Don't sleep cariad fach,
the goodly sons and daughters
are racing to your whispers
even when darkness grips
the cold shard of night.
Yn disgwyl arno ti.
Do not sleep dear Wales,
fall not to despair and anger
and lift the light of Hope
to find our babe,
lead her home to Mami.
Peidiwch cysgy blodyn
mae pawb yn dod...
FOR APRIL JONES
© Steven Francis poems 2012
'The Heron Ponds' is the 7th collection of poetry and short stories from Welsh poet, writer and blogger Steven Francis. Enjoy!
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hope. Show all posts
Thursday, 4 October 2012
Thursday, 23 August 2012
Brat News and the Abrasion of Life
Mad to bored inside peeling walls of four,
emotions which have me cornered
switch from knuckles to sky,
jabbing ripe solitude into this dusty, drunk again throat.
Terrestrial fields beyond sickle eyed vessels
amplify the bratty news which is less than mulch to me,
with its undercurrent sneering
on a born again electric never ending sheet.
Whistle boy and hide thy blessings
for in toy cities sincerity is seldom heard
and all there is are echoes from tourist hearts
who could never die for you.
Beast child and lizard-like
the first and last of blood
seeping from pendulum flowers...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
emotions which have me cornered
switch from knuckles to sky,
jabbing ripe solitude into this dusty, drunk again throat.
Terrestrial fields beyond sickle eyed vessels
amplify the bratty news which is less than mulch to me,
with its undercurrent sneering
on a born again electric never ending sheet.
Whistle boy and hide thy blessings
for in toy cities sincerity is seldom heard
and all there is are echoes from tourist hearts
who could never die for you.
Beast child and lizard-like
the first and last of blood
seeping from pendulum flowers...
© Steven Francis poems 2012
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