Thirty years of silence
self-imposed?
But looking at it now
I’m not sure
of the way it began at all.
Rejections I suppose
played their part
the cruelty of words
written in the absence
of an art
or maybe heart will do
“Politics is no longer vogue”
Turning back
Signs of a town
that’s turned
in on itself
Meanwhile
the river flows
to the sea
Lost
Long ago
I walked home
And heard
Felt
The explosion
My classmates’
Fathers, brothers
Uncles, men
Had been lost
We use that word
Lost too loosely.
The boys out there in the park (excerpt).
In all the years I’ve known you
that bit of you has never changed
through the visits I’ve made
and all the prisons we name
like some tourist guide
of the broken and lost years.
On hearing the death of Beryl Reubens
I do not need stone angels now,
Or the waste of aged sentiments.
Life has always been precarious.
It is enough that you were here.
And I will light a candle for you.
(Excerpt)
Rob Cullen
Writing
“Writing is a love that consumes me. Love and loss is what I write about.” Rob Cullen
Openings
Indifference
“The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.”
― Elie Wiesel
Who do you tell?
How can you tell when a place
has no soul?
It’s not really a hard question
to answer
I think you can count the number
of people
Who if you stopped to ask
the question
Would try to just tick the box
don’t know.
I listen to people talk about
This place
And this people as all heart
And no side
But they don’t seem to see
Or maybe hear
That the heart has been taking
Longer holidays
And might just decide to migrate
Or permanently hide
Poor heart poor soul you’ve tried
So hard, so long
But the valleys just got up and died
And left you.
RAC
Celfypridd 