InstaPoem – a silent contemplative walk through a Welsh village landscape.

I gallop like a horse
an odd sight I will admit
but the winter sun has warmed my spiritsPicMonkey Collage1past teasel heads and the old gate post
blue sky light
red dogwood stems all of a tangle
PicMonkey Collage2the winter garden rests
five tall poplars wear ivy leggings
green arrows point me south by southeast
PicMonkey Collage3to copper islands mapped out in lichens
where fungi sprouts from torn silage bail holesPicMonkey Collage4I come across a sheep stuck in wire fencing
released and thankful it contemplates me
but an empty belly needs fillingPicMonkey Collage5by the road some broken pink rubble
and graffiti in a bus shelter
taking care on the steep descent to the village below
PicMonkey Collage6
there is an upturned table in a front garden which makes for a sorry sight
as is this home wind power system
but the guardian at the door sits proud and alert
PicMonkey Collage7
some other words catch in my mane like drops of dew
Doombar and Pint
Grit and Salt
Sunday and Carvery
PicMonkey Collage8
the crossing by the school not in use
I wave to Santa waiting patiently down an alley
run my finger over carved inscriptions on tarred poles
PicMonkey Collage9
a familiar shadow greets me on the memorial
as my imaginary horse gallops off down the old railway tracks
frightened I think of the coming water jump
PicMonkey Collage10
and on to this field for budding heroes
or a blackbird cautiously walking the line
rolling without steam
PicMonkey Collage11
the people of the world communicate their anger and frustration
with love it seems
on public surfaces
PicMonkey Collage12
I hear the silent crack of a branch breaking in a storm
water flowing under an arch of trees
I open the gate here -> but the directions are just a joke
PicMonkey Collage13
here the dead miners sleep under coal black headstones
their old terrace houses have coal bunkers and outside toilets
my illusions momentarily shattered for no reason
PicMonkey Collage14
tractor tracks cross my narrow path
what I would give to unpadlock these blue doors and rummage inside
a red gate beckons its owner
PicMonkey Collage15
no more will the bell toll for the village
expanding red foam fungus escapes from a builder’s yard mess
carry me across the crumbling river bridge before we both break with age
PicMonkey Collage16
peep as we go through verdigris rust holes
down railway line supports
and on festive peeling paint colours
PicMonkey Collage17
galloping now the last stretch
a pleasant view some might think
like this starling in high wire silhouette
I come home to a sheepish welcome party

 

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landscapes II

what do you see in your landscape?
under the browns and greens and
brick and stone?
the people mining?
the underwater rivers carrying off the dead?
tunnels, caverns?
echoing chambers?
choirs of burrowing worms
clambering and clawing between the rocks
and soil?

it’s dark isn’t it?

rain trickles down through the cracks
forming invisible waterfalls
some as thin as threads of mycorrhizal fungi
others mighty as volcanic vents
and voices from the floating dead
they pass through this subterranean world
without a care it seems
for the light has been extinquished from their eyes
the sun exhausted
demons and gods quelled in the name of death
coal face and pick axe
pit props and shaft air
warm like exhaled breath
and then

they are no more
and this is no more

and we are gone
called for
ushered on to a new beginning
somewhere bright where fake angels sing
or somewhere warm and comforting
where we can be free
and the conversation is carried on

 

(in the light of day I decided to edit – a little)

landscapes

what do you see in your landscape?
under the browns and greens and
brick and stone?
the people mining?
the underwater rivers carrying the dead?
tunnels, caverns, echoing chambers?
choirs of burrowing worms
clambering and clawing between the rocks
and soil?
dark isn’t it?
rain trickles down through the cracks
forming invisible waterfalls
some as thin as threads of silk
others mighty as volcanic vents
and voices from the floating dead
they pass through this subterranean world
without a care it seems
for the light has been exhausted from their eyes
the sun eternally extinquished
demons and gods quelled in the name of death
coal face pick axe pit prop
the shaft air warm like an exhaled breath
and then they are no more
this is no more
we are gone
called for
ushered to a new beginning
somewhere bright where angels sing
somewhere warm and comforting
somewhere we can be free
and the conversation is carried on

 
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/legend/

Thank You x 1000!

I am always humbled by these little blogging milestones.

Thank you for reading my poems and being so very supportive.

I hope I can give you good reason to award me 1000 more likes in the New Year.

Here’s to you and me finding new ways to string our words together.

Cheers!

Colin.

wpid-1000-likes-wordpress

if

if there was a word
I would write it
if there was a sunrise
I would paint it
if there was a song
I would sing it
if there was a doubt
I would crush it
if there was a way
I would find it
if there was a hope
I would grasp it

The A-Z of Random Twitter Hashtags

#amwriting #BigLittleLies
#Christmas #DecoratingDosAndDonts
#encounteringcorpses
#fakenews #giveaways
#hashtag #IAmNotARobot
#JohnLennon #KirkDouglas
#LGBTQI #MissUniverseThailand
#NowThatsADoubleStandard
#obesity #pogdogs #quiz
#RIP #SaturdayMorning
#TrumpRussia
#ultimate #Vegan #weekend
#XRAY
#youdontunderstand #ziggystardust

Oh Heavenly Sky

I swear the sunrise
came and went
and came again
as each new line
of jet stream tourists
filled the sky
in silver tubes
hung up so high
with hopes of riches
and promised wishes
to see the sights
to Christmas shop
at Harrods
Hamley’s
Oxford Street
oh
heavenly
sky

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