4.1 Aberdydd

Moon on black water,

Snails a silvery trail,

Forking Helhrel’s lineaments;

Clouds scud on past,

Light bears bright souls,

Nightscape lies drowned in dark.

He may, they should, we might, you could,

She must, thou shalt – I really oughta –

Stay home alone, in shielded bliss,

Spending furlough-cash like water.

Yet dare I don that three-layer mask,

Run up by next-door's daughter;

To social-distance without the pub,

Economy-boosting, as it gets hotter?

But what if I'm manhandled by a gloveless rogue,

Globule-splattered by a sneezy rotter?

Hmm, without a vaccine I'm just not sure

Whether to arm myself with a swatter,

With which to scourge those porcine boors

Who run amuck and squash my trotters:

The super-spreaders who oink with glee –

As they herd us all to the slaughter.

Sun soft-tickles bowl,

Bronzing taut sweet-packed fruit-chunks’

Tight leathery peel.

With fixed moon-gooned grin

You aromatize sense-buds,

Muzzle to nozzle.

Snout scouts first; eyes gorge

As stuffed rind pleads unzipping

In summer-smeared flare.

Bunch-berry bounty:

Soft age-flecked parcel still yields

Gut-gladdening gobbets.

In wind-swept graveyard, under flinching Oak-priests' tree

Lurk star-crossed sweethearts, greeny-gilled but keen;

On wrought-iron benches graced with tags they lean,

Vicariously thrilling – observed but by the birds and bees.

Enamoured, truly trapped in rapture's net,

Yet somehow distant, edgy, and perplexed,

Outraged that they must now cavort via text,

Unused to social-distance etiquette!

She, like a sulky leading lady warps her face,

Out-mooding her pet golem – he just squats and glares;

Maybe one day a tender hug they'll share,

Unblemished by this frigid six-foot space.

Consumed by ardour – forced arms-length apart:

Hot-blooded hostages to quarantine's dark arts!

Now graceless Autumntide celebrates spooks,

Consumption’s panic tips harvest scales;

Wraps coin-rust up as quick-fix gifts,

Sets drawn-out guys to pinch penny-strewn trails.

Trite sound-bites choke with bedraggled bows,

While antlered bogeys decked in twinkling lights

Haunt the writhing streets in this rotten-cored town,

Amidst pulp-mashed horrors, spoiling to fight  –

Clown clubbing wastrel to seize his cracked crown.

Here corpulent piles of candy-flossed kids

Show-case Dogtired-moon’s game-boy blues:

Puppy-fat jowls slurp on silver guilt-spoons,

Then Solstice’s feet blood New Year’s fuse.

How one furious star feeds its fame-famished head,

Blurred vision transfixed by capering Yewl:

A torturer sent in a surgeon’s stead,

To scythe down times fouled by tinsel-clad fools.

Neverland – enchanted inner realm in homely Hellsgate khawví salon,

Abounds with comrades belly-fired with inspired poetic mania;

Minds speak unto hearts; soul-prophecy proclaim,

Scabrous ills attack with verse well-wrought, and virtuous:

Illumine ordinary lives, not those of glitterati;

Lambast villainy and hate, dispel wraiths unreal;

Arouse mood deep-down delved; unravel fraught enigma;

Trounce drear nights’ doom with laughter’s lilting light.

How you’d weep, Lost Leader Karatawk,

Loosing bloody tears

If you witnessed this sight –

Country’s heart gone to foreign clans;

Nation’s crown to usurping hands;

Fawning folk grubbing favour,

With meek grins, where once sprang men.

O glum fair chair, thou lurkest there,

Battered, dusty, worn with care,

Base door-prop now, where thou'st been thrown–

O would thy maker had this known,

He’d not have crafted thee so sweet,

But built a rougher, sturdy seat,

More suited to a clumsy job –

Thy relegation makes me sob.

Dismissed to corner, out of sight,

One wonders if thou ever might

Be used for function elemental –

Providing comfort, fundamental?

Talisman: tight-hidden magic jewel bright,

Awash with poetry’s soul-nourished manna,

Lends mid-week evenings fresh galvanizing zeal,

Incites assorted word-rich bards to verbal origami;

Story, verse, flash-prose, rhymed rant amass

Mimetic images, with art weave pulsing stream,

Aflame with passion’s pure, intense aurora;

Night-star spawned – heralding creative dawn.

Anvil-bashed, brain-fried,

Chilli-lipped, death-defied,

Ear-burned, fear-fired, 

Gob-smacked, hot-sauced,

Ice-fanged, jet-cool,

Knife-rent, life-sprayed,

Moon-maddened, night-winged,

Out-of-bounds, passion-streaked,

Quick-witted, rust-caked, 

Salted-wound, thrice-denied,

Utter-venom, vicious-tongued,

War-wasted, xerox-copied, 

Yet-again, zero-summed –

Red!

O great Metropolis, thou slumb’rest still,

Recumbent ‘neath foul engines’ foggy haze,

Which snakes reptilian ‘midst thine ancient maze,

Homage pollutant to industrial will!

From dreaming academe’s diploma-mills,

To chapel-pews, ghost-filled from bygone days,

A broken-hearted spirit, wan and grey,

Force-feeds frail world with wormwood-laden pills,

While bankers’-merchants, gilded with their loot,

Do cardboard-city-dwellers trample down,

Their craven faces crushed by well-heeled boots;

Then cracks the brittle heart of doleful town,

The parchment of its hist’ry burned to soot –

A maudlin sight – as life drags poet down.

Moon’s illumination murmurs madness,

Lithe lunar light laps reservoirs of life,

Beams bear deathly dreams to shadow singers,

Transforming time’s illusions through the night.

Map of life unfolds upon wild waters,

In unknown cosmic spaces of the mind,

Where secrets and desires hide their faces:

Retreating, always partway out of sight.

Seagull spattered,

Surf-spume battered;

I am – sight house!

Finger-pointing, lonely, waiting;

You are – white house!

Shipwreck saving, cloud impaling;

This is – bright house!

Night-flight, shine-sprite,

Death-blight – am I,

So – take care!

LIGHTHOUSE!

YAY!

I'm a Psychic Karma-naut,

Spread my Chakras on Tao table:

Arcane Tarot tempts the future;

Casting I Ching I'm not able.

My Archetype's The Lobster,

I've got Chiron in Uranus;

Aloe Vera's quite some Potion,

When your Spirit Guide's named Janus.

Crazed Inner Elves enchant my Dreams,

Unconscious Mushrooms spawning;

Guardian Angel hymning Mantras,

Almost snaps her Halo, scolding!

Mystic Stars bestow their Blessings,

Moon-clad Antics chill my bones;

There's rare Magic in Qi-Chanting –

Don't Unbalance my Hot Stones!

Bright-black-burnished boyo,

Bilious-bible-blue-bruised,

Backbone-breasted blackguard,

Booze-bedevilled bard,

Bayonet-bevelled bronze bonce,

But boisterously bonny,

Briskly banishing belly-ached

Bravura-binged bounties;

Beset by bombastic beats,

Belched beast-breath buzzes,

Bifurcating biological brawn.

Bonsoir buster! Blank-ballads’

Bluster beckons broken

Brother, benignly, bottom-ward-bent!

To Mountain Bare I flew today,

Two posies on graves twain to lay,

Where sleep those dear, who've slipped from us;

I prayed I wouldn't have to cuss

That yet again for umpteenth time

I'd been the victim of rude crime;

But in the precincts, on both plots,

No bloom-filled urns sat on their spots!

Where had they vanished? Had the dead

Crept forth to pilfer, and then fled

Back to oblivion? I think not:

But rather that live fingers, hot

For spoils had filched what once kept my heart –

To stab it through with thorn-barbed darts.

How I love riding on my bike,

But not on pavements like the types

Who buzz round wasp-like without bells,

Creating havoc, wreaking hell

For older persons grasping sticks,

And parents shepherding their chicks;

Whilst stealthy cyclists in the parks

Dash round like whirlwinds for a lark,

Up-sneaking from behind with glee,

Without a hooter – you can't see

These lightning-bolts that make our strolls

Less pleasant jaunts than 'save our souls'!

Before more folk are knocked for six:

Rein in your steeds – don’t speed for kicks!

Flightless feather,

Fine downy fluff enfouled,

And tar-pocked hollows holed,

Root-gouged from

Garrulous gull

– becomes, now –

Shattered quill, that

Oil-scrapes on

Black-licked sea

A thick, sick portrait,

Besmirching salty glass.

Some malign educators their kids maltreat,

Aligned to statisticians’ sullen beat.

It’s fine to goad them till the bell-ring final,

To mine their hidden depths  – Oh, all hormonal,

Teen-agers whinge and moan at the proposal

That shining in exams is youth’s sole goal,

And educating’s such a crucial role.

On your pure cheek the morning dew

Made silver drops, O poppy red;

And June’s sun golden liquor strew

From morn to eve on brimming head.

Amidst your myriad brethren you

Did dance with joy on grass spread green;

In silken robe with flame-red hue,

As in your fair clan’s homeland seen.

But came a ruthless hand from Hell,

From your safe place tore you away;

Now chased by dawn abroad you fell,

To colour soil with bloody spray.

"Do you always moan so much," they ask;

"Are you always filled with woe?

"Is it really so hard to do every small task,

"Is the whole wide world your foe?

"Rubber-bands you loathe, modern verse you hate:

"Does nothing escape your bile?

"Even cyclists raise your heckles, mate,

"While thieves in the graveyard rile!"

But at least when I'm puce, I'm so truly alive,

Blood roiling, heart ready to pop,

Stress, conflict, and tension – on these I thrive:

I'll rabble-rouse till I drop!