Sun On The Hill

This is the title poem of my collected poems. Daw haul ar fryn is pronounced dow hile ar vrin Sun On The Hill   “Daw haul ar fryn” they say in Wales, “Sun will come on a hill”. So put on your wellies, get out in the rain, and let life’s weather send what it will.   Though the landscape

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Barfly

  I’m a barfly. In bars I fly. I slap tenners On the wet  Bar top. People stand clear Waiting for me to flop. But I don’t drop. “Whiskey, double”, “Erm Jamisons please”.   “Water?”   “NO” and “no bloody ice” “You’ll kill it”. “Unless it kills me first” Wish I had a tab Just in case.   I don’t

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The planet

If this planet, a zoo then, of all, who’s the most dangerous animal? The human being. The supreme, the most powerful, putting creation at stake, under the  gratuitous firmament. The weed of hunting, being hunted, so present in the delinquent hunter, destroying the seed of creation, day by day, moment after moment. Chosen, conscious, caring words crowd volumes of leaves,

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Stars

sunset… all lights have disappeared willingly from the outside to enlighten me a dark space all words have ceased, need for big and small talks rest in eternal peace, I feel a sun rising in silence, a soft golden ray, I feel a sense of warmth, I dance with mridangam* right in the middle of stark violence, the wind playing

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My Mate Nicky

Just the truth. Nicky Nicholson New Zealand 1999   His hands shook His face contorted  He fought with  His stomach Every morning Palsy’d whiskey Into his coffee At breakfast Thought no one Noticed As his new day  Was inhaled past His vomit rotted Teeth.   His breath stunk His skin was pallid He hadn’t washed His eyes  Were like Dark

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