Voices on the Bridge
Writing and walking
Day three writing regime! Two hours writing or two thousand words! Then a long walk with impatient border collie over the hills!
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!
Time heals
Out on the black tip
time heals
there is regrowth
in the shattered soil
clean air
fills the soul
but memory remains.
Light enters
“Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you really love.
The wound is the place where the Light enters you.
Don’t grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form.”
Rumi
Watching
In the morning I will watch you
and listen to your breath
waiting for you to waken
night time will be laid to rest.
Grounding
“The wild-often dismissed as savage and chaotic by “civilized” thinkers, is actually impartially, relentlessly, and beautifully formal and free. Its expression-the richness of plant and animal life on the globe including us, the rainstorms, windstorms, and calm spring mornings-is the real world, to which we belong.” Gary Snyder.
Feeling ancient
Ancient
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
Celfypridd 