PARK words inspired by a
visit on: 24.04.00
Here as the wren bones
Stake out in my brain,
I see before me the slab,
Lost in the rushes,
Near missed in its confluences
Of near dead drapery.
And of the dark darkness
Of the undergrowth, in which boys played with
Muted rifle of wood, playing now
Stiller than the bay air, which can be heard
In the distance from
Quiet runs of the past evade my
Senses, but push back the memory of
The legend born into the park.
For hunchbacked, or not it runs through my
Veins to the tune of a frippery,
Only heard of by the dead.
The waters run on still in the new century,
And outside still Swansea beckons
the life we lead,
Not withdrawn or senseless, just mocking the
Present and putrid airing of breath that is