.
We gazed from Cardiff’s seafront
as the diamond radiance
of a million stars
glittered in summer’s midnight.
.
I spoke of my soul’s breech
by the songs of Bassey,
Jenkins
and the Jones’ boy,
.
of my tears’ cascade
at the majesty of Snowdon,
the Mumbles
and the hills of Abergavenny.
.
We stood in Celtic brotherhood
transfixed by moonlight’s
shimmering dance
with the living ocean.
.
I told of my senses’ thrill
at the rampage of JPR,
Jackson
and old Giggsy,
.
of my lifeblood’s surge
at the splendour of the valleys,
the mountains
and the sands of Aberystwyth.
.
I asked,
“Is that the Bristol Channel
or the Irish Sea?”
.
He snapped,
“Are you some sort
of a bloody Englishman?
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A carved wooden statue of Merlin stands in Carmarthen town centre. A mythical Celtic shaman, he was a constant in British folklore between the 5th and 15th centuries….
. Cold winds blow through city streets as winter’s grip takes hold and grey souls in downbeat worlds retreat to lies untold. . Rain-lashed pavements now are bare,…
Love it. I live on the Ribble estuary in Lancashire. It deffo flows into the Irish Sea. The Spouse likes to claim he is a local, when we travel around North Wales and Anglesey, which we do most years. It pulls us. But local? As if. He is as English… Read more »
Funny old life, Katie-Ellen. I’m definitely an Englishman, though my dad came from Athenry (low lie the fields) in Galway, Ireland, so a tear slips out whenever I hear the Irish anthem being played at the rugby six nation tournament. But my mother was a Cumbrian lass, and I was… Read more »
I thought Cardiff, and I have STILL not been to Cardiff. Which is a shocker. A disgrace. It is on the list. My father’s people were from County Kildare, but he was born in Greater London. Never set foot in Ireland in his life that I know off. Me neither.… Read more »
Somerset Joe!!! Now there’s a story worth writing.
Love this, especially the last lone! All my grandparents were Welsh. My grandfather once surprised me by huffing in Welsh at an Eisteddfod parking attendant who had assumed he was an English.
Those Welsh folk get/got everywhere, Laura. Added significantly to the world’s gene pool.
Brilliant poem, Mick. I hope I’m right in assuming the Jones’ Boy is Tom and not Aled. Although I suppose it could be both. I’m a Welsh One, but only by happenstance of my English parents living in the Scouse part of Wales in the early seventies. I can’t claim… Read more »
Definitely Tom, Rachel. His proper posh name is actually Thomas Jones Woodward. Not as sexy sounding as Tom Jones, I suppose. We’ve all got a bit of English, Irish, Scottish, Welsh in us. It’s the same British/Irish culture… just a few tweaks here and there.
Love it.
Thanks, Rachel. Writing daft poetry is an obsession of mine.