London.’ ‘Oh, so.’
‘Pull down the bastard.’ ‘Pull down the flag.’
The flag torn down. Emerald on
Unfortunate field and red flaw its great
Perfection; without sound crept back like myth
Into folds of earth: grew greener shafts of resilience.
Under the washing line of blue. ‘Who’s
Speaking now?’ ‘Who’s there in the Chapel Yard
Who bends?’ ‘Mari Ann is cleaning the graves.’
‘Where’s the “professor” he should know?’ ‘If the tide
Swept back for Saint Cadoc where was God
To smooth their corrugated mouths: strike a path
To the Laugharne Pubs?’ ‘Where’s John Roberts,
Old Charon and his Coracle?’ ‘Who’s there low
At the tide who blends?’ ‘Morgan the poacher,
Setting horsehair with broad bean and hook,
Sly old bugger snaring sheldrake. The State Trapper!’
Breaming boots: bay full of spitshine and brass
Sun splintered on waves – cupping up –
Clear as beer sparkle… ‘you’ve had it, mun’.
‘Where’s the “professor” he should know?’
He, who comes from Saint Cadoc’s Chapter
Giant or Legendary Prince, who loves
One and no other, turns in his mind LEFT – RIGHT
L EFT – RIGHT , tapping boot wry in the dung
Coloured pool wonders which way and why?
Without chevron: yet born under that gyre
Astronomical sign: without chevron: kid
Crests his regimental badge. Poor callid
Cymru; unquestioning, unanswering,
Remaining just the same, braiding wire
With chilling hands,
stands
, under manurial
Showers, till the lurid sun spills across
The sky like a shot Indian. Then to read and relate
By gunlight indelible: ‘
We incarnate
,
Even if flesh rot you shall have Heaven,
I immured at your side. Serene latch
And cambric joy, floating above you shall
Still overlook pots and pans; yet patch
Your trousers willingly. This is no prodigal,
There is no madrigal but my ‘word’ cleaved
To your flesh. And you know it so need not fear
.’
Indigo, a green mist humouring Ajanta woe.
Cool palm lighting woodbine. Out of pocket: –
Red ink on pink lined paper: ‘Bryn Williams Carp
For wire netting and staples 2s and 8d.’
What setting moves mayors to play chess on rocks.
Guns stand manned.
Still stand.
Mind alone,
Knocks.
Senile coast beetle browed down to citrine
Rush of sea. Monster night strides up, grating
Rock to rib of death with hide of rusty knuckle.
A pinpoint glows, whirls, grows, whinnying
Larger wheels over the whole damn estuary.
Falling huge, dilating in the too close nightmare,
Their own eyes enlarging the mayors smash rock
Lift skirts and torques and wade out to sea. A whirrying
Of semitic wings. High cordite flash that
Cools the seaboard of the world. Bridling.
Of nerves, THUD Soundless,
Smoke fumes raise a black hearse that hovers in the sky.
Faces forged into icing bags, challenge
The chill fretting in waves to clear the plain,
Leave: crimson steam; scattering of pain on
Euripus wolds. Atonement of blood: seaflooded red.
Fighting scarlet minutes over immeasurable
Earth. Is reflected this day, by sodden
Arterial men crushed under magenta
Monstrosities, blood curdling into dog wail
.
How who then. Friend? Chine birds grip to black
Shining cliff, and wing, fowl-of-tar, to rift
In swivelling sea, cold hard as hand on rock:
Sea ride neither matched nor considered in flock.
Go down there far. Into groves of foreign
Glitter. On water mosaic of running tides,
Bitter with sweet birds, and unfortunate flesh; nothing
Fitter than avidity could return such mawkish
Litter. Go down there further and see the lucid
Plane-of-night, strained with piteous men
Drowned in water-swills of crossing waves; lifting
Asteroid heads, so alike, so different from
The petroleum sky:
‘Pull down the bastard.’ ‘Pull down the flag.’
The flag torn down. Emerald on
Unfortunate field and red flaw its great
Perfection; without sound crept back like myth
Into folds of earth: grew greener shafts of resilience.
Under the washing line of blue. ‘Who’s
Speaking now?’ ‘Who’s there in the Chapel Yard
Who bends?’ ‘Mari Ann is cleaning the graves.’
‘Where’s the “professor” he should know?’ ‘If the tide
Swept back for Saint Cadoc where was God
To smooth their corrugated mouths: strike a path
To the Laugharne Pubs?’ ‘Where’s John Roberts,
Old Charon and his Coracle?’ ‘Who’s there low
At the tide who blends?’ ‘Morgan the poacher,
Setting horsehair with broad bean and hook,
Sly old bugger snaring sheldrake. The State Trapper!’
Breaming boots: bay full of spitshine and brass
Sun splintered on waves – cupping up –
Clear as beer sparkle… ‘you’ve had it, mun’.
‘Where’s the “professor” he should know?’
He, who comes from Saint Cadoc’s Chapter
Giant or Legendary Prince, who loves
One and no other, turns in his mind LEFT – RIGHT
L EFT – RIGHT , tapping boot wry in the dung
Coloured pool wonders which way and why?
Without chevron: yet born under that gyre
Astronomical sign: without chevron: kid
Crests his regimental badge. Poor callid
Cymru; unquestioning, unanswering,
Remaining just the same, braiding wire
With chilling hands,
stands
, under manurial
Showers, till the lurid sun spills across
The sky like a shot Indian. Then to read and relate
By gunlight indelible: ‘
We incarnate
,
Even if flesh rot you shall have Heaven,
I immured at your side. Serene latch
And cambric joy, floating above you shall
Still overlook pots and pans; yet patch
Your trousers willingly. This is no prodigal,
There is no madrigal but my ‘word’ cleaved
To your flesh. And you know it so need not fear
.’
Indigo, a green mist humouring Ajanta woe.
Cool palm lighting woodbine. Out of pocket: –
Red ink on pink lined paper: ‘Bryn Williams Carp
For wire netting and staples 2s and 8d.’
What setting moves mayors to play chess on rocks.
Guns stand manned.
Still stand.
Mind alone,
Knocks.
Senile coast beetle browed down to citrine
Rush of sea. Monster night strides up, grating
Rock to rib of death with hide of rusty knuckle.
A pinpoint glows, whirls, grows, whinnying
Larger wheels over the whole damn estuary.
Falling huge, dilating in the too close nightmare,
Their own eyes enlarging the mayors smash rock
Lift skirts and torques and wade out to sea. A whirrying
Of semitic wings. High cordite flash that
Cools the seaboard of the world. Bridling.
Of nerves, THUD Soundless,
Smoke fumes raise a black hearse that hovers in the sky.
Faces forged into icing bags, challenge
The chill fretting in waves to clear the plain,
Leave: crimson steam; scattering of pain on
Euripus wolds. Atonement of blood: seaflooded red.
Fighting scarlet minutes over immeasurable
Earth. Is reflected this day, by sodden
Arterial men crushed under magenta
Monstrosities, blood curdling into dog wail
.
How who then. Friend? Chine birds grip to black
Shining cliff, and wing, fowl-of-tar, to rift
In swivelling sea, cold hard as hand on rock:
Sea ride neither matched nor considered in flock.
Go down there far. Into groves of foreign
Glitter. On water mosaic of running tides,
Bitter with sweet birds, and unfortunate flesh; nothing
Fitter than avidity could return such mawkish
Litter. Go down there further and see the lucid
Plane-of-night, strained with piteous men
Drowned in water-swills of crossing waves; lifting
Asteroid heads, so alike, so different from
The petroleum sky:
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