Disability Arts Cymru’s Inaugural Poetry Competition

2015Disability ArtsCymru’s InauguralPoetry Competition

Disability Arts CymruPoetryCompetition2015This is Disability Arts Cymru’s first Poetry Competition. We gavethe poets a brief to write in response to one of the artworks in ourAnnual Exhibition. Was this a narrow brief or a wide brief? Youcould see it either way. Many poetry competitions allow anypoem, no matter when it was written or what the subject matter.Others ask people to write on a set subject. Our competitionensured that the poems entered would not be something dug outof the archives but would be freshly written. Looking at theexhibition it is clear that the subject choice was actually verydiverse as the show featured photography, photorealisticdrawing, abstract and figurative paintings, sculpture and a feastof food for the eyes. So it’s no surprise that the entries were alsodiverse and for a first competition, we are very pleased with thestandard and absolutely delighted to have Menna Elfyn judge thecompetition and provide the foreword.

Table of ContentsForeword Menna Elfyn 3I once had a heart Rose Foran 5Recovery Des Mannay 6Cuddio Mewn Cerdd Gwenllian Jones 7Stabat Mater Eileen Harrisson 8In the Wake of Prince Madoc Caroline Gill 9All My Own Work Des Mannay 10Sap Rises Meg Kingston 11Down To Earth Bríd Wyldearth 12A Hush of Morning Eileen Harrisson 13Anchor Chain Gemma Paine 14Machlud Gwenllian Jones 15Y darlun o blentyn Wendy Jones 16Choices Julie C Griffiths 17Soldier In The Dark Leslie Williams 18Return Journey (For D and K P) Mari Sexton 19Marionette Marion Fletcher 20Dreams Out Of Darkness Mark Roderick 21Robin Williams Mark Smith 22Shhh Meg Kingston 23Imagine that. Michele Brenton 24Lost by the sea Rachael Roberts 25Reservoir dog Susan Kent 26Footprints in the sand Ted Gibson 27(Be) Longing Tracey Watkins 28The Sunset Disappears Into Aberystwyth Sea Jenny-Joanna Bartholomew-Biggs 29

Disability Arts CymruPoetry Competition 2015Foreword create writings that are alert, incisive and compassionate and which expound the human condition. They have instilled in the reader anToday, everybody is a writer. Thanks to technology everybody is insight into realms that are both luminous and wondrous.furiously, joyously connecting through friends and strangers at whatseems, on the surface anyway, to be as natural as having a latte or Ekphrasis, a literary device which responds to or describes anothermaking a cup of tea. And yet never before has there been more of a work of art presents the writer with the inspirational prompt neededneed to distinguish between the kind of writing in the white heat of to write. As a consequence , we have in this anthology poems thatthe moment and that of the slow steady burn of writing something are thought provoking, lyrical, and meditative. It is a remarkablethat will linger long in the mind of others, often strangers, be the collection in that they are all so varied in their approach: fromwriting both urgent and crafted through reflection. According to spoken poetry, short lyrical poems to those which have a narrativeWordsworth ‘poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful drive.feelings; it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity.’ However, the winning entry ‘I once had a heart’ stood out andHe’s a fine one to talk you might say and his lifestyle may be very haunted me for days, tugging at my heart. In the poem there is andifferent to those represented in this collection. But those poems intertwining of ideas and the way the poem builds is appealing. Itentered for this competition too attest to the ‘overflow of powerful questions gently the whole notion of heart but also embodies withinfeelings’. The poems included here were surely recollected and it spirit and mind, and tries successfully to affirm the meaning of liferewoven, sometimes painstakingly so, until every word deserved its in an oblique way. It is a poem which takes risks, ‘ a heart to die for’place. is one remarkable line and the poem ends on an unexpected note:All in this fine anthology have had to overcome certain disabilities Like all the atoms that have ever been.but that seems only to have spurred many on to articulate their ideasand experiences . The poets in this collection have managed to The runner up is equally as effective and there is only a heartbeat between them. It is a fearless poem, a monologue, full of dramatic utterances and one can almost hear the words thumping aloud on 3

the page. One can only imagine the rapturous response of anaudience listening to it being declaimed. From the opening line, oneis captured by the irony of the phrase:Listen therapist—we need to talk‘Cuddio mewn cerdd’, in Welsh, is a worthy third prize winner and acarefully crafted poem, memorable for the imagery within its smallframe which makes it an assured poem on the subject of the selfieand the way we hide and expose ourselves in life as in verse.‘Cadw’r cleddyf yn y wain yn hir, hir/cyn ei droi yn swch’ is amemorable line as it follows with the whimsical line’ neu o leiaf ynllwy neu fodrwy’ which suggests images that nourish or nurture love.Roedd hon yn un o nifer o gerddi Cymraeg cywrain sydd yn llawnhaeddu eu cyhoeddi yn y gyfrol hon. This was one of many Welshlanguage poems and those included here all have somethingimportant to convey.There are other poems which are highly commended and rich insubject matter and in terms of craft: ‘ Stabat Mater’,’ All my ownwork’; ‘ Sap Rises’, and ‘In the Wake of Prince Madoc’. These againdeserve to be read and appreciated for there is much to admire inthese poems.On a final note, I hope all who are published here continue aswriters so that their ‘voices’ be heard above the din of our daily livesso as to share with us enchantments and epiphanies. There we canreach for what Milosz called ‘luminous things’, hospitable gifts -- fullof grace and light. Menna Elfyn 4

First Prize In response to PIP-‘Personal independence Prayer’ by Bríd WyldearthI once had a heartall red muscle and hard work. Battle – Some said it had a hollow tick. A heart Like all the atoms that have ever been.scarred and bullet ridden. Never the void of any characteristic,victor, always the victim. Wouldn’t important to life. But in time I grew Rose Foranwin a beauty competition.  Yes full of to love it as my own. Then –spirit. But that’s what matters most 5isn’t it? in a heartbeat, Woodworm. Countless tunnels, raised up like embroideredAnd so intricate. Would’ve shamed the veins.universe’s complex plans. Ad infinitum. So the choice was made. One last flingTiny arteries that whispered a claret- in the arms of fate. What seemed a faultlessred, rich susurrus in spiral after spiral. trade –The life giver.How aptly named you were. And worked a heart to die for. A ‘work of art’.as a heart should. But for one thing. And what’s better – no flesh, no wood,That endless thud. THUD. THUD. Too or boiled up blood.many memories trapped in the blood.echoing. Echoing. ECHOING. But it had a single flow.For security’s sake, I traded it in. The new A long-held tear shattered its core. Fractured redone – a beautiful thing. Hand carved. into yellow and green, bled blue into indigo, edge by edge into nothingness.

Second PrizeIn response to ‘Your indifference is breaking my heart’ by Vivi-Mari CarpelanRecovery are conversations of the voiceless\" And 'we' lost our voice because 'you' (“Deformity is daring; It is its essence usurped our language. to o'ertake mankind By heart and soul, Lets take the term 'recovery' For health professionals like you it becomes and make itself the equal — An excuse to cease treatment, eliminate Ay, the superior of the rest.\" resources; Deny us the 'luxury' of difference Lord Byron 'The Deformed Transformed') In your hands, the Langue has no Parole*Listen therapist - we need to talk But 'we' invented the term 'recovery'There are things you don't see with your As a way to understand our difficultiesbrief therapy It's how we hold onto the past andAnd half a dozen sessions before you set recover identityme free It stops us being written off - Just asWith your emphasis on illness and Lord Byron Said,diagnosis; \"Deformity is daring...\", and we striveHoarding symptoms like stamp collectors to make good, catch upafter an illusive Penny Black And maybe overtake those who haveYou medicalize social problems, like they're not felt the pain of emotional overloadour fault And as we re-calibrate our pain weBut we cannot be wished away echo Kurt CobainAre we ill because we're depressed or is it When he wrote, \"Thank you for thebecause we're oppressed? tragedy. I need it for my art\"And is the key to this oppression beingrobbed of self expression? *Barthes, R. (1972). MythologiesAnd there's a riot in my head - Des MannayBut just like Martin Luther King said, \"Riots 6

Third Prize In response to ‘Hidden’ By Karen HarveyCuddio Mewn CerddHunanlun-Dyna yw pob cerddYn y diwedd.Ond rhai dal yn ôlCuddio pethauHeb sbydu’r cwbl.How-guddio rhai ffeithiau,Deilen ffigys arallDyma’r rhan anoddaf.O hyd ac o hyd.Cadw’r cleddyf yn y wain yn hir,hir,Cyn ei droi yn swch,Neu o leiaf yn llwy neu fodrwy.Modrwy briodas efallai-A’r dal yn ôl mwyaf un.A pheidio sbydu popeth. Gwenllian Jones 7

Highly Commended In response to ‘Seven Breaths’ by Eileen HarrissonStabat MaterGrief of a mother, ‘The poor you will always haveVivaldi’s ‘Stabat Mater’ with you.’ So too, it seems, earth’swrenches tears from the terrors and must the human kind make a mockery of hope forinnermost core of my being. compassion? Watch over young and old, fast passing of years,Shaking and quaking of earth for some cut even shorter bytears stone from stone, crumbles those from whom compassionbuildings to waterfalls of has incomprehensibly fled.grey-dust debris; survivorsdragged, shocked statues, from Desire to layer love on love,impromptu tombs; on the high gentleness on gentleness, onsnow-fields remnants of equipment those whose lives are shattered bylie, tatters of yellow and red, strewn intolerable burden of loss.as forgotten ambitions, in grip of For thread of mortal flesh, helpdeathly white, tossed like withered Is proferred and for the soul,petals or lines of prayer flags slapping prayer, common grounds throughin the wind, shredded as mountains’ which to express touch of conjoining sorrow.vulnerable communities. Eileen Harrisson 8

Highly CommendedIn response to ‘Boats’ by Mark AnnisIn the Wake of Prince Madoc behind our vessels, following a rope. Our skipper took her harp: the sky turned blueThe ninth wave hurled itself upon the shore as palm trees billowed in my telescope.as rainbow bands of sun transformed our craft. And as I paint the scene in rainbow hue,We longed to go where few had gone before. I wonder, could our childhood tales be true?The world was ours, or so we thought: a shaftof light broke through and pierced a sundog sky. Caroline GillWe checked for buccaneers, both fore and aft:the coast was clear. We sang a lullabyto charm the waves and soothe a plump of seals,who drifted westwards to infinity.So here we were afloat with our ideals,a stash of bara brith, a piece of cake,one harp, a telescope, four rods and reels.How proud we felt to follow in the wakeof one who knew the sea could give and take.The ocean turned against us as we rowed:salt water stung our eyes and numbed our hands.We battled on in faith, but teardrops flowed.Our hero crossed the sea to far-off landsand headed for a creek, where bull boats sailed:we longed to run aground on distant sands.The trade winds blew. Our courage almost failed,when suddenly we saw a gleam of hope:a pod of dolphins gathered round and trailed 9

Highly CommendedIn response to ‘Soldier in the Dark’ by Carrie FrancisAll My Own Work Well I took a closer look at me And I saw someone else The person that I used to be Was never quite myself If I look more closely - That's him sitting on the shelf Its all his handiwork you see He built it all himself.... I knew he could not be me And his eyes were soft like felt He said \"Its great to be free - Don't depend on no one else\" And he was blind and could not see His in-built loneliness It's clear he wanted to be Found in pastures that were fresh But could not see things clearly - To him more meant something less So he picked his way through debris Wreckage that once was happiness And carried on repeatedly - Creating this whole mess Just piling on the misery In a world where more means less Des Mannay 10

Highly Commended In response to ‘Morning Mist’ by Des Radcliffe Sap Rises Mist comes at dawn, and our sap stirs Hugging it to valley’s cleft. Abbey’s shadow draws uncautious men, To the innocent bog. Suck them into moss-lined graves, Hold them tight In green-wet tombs, To nourish bark and bough. Meg Kingston 11

In response to: ‘PIP - Personal Independence Prayer’ by Bríd WyldearthDown To EarthViolet: spirit, Ruby: core,mysterious, wise, essence, heart, centred, grounded.infinitesimal, dancing, Earthed.fathomless, Rainbowcosmic, divine. labyrinthineIndigo: darkness, spiralingstar lit night, seeing deepclarifying, exploring, intoimagining, dreaming. solitudeBlue: sky, ocean stillness silencewhispering, thundering, peace.weeping and raining, Bríd Wyldearthtelling truths andstories, 12listening, devouring,remembering.Emerald: forestbreathing, touching,feeling, healing,desiring, loving.Yellow: rock,muscle, bone,guts, willpower, strong.Amber: magma,blood, fire,creating, destroying,ferocious, wild.

In response to ‘Morning Mist’ by Des RadcliffeA Hush ofMorningPale shadows fall across freshcitrine green as new leavescatch light of a morning sun;is there birdsong hidden inthe veiling mist and fragiletracery of violet tree;or does a hush of silencewrap the damp-soft forms,hints of structures, drawnlines of gothic arch?Park with empty bencheswaits for melody of children’s voices, calling,laughing, running –murmur of adults’conversations;as mist lifts,the day begins. Eileen Harrisson 13

In response to ‘Was an Anchor chain’ by Ken PinnellAnchor Chain Now redundant just like the ship that carried it Discarded tangled piled unwanted on the quay White water crashing on the deck This trusty anchor chain lies oxidizing on the shore Rolling over the ocean riding up one wave and down another in Rust red salt worn in places congealed in Verdigris howling winds Several cables of once tensile steel now barnacle crusted Heading for the safety of the harbour lights so set a course Its colours like a rainbow adownwind out of the gale Toward the lee shore and the calmer waters of the land sculptured heap of useless chain Coz life on the ocean waves depends upon That once held proudly a shipthe crew safe out of harm's way Hold steady boys because Now waiting to be sold asthe skill we have will seeus on the Blighty shore scrap to the highest bidder Stored deep down the To be smelted recycled intoforecastle head coiled for automobiles or turned intoaction forged steel linked razor blades chains created to form thestrongest bond There are no lucky charmsSecured to the anchor held at hanging from this chain the hawser pipe to do its duty Just a piece of historyTo drop deep grappling into sailing across the seathe ocean bed of the murkywaters of the bay carrying cargos from portWaiting the tide and the pilot to portboat to guild this ship into theport Gemma Paine 14

In response to ‘Aberystwyth Pier at Sundown’’ by Jenny Joanna Bartholomew-BiggsMACHLUD“Mae heddiw wedi mynd bron iawn”Ochenaid.“Mae o'n mynd, Nain,Sbia arno'n mynd,Mae hi bron yn nos ddu.”I le'r aeth heddiw ?\" holais.“I'r nos shiwr,” meddai hi.Ategodd, “Ddaw o ddim yn ôl ysti,Mi fydd wedi mynd mewn munud.\"Cynigiais innau ateb,“Ond fe ddaw yn ôl ‘foryAr ôl y nos fawr ddu.”“Daw,” ac yn sicrwydd pum mlwydd oed,“Ond dim heddiw fydd o naci?Ddaw heddiw ddim yn ôl.” Gwenllian Jones 15

In response to ‘Peace’ by Gordon Farmer Y darlun o blentyn Ssshh mam, paid a gwneud swn - dan ni’n cuddiad. Edrychodd mam ar ei merch am eiliad, Cyn dweud, ‘dos â’r bara ‘ma efo chdi’ – ‘Khleb* i Alyosha a Khleb i Sasha, A dyma peth i ti a mi. Ssshh mam, paid â gwneud sŵn – mae yna bomio. Edrychodd mam ar ei merch am eiliad, Cyn dweud, ‘ti’n iawn, am y nwy ella wsti’ – ‘Dan ni gyd yr un gwaed o ddifrif, Fel y gwaed rhwng ti a fi. Ssshh mam, paid â gwneud swn - dan ni’n cysgu. Edrychodd mam ar ei merch am eiliad, Cyn dweud ‘well i ti gael golau efo chdi’ – Cannwyll i Alyosha a channwyll i Sasha, A dyma un i ti a mi. Wendy Jones *Khleb/хлеб – yr un gair yn yr iaith Ukrain a Rwsieg yn golygu ‘bara’ 16

In response to ‘Choice/Unchoice’ by Andrew BrentonChoices You may saddle me up and ride me on, But you will never ever have my heart, You’ll drive me down the roads you chooseAnd expect me to run! When you shout start. You’ll push and push until I’m done But I will never show The resolve as it hardens in my soul, To become the best me I know. Your profits may grow, As you play with my life Filling your needs til I’m broke I’m sick of this strife. So Now I dismiss your bully boy whip, And ignore your taunts and lies, My promise to me returns firm and fast As my need of you dwindles and dies. It’s been the climb of my life Inside there are screams But I’ve held on tight To the ME of my dreams. This is the choice I make In spite the calls from you cold cold heart. Julie C Griffiths 17

In response to ‘Soldier in the Dark’ by Carrie Francis Soldier In The Dark Your features etched in granite memory, as if you are still here raw skinned, I can feel your whiskered scratch. If I half close my eyes and let my mind wander free, I can smell your aftershave and hear your rich deep tones. I can still taste the minty breath of that last farewell kiss. Unwashed, I run my tongue over lips that neglect has cracked and dried. Your picture hanging here taunts me in this grief, pretending this likeness is you and renewing my sense of loss. I reach for the image that I see but it is one dimensional. In cold dark monochrome, It has no substance for me. Leslie Williams 18

In response to ‘Castle Coch’ by Ted Gibson Return Journey (For D and K P) The train windows smeared with mournful drops: Is this all there is? only when I saw Castell Coch An announcement is made: muddied memories flooded back the actress playing Peter Pan has racing like the Taff. fainted in flight. Quickly recovered, the full storyWhen we first explored this pink palace restarts and unfolds to the end.magical beyond imagination (solemnly assured it belonged to the Yes, we do believe in fairies,Giant at the top of the Beanstalk) clapping can restore life.our fear tasted of surrounding wild garlicsaved only by being neither English nor men. It is in later years we learn harder lessons.Then our first trip to the THEATREyour birthday treat shared with me - Beds of giants aresat almost sick with anticipation merely adult sized.clutching sweets in sticky hands - Beautiful princess cousins can liveuncertain of what to expect. happilyVelvet curtains slowly slide apart: if notthe Darling nursery.Peter Pan flies in through the window, for ever after.drops lifeless to the stage floor.The heavy curtains close. Mari Sexton 19

In response to ‘Marionette’ by Marion FletcherMarionetteYou pull the strings for legs to move. A headless being with no thoughts twisted, knotted and conjoined both can't move without the safe hands controlled, no mind of their own best intentions sought, lost independence thought. If you ask how are you, I'll reply fine with a smile but inside I cry how are you? they inquire? I'm o.k. Is my reply with pain and struggle Don't want to see your skinny bikini clad bodies or how you had a good time on your travels F.B. media sites reporting to us what you had to eat A picture of your lost cat Marion Fletcher 20

In response to ‘Dreams out of Darkness’ by Awel HafDreams Out Of How long will you punish yourself, waking up fearing what awaits you the following day? Darkness Do you really think your life is full of predators you are not their only prey? You lay there hoping to go back to sleep, so you close your eyes, keeping as still as a carcass.This poem called Dreams Out Of Darkness, is ‘Boy’, free the strength within your heart, your dreams will come from out of your darkness.about a young man called Daryl, who almost 12months ago, caused a car accident in which he First of all, you must learn not to worry about things that may not ever happen.survived but his passenger, his Father, sadly For even to the happiest of souls, worry will always find a way to blacken.died. Since then Daryl has fallen into a Worry is like a rocking chair, moving feverishly, but never taking you anywhere.depression, lashing out at those around him. So no more worry, no more stress and soon your life will begin to repair.Most tragic of all, he seems to have given up onlife itself, or ever finding happiness. Then one Next try to learn that it is not your duty to control everything and everyone around you.night as Daryl slept, his Father returned to him in Let pressure wash over you, like sea on the sand, now put the kettle on and make us a brew.his dream. Daryl’s devoted Father, wanted to Once the burden of pressure is gone, you can begin to enjoy the scenery of life’s journey.alleviate, the guilt his beloved son was carrying. Enjoy the colour of the grass, sky and everything in between, look how bright life can be.In an attempt to save his much loved son, fromhimself. This poem ‘Dreams Out Of Darkness’ is I know you are feeling angry, holding a grudge on life because of all you have endured.Daryl’s Father returning to Daryl in dream state. But anger is an acid that can do more harm to you the vessel, than to which it is poured.Helping him to take away his son’s guilty pain. Holding a grudge is as logical as drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die. The negative energy you are carrying is dragging you down, let it go and bid it goodbye. Wake up and smell the coffee, the world does not need to play according to your rule book. The sooner you realise this, the happier you’ll be and brightness can return to your outlook. Appreciate people for who they are, rather than try to change them to your idea of perfection. Take people as you find them; enjoy the broad spectrum, save yourself the frustration. Why do you insist, on playing the internal comparison game, with others you see and meet? What is the logic in forever comparing yourself, to those you simply walk past in the street? Thinking somebody is ugly, does not make you any better looking, so stop it right away. A better question to ask yourself is, are you a better person today, than you were yesterday? You have been to the depths of despair, but here you are to tell the tale. These lessons I should have taught you long ago, now new heights I know you will scale. Don’t look back with regret son, for what happened, I know you are blameless. ‘Boy’, free the strength within your heart, your dreams will come from out of your darkness. Mark Roderick 21

In response to ‘Robin Williams portrait’ by Gordon FarmerRobin WilliamsYou, not even gone a yearI, amongst many, wish that you were still hereI didn't need to meet you to feel you leaveI didn't need to know you in order to grieveThe ultimate comic, with little sparks of madnessThe day we heard the news came an outpouring of sadnessSuicide, they said, at the age of sixty-threeNo more pain or torment, gone is your agonyA screen icon, a peerless performerA genius of our time, with a heart that could not have been warmerHumble and modest, helping people in needI wish we could have helped you, to walk your black dog on its leadTo take away your sorrow, cast your demons to the groundTo listen to your problems, no more worthy sound Mark Smith 22

In response to ‘Peace’ by Gordon Farmer Shhh Don’t look now, I heard it there. Moving stuff, shaking pillows, It dropped a heavy thing That rattled. Don’t look now, It was behind you. It’s come for something, To take it away. You think it found my tooth Meg Kingston 23

In response to ‘Imagine’ by Doug SpellaceyImagine that.I dribble all the time - words flow - my mouth cannot hold them;lip-seal inadequate to keep them captured, dominated, subjugated.Keyboard beckons, siren seducing,gleaming keys and sheen of casing,\"Touch me, touch me.\"You feel it too, I am sure of it;Constant whispering, crowded conversations,urgent chanting to a blood-pulsed drum-beat,pressure building and pushing,demanding to be expressed.I sense in you another slave to the shape of scrawlings on a page,burdened with the task of scribing sounds that float in waves,wriggle in strings,congregate in patternsinsisting to be birthed through us.Do we protest when possessed by this obstetric imperative?No.We cry, sob, if we are abandoned for a moment by these wayward children,subsumed by the fear we will never hear them heartlessly laugh again,never trace their cold demands onto the blank aching paper.We hate and love,want and avoid,sacrifice with selfishnessand call ourselves writers. Michele Brenton 24

In response to ‘Past, Present, captured in the moment’ by Rachael Roberts Lost by the sea Why do you feel so lonely and lost? Are you awaiting the new autumn frost? The world is your oyster but all you can see Are the grey clouds and the troubled sea How could I tell you were me? Perched up high with no company Lost I am now like the seagull you see Pushed and pulled by the tides of the sea Where is my father, my dad, my roots? No one is worthy of filling his boots Taken from me while I was away The grief seems to deepen with everyday I stand like the bird isolated on a pole With no one to talk to and no clear goal Dad here I am, are you looking for me? I thought I’d find you here, down by the sea I left this town for lands far away Longing now for the freedom I had that day Where to next? No clear destination An open ticket from Llandudno train station Rachael Roberts 25

In response to ‘Jessie’ by Bluehook – Single handed photography Reservoir dogDog in a boxAnd in another boxAnd in another boxAll without locksOpen and presentedHappy and contented Daily life exposedWhite lines curate the poseFull of beans out at playIn a diversity of waysDog jumping dog rollingDog running dog strollingWhite body brown headPlaying ball playing deadOne dog in its primeFifty seven timesThe artists best friendFront and tail end Displayed in varietyExhibited for society Gallery of the reciprocalDevotion unconditional Susan Kent 26

In Response to ‘Footprint’ by Ken AshtonFootprints in the sandFootprints in the sandAll that is left behind of a human woman or manFoot prints in the sandAll that is left behind in the shape of a footEngineered by water and sandTime and man have passed this placeLeaving a memory of this time and placeComing to this beach for unknown purposeIn time leaving no traceThe weather and the season have a handin the making of this spaceWind and times cross and lingerfor a short spaceFootprints on the beach have come from near or farsome have been children running to exploreSome shuffling in the sand from the wreck of aMan of warBlood on the sand tells the truthOf footprints in the sand Ted Gibson 27

(Be) Longing In response to ‘Y Dyffryn’ by Tracey Watkins She silently whispered then pulled me by invisible strands of yearning to a Valley scarred and weary where once she was forced to yield up a million of her secrets (by hand of Man) Then in revenge took down a million souls (by force of nature) Black bejewelled and Ochre stained Her song is in my heart Absorbed in the womb Umbilical Hiraeth for the land of my Mother but not of my birth Tracey Watkins 28