Walking with water

Walking with water

When I was a child I believed God lived in the skies.

It was the only way God could see everything

God was everywhere his proximity was frightening

I walked the mountains searching endlessly

I know I wasn’t alone in these beliefs

I’ve written fifty years and a day, written as they say

without knowing whether my words are listened to

so I walk these mountains listening to your words

words and teachings no longer listened to

I walk mountain trails following old pathways

I walk old pathways following mountain trails

I sing my words I sing my song to silence.

(Excerpt from long poem “Walking with Water”)

Voices on the Bridge

In the land of the bards! Voices on the Bridge Pontypridd Museum 7 until 10pm 27th January 2017 – Poetry, Song, Music. Gerhard Kress Rhian Elizabeth Des Mannay Mab Jones Rob Cullen Suzanne Marie Mike Jenkins Julia Lewis Rhys Milsom Ellen Davies Josh Evans Cara Cullen plus open mic. What a lineup!

 

Feeling ancient

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Some days start with difficulty the aching

of my bones through the night unrelenting

worries roam interrupting shallow sleep

these times invade the darkness of my peace.

Progressives dissolve into prancing parody

eyes no longer on the ball

no honesty just the need to win

there is no distinction here, no pride

voices reduced to a numbing incoherence

overused words and a worn out score.

 

Meanwhile the crying of the people

lie unheard echoing unanswered

there seems no shame in this bickering

dressing it up as something different.

Even a blind man could see or hear

something important, something vital

has been lost, has been forsaken.

And there is that unending emptiness

watching the dance of a prattling clown

and the gesticulations of a puppet mouthing

over rehearsed words and tired phrases

but who is who and which is which?

 

And so we are left with that odd echoing

a Welsh word “didoreth” comes to mind

I feel like closing the door on this silliness

but I worry for my children’s future

and all those children struggling out there

and they deserve so much better

something, someone far, far, better.

Than this. So we shall not be silent.

 

 

Safe to cross

SAFE TO CROSS

Big brown columns plunge their feet
into murky waters, secure my bridge.

The river flows slowly, undeterred.

A boat sends its lonely laments
answered by a gull´s circling screeches.

The river flows slowly, undeterred.

Sunset signals old lanterns to start
they throw pools of yellow hopeful light.

The river flows slowly, undeterred.

It is safe. I can continue my walk unafraid
Cross this bridge to find a new home.

 

Veronica Marjon Van Bruggen

 

Burnt

Burnt out

Burnt out.

Burn out.

Such odd phrases an evocation a reminder

Of a bonfire

Or a rocket falling backwards to earth

Nothing certain. It describes nothing. No feeling of the way emptiness

Seeps into the core of the soul

No give. No giving any more.

No seeing who or what you are.

Other people’s words empty tunes

Bells that toll but fail to ring true.

Demands are made sweating begins

Empty hands shake holding nothing

And that hiding place sleep. Sleep fails

Lying in darkness surrounded by ghosts

Of past words days the nightmare begins

Involuntary shouting swearing announces

That feeling of shame of failing

That stays through the following day

Overrides everything

Those positive achievements

Those days and times when a battle was won

The commendations waved away as worthless.

Burnt out says everything says nothing

It is a meaningless phrase.

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