seventies

I could not bear to read again

and could not bear to throw


Those airmail forms

those tortured lonely twelve page laments

that I read and read so many times

in my cabin off Cape Town,

in Melbourne and Sydney:

So many words

So  much love


But in the end

They were just ash

And I scattered them


Ashes to her ashe...

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letterslovelove letter

The Man on the Mountain

In the inky winter darkness

A rough track from the lane

Leads upward onto the mountain:

                A small glimmer hints at life

                and we wonder where we are being led.

Out of the blackness, a dark shape shows in the slight mist

                The lights in a window flicker dimly yellow

                and the smell of peat smoke drifts down in the still ai...

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1970sCeredigionCottageMynydd BachPeatPurdeyshotgunsWales


The sand was always hot

                beside the white dunes and the coarse grass


The sea was always blue

                between the black rocks and the horizon haze


The beach was always ours

                between the seagull shout and the distant crowd


We were always alone

               between the far world and our near union


We swa...

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beachdunesfutureGowermarriagesandseasouth walesswimmingWales


from an idea by Conrad Aiken


The Lounge

Netted windows with fawn roller blinds

lowered a little by their macramé tassels for his forty winks

Shush! Be quiet, he's having his nap, don't make a din -

or completely, when at night

he shovelled the last coal from the bin

concealed in its wooden cabinet

and lowered the heavy lid on the fire to keep it in


The Playroom


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The Poet's Problem

Impulse is the best linguist

So Mr Thoreau thought

And often what is written here

Is spoiled by what is later brought



All I write and sometimes rhyme

Falls on the page untaught

So needs some tender love and care

Before you see it as you ought



The lines you read from any page

Should by your ear be caught

As best words ordered to flow well


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Hen dŷ

This old farm cottage of mine

keeps all my years safe

for it knows my secret ways

and remembers


There are shadows in the shadows

but in some rooms

my sons have hidden smiles

to lead me in


There is more solitude indoors

but here and there

she has retained a past caress

to warm me


The old mirror we found at market

still retains her ghost


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The lake is still in the evening sun

A little breeze make the longer grass sway on the bank

and a ripple disturb the surface:

A mayfly lands

A swallow drinks and is gone before I see

With a rattle, a duck takes off from behind the island

Then it is still again

Beneath the reflections are fish

Sometimes - but not yet tonight -

A circle of ripples flows out from a rise


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Prometheus Redux

Semper animus libera



O Thou that watches over all

And marks the good in man

Unnamed Godhead of all the thronging spirits

Who guard thy mortal worlds -

When skies darken and the plunging waves roil through

When the mountains themselves spit ruddy fire

And melt into valleys or crash steaming into the ocean deeps -

To keep thy people safe in those mortal li...

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DemogorganfaithJupitermythologyMythsold mythspraisepriestsPrometheusreligion


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Recent Comments

Chris Armstrong on Soft Spirit of the Night (6 days ago)

Colin Hill on Soft Spirit of the Night (6 days ago)

raypool on Grassland (11 days ago)

Brian Maryon on Grassland (11 days ago)

Brian Maryon on Role Reversal (Sat, 3 Mar 2018 05:52 pm)

Colin Hill on The Land of a Giant (Fri, 2 Mar 2018 11:19 am)

Chris Armstrong on Pastoral (Fri, 23 Feb 2018 10:45 am)

Martin Elder on Pastoral (Thu, 22 Feb 2018 10:40 pm)

Chris Armstrong on Mostly Welsh (Wed, 21 Feb 2018 11:03 am)

David Taylor-Jones on Mostly Welsh (Wed, 21 Feb 2018 08:34 am)

Colin Hill on Mostly Welsh (Tue, 20 Feb 2018 07:58 pm)

keith jeffries on One people (Sat, 17 Feb 2018 07:54 pm)

M.C. Newberry on One people (Sat, 17 Feb 2018 07:14 pm)

Chris Armstrong on ἀλκυών (Wed, 14 Feb 2018 10:58 am)

Colin Hill on ἀλκυών (Wed, 14 Feb 2018 09:26 am)


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