Tuesday 25 October 2011

Hung Over (Midlake) Blues

Head as mushy as peas today. Woken by kitten (now a small cat) kneading my head, sharp pins digging into my beer and wine  tenderised scalp (fatal combination red & white wine plus beer)..but strangely relaxing as her claws comb my hair and lulls me back to the land of nod.
Breakfast an Ibroprofen and paracetamol cocktail washed down with a mug of Tim's best brewed tea, then delicious slices of marmite & manaku honey coated toast. Starting to feel human again but struggle to read the Henning Mankell book I borrowed from the library so try to get some more sleep. But I'm awake now  I decide to retire to my studio  and am able now to look at the brightness outside the window without feeling a piercing pain behind my eyes. No rain today in the valley just russet bracken and beech leaves glistening with last nights rain. Then I turn on the computer click on Spotify and play Midlake. Eureka...the perfect hangover cure.
Never again!!!
A Wine & Ink drawing from one of my sketchbooks!!

Friday 21 October 2011

Today

My poetic muse seems to have deserted me...probably due to the fact that I am trying too hard plus the dark days of winter seem to leech all my creative juices away. Anyway as a consequence I thought I'd resort to writing prose in the form of a diary. As I seem to have lost my other follower and only have Tim (my husband) as my solitary follower (& he is no stranger to the darker side of my thought process ) than I can happily scribe away without fear of offence...freedom of speech...yay!!. The poetry muse may return but meanwhile life on the slopes of the mountain goes on......

Saturday 30 July 2011

Down the Spine (A470)

Down the Spine (A470)
Mid Winter 2010

Waters frozen, a moment 
captured and stilled.
Icicles drape,
decorating roadside outcrops 
from Maentwrog to Brecon.
Uncommon icy tableaux flash by
down this, the spine of Cymru.
Rivers paused in mid journey 
silent now, the raging waters
tamed into frigid calm
banks of pale, frosted white.

The monolith sits silent now,
brooding in its lakeside lair
A deadly power redundant,
its sarcophagus decaying brick by brick.
Perilous tomb to potent energy now spent
but malignant poisons long forgotten
blow on the wind

Through the forest of Kings
where the mountain bike reigns,
dark foreboding conifers
kindle primitive fears
Hidden deep in its heart
with teeth bare and bloody
the beasts of the wild wood
ravage this land.

In Llanelltyd
no fear they, the ghosts 
of Cistercian monks
fishing the Mawddwch 
by Cymer's ruins,
memorial to dissolution 
and desolation reaped

Bypass Dolgellau to Cross Foxes
once cheerless in near dereliction, 
car park now packed with Sunday lunchers
and weekend walkers.
Above, Cadair Idris looms.
Here Gwyn ap Nudd hunts on slopes,
where poets & madmen reborn
cry to scuttling clouds
denouncing the hounds
that capture souls snared
in purgatory’s hell below

The pass of the cold door plunges,
descending, as skywards,
fast jets zip through the azure,
keeping the peace with roaring clamour.
A lay-by brim full of detritus
discarded by the careless.
Crisp packets and half eaten broccoli stalks,
a bizarre picnic in this,
the strangest of  lands

Mountains behind, mid-lands now,
rolling hills scattered
with white monuments to the wind.
Blades thrumming in midwinter breezes
witness the death throes
of the old power to the north.
Near silent new sentinels,
advancing, in this,
the newest of ages

Through Carno where Laura’s ghost
shimmers in floral sprigged gowns,
mourning the past
where workers loyally toiled
on paisley and smock and bodice and lace

King of the Black Gold
stands resolute
guards his bridge in Llandinam
and ponders on plans for Barry
to conquer the world.

God skimming church spirals
replace demure, squat chapel roofs.
Biblical Beulah found
in the land of the bards
The land’s own cathedrals,
coral tinged trees encircle
Sanctuaries to sun and life
and all that we are

Rhayader kites, catch
late afternoon thermals
forked tails steer
in downward spirals
mugging murderous carrion
for prey on the wing.
Skimming and snatching
in the failing twilight
A fight for survival
a flight for their life.

‘The wanderer thro the woods’
glimpsed through ancient oak
winds it’s ponderous passage
to the Severn and beyond.
the River of Men,
its spirit returning
replenishing all
that lies in its wake.

Royal Welsh empty now,
echoes
to the sound of musical cries
from bucolic farmers
holding proud Welsh blacks
and wild prancing Cobs
Rosettes blossom
proudly splashed on
gleaming hides
glinting in the late evening sun


Black Mountains, their soft edge
push back the sea of Gogleddwr
wreaking havoc
from their northern lands
Wild moors made warm,
by soft winter sun
Yellow ochre of prairie grassland
with purple haze of spicy heather
Horizons punctuated with blocks
of conifer
where in the far distance the beacons
glow
Army dreamers practise in these
tranquil lands
Shoot at insurgents cloaked in
coats of fleece
visualise choking desert dust
and returning coffins draped in
red, white and blue.

Journeys end in Brecon streets
Here Norman barons held sway
keeping the wild Welsh at bay
Where streets now sing to the tunes of
Dizzy, Charlie, Miles and Duke
Late summer ragtime
in shades of winter blues
Now as daylight fades, we return.

Welcome to My World 3

* I wrote this poem after a wonderful journey in the Winter 2010 down to Brecon to deliver paintings to a gallery. The Landrover coped with the icy conditions and I began to appreciate this wonderful land that I now live in!

Wednesday 29 June 2011

The Death of the Poet

I wept today,
solitary tears
for the death of the poet.
Discovered on this,
the blackest of my
sun blessed days.
He died last month,
Blog frozen in the moment
when the dark tendrils of death
eat into the rhythm and
rhyme of the man,
Words live on
resonate, bleed into my heart
Today on this, the blackest
of my sun blessed days

Friday 20 May 2011

Daisy Chain Futures

Evoke the celebrations long ago
Rouse the moment
in the house of the architect
Elicit blackberry wine
supped like beer
Passing the sweet scented roll up
then drunken, stoned slumber
enfolded in your strong arms

Morning waiting
at the village bus stop
Hot remembered sunshine
on the wide grass verge
I make daisy chains 
and easy futures with
you lost, wayward lover
Distracted my blind eye
misses you tear
carefully threaded flower stalks
throwing them to wind 
and gutter 
and dog shit pavements. 

Tuesday 5 April 2011

The Chocolate Box Stuff

The chocolate box stuff
travels to the big city
to light up the gallery walls
with it's sugary coating of nothingness
whilst I get darker
more involved
with rebels and their causes
Living on the edge of this,
the parapet of my existence
My claws grip the edge
as free will flies to free fall
And I escape 
I was not what you imagined
the reclusive, the harmless
in falling I sprout wings and talons
and the freedom to fight
The chocolate box stuff pleases
I do not care.


I might start a revolution
against the chocolate box stuff
It's easy to fall into it.

Saturday 26 March 2011

Flower Sprigged Isolation

Another day
Sky so blue it hurts
I stare out of the window
Dream of the other life
My family living down the valley
visiting days
baking days
laughing days
Little house in the Cwm days
Skipping through sheep shit fields
in cotton lawn dresses
flower sprigged, billowing
light against my dark
All fantasy
conjured in this,
my splendid isolation.