Breath of Ending

 In life,

in keeping,

I was deceased.

And now,

in mossy cradle

as still as ice,

tamed at last,

I live.

Dying. Dead.

In death i live,

finally.

@StevenFrancispoems 

Dragon Ball

*The title to this post was a given if you know your Japanese fighting games

Regular readers of my blog will know that my knowledge of football (a game I have always called 'soccer' despite other Brits insisting its football), begins and ends at zero. Heck, the only reason I know Leicester City won the Premier league is because it was big news and impossible to ignore. It was also a perfect example of how passion trumps money every single time but that's a blog for another time.
Of course nobody needs to be an expert to fire up a prediction (in fact some of the most accurate predictions come from laymen) so seeing as I misplaced my drum roll im going for a 3 - 2 final score in favour of we Welshies.

And why not? Its closer to the mark than our neighbours on the other side of Offa'a Dyke will be getting. You gotta have a ticket to win the raffle

Wales 3 = 2 Portugal

And even if we lose then leaping from a world rating of 117 to arrive at the door of a Semi Final is still hreat going mun.

Diamonds in Earthly Bones: Organ Donation

Today Wales becomes the first country in Britain to introduce a different approach to organ donation with a presumed consent ‘opt-out’ system. And if I wasn't already a supporter of it, then hearing people in desperate need of a transplant call in to radio stations to applaud our "brave new" approach would certainly have swayed me. If I could wrap my arms around my beloved Cymru to give it a big Cwtch (hug) I would do so.
How could I not be proud? That last earthly act of unrivalled genorosity is a perfect good; a love that truly has no end. To wear my poetry clothes, a Spirit of the heart eternal. Not everyone believes in angels (and this is why I wince a bit on mentioning them) but surely in this selfless act of love supreme, this is where such beings would walk?
How incredible! To welcome new life as yours makes an exit, to live not only in the hearts of loved ones but in strangers too! I suspect I could type a million words but they could never hope to do it justice. Saints and heroes have no need for them, the deed is enough.
.
Kindness in words creates confidence.
Kindness in thinking creates profoundness.
Kindness in giving creates love.

Lao-Tzu Poet and Philosopher of ancient China.

Wales Win World Cup Shocker!

I had all these fancy titles ringing around my head but in the end I chose a cheap headline grabber. Please forgive me and read on, you know I love thee really.
Sport doesn't have the same magic for me as it seems to for everyone else. Even in 2012 when everyone had Olympic mania and the Queen impressed the planet by arriving at the Olympic stadium via parachute with James Bond, sport barely registered in my dusty old mind. Winning trophies? The pulse of a cheering crowd as victory calls? I don't 'get it', and never have.
I remember as a boy being taken to Wrexham to see Wales play Russia in football and all I remember was that I was cold, bored and shocked that so many grown ups would willingly choose to waste their time with such a misery. So much dreary, dreary.
But that was football. Rugby was a different beast. Being Welsh and having lived all my life in west Wales, how could it not be? Everyone loved rugby in my sleepy corner of the world. The stunning defeat of New Zealand at Stradey Park in 1972 when the pubs ran dry (true story) after Llanelli beat them 9 - 3 was still fresh and though only a year old in 1972 the cheer carried on for many a year (even today).
I love rugby. I went to Strade comprehensive which was across the road from Stradey Park, our teachers would regularly take a class over to see the bigger games. Local legends Ray Gravelle and Phil Bennet came to the school, rugby was religion.
A force to channel a surge of passion and excitement, and bring some sunshine to a soon to be winters soul. Cawl for the spirit if you like.
So its pretty depressing to wake up every morning (2015 rugby world cup has kicked off) to hear of yet another injury to the Welsh squad. Do the rugby gods not want a Welsh win? Or are they planning a spectacular run of victories? Who can tell?
Life has a funny (and sometimes tragic) way of showing us what is and isn't important and for me I only need think back a week when the news was full of pictures of that poor child washed up on a beach dead. Real life is heavy and though the soul can withstand ferocious heartbreak when called upon, it was not made for such unbearable weight.
Naturally I want Wales, Cymru fach, to win and feed the dragon but ultimately its not important. Its not in the slightest bit important when we see others going through so much hurt.

Oh and remember! I am not saying this with defeat in mind and trying to pass it off as "there are other more important things to worry about" (here you can picture me winking knowingly). I don't play that game, as honest as the day is sharp, I can take both sweet and sour in equal measure and face them naked in my honesty.

No Fun Losing But...

Losing at anything pretty much hurts if your heart is in the team you support. I don't recall the football manager who said it now (I don't follow football), but he said that, "football is more than sport. Its a religion." Here in Wales, we can say the same about rugby, indeed some would say its our national sport. We do have those strange people who prefer football (and I mean that light heartedly), but as a rule, rugby is where its at.
So you can imagine how many sad faces awoke on Saturday after losing to our age old rivals England the previous night (oh and for the record, I still cannot get used to Friday night rugby internationals). It stung that bit more too, especially after playing well in the first half and going into the second as the team with more points on the board. I thought we had the beating of them. I was confident the dragon would emerge victorious but alas when the final whistle blew, the score was Wales 16 England 21, and a nation was left either drowning our sorrows or having a little banter via Twitter and Facebook. Social media has made losing a nightmare because whereas before the internet, we only had work mates to face on a Monday morning, the joys of winning and sadness of losing is instant.
But lets not lose heart over it, afterall its only sport, not war. Nobody is dying here, there are worse things going on in this often cruel world.
Sure I would feel different had Wales won. As a passionate Welshman supporting our national team, I would be bouncing off the walls and gloating on Twitter like the English fans were doing (and good for them), but it doesn't hurt to be on the losing side once in a while. It keeps everything in check, proving nothing is immune to life's bitter blade. Safe to say that I would be extremely wary and nervous were I to ever meet someone/something that was forever winning. Success at every turn might sound like a grand old time but it would create such a fierce arrogance that no mortal could have it and not be corrupted in some terrible way. Perfection? Blessed? That way lies danger.
Anyway before I start wading into a different territory, I shall end by saying defeat might leave a sour taste in ones mouth, and will certainly dampen spirits for a while but with everything else going on in this world, losing at a sport should be the least of our worries.
Lose and learn from it. Oh, and *grits teeth* well played England.

Auld Hamish Went Away

Prime Minister makes heartfelt speech

Its all been said before. Politicians, singers, actors, bloggers, even the shy walking-the-dog types who do little more than gaze out at the seas, minds content in a happier place. So Dai Jakes will cast his shilling into the cap as well. This week Scotland votes yes/no to Independence which will herald a new 'dawn' for Great Britain. We will all be affected: Wales, England, Northern Ireland, not just the Scots (and by the way, it is Scots and not "Scotch" as some (usually foreigner) have written. Scotch is a drink).
Now as a proud Welshman, and 100% Celt, one would think I'd be up for this Independence lark. Who knows? If it worked out for Scotland, then us Welsh could try it too and in my heart it all sounds grand. Its perfect in fact, I can feel my Welsh soul dance with the music it was born with.
But alas my head thinks opposite. My mind is filled with doubts and what ifs? and is weighed down by the simple fact that should Scotland choose to break from the union, hundreds of years of history will be shattered. Not forgotten, or cast away like some moth eaten rug but definitely shattered.
We have defended this great island for over a thousand years as one, and during two world wars our fathers and grandfathers fought not as Scos or Welsh but as British. We were, we are Great Britain, stronger and better together. There is too much risk in splitting such a wonderful nation who lets not forget has given the world so much.
As Stephen Glover writes today in the Mail Online:

"I know I will grieve on Friday morning if my country, Britain, has been voted out of existence. Millions of people will feel likewise. The end of the nation that has done more than any other to shape the modern age, and saved the free world as recently as 1940, is really too big an idea to get one’s mind around."

I 100% agree with Mr Glover in this. Our tabloids speak of a 'Broken Britain'? Come the end of this week, and should Scotland go its own way, then we shall know of a broken Britain. And I for one will mourn for it.

Local Christmas Events

Courtesy of Ava McGill (Pembrey & Burry Port Community forum (Facebook)


Without wanting to sound all "Bah Humbug" I was beginning to think that the Christmas spirit had been lost (reading too many Daily Mail stories about the PC brigade banning Christmas trees or hooligans thieving from charity buckets will do that to you). But Facebook of all things has restored my faith in the silly season. There are some wonderful events happening all over Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire over the next few weeks, and seeing photos of the Burry Port Christmas market yesterday on the old chopsbook (that could be a Welsh version of Facebook) was great.

Fancy experiencing some local festive fun? Visiting west Wales and want to see how locals roll? (I believe that's what hip Americans say). Allow Mr Jakes to point you in the right direction (and the following events are just a handful of whats going down, there is much much more (check local event listings such as our friends Best of Carmarthenshire website).


11 December: Christmas fayre at Picton Centre (Picton centre, Haverfordwest)

14 December: Narberth winter carnival

14 December: Christmas Fayre Llandovery

16 December: Christmas Fair - Mynydd y Garreg (lifelong home of rugby legend Ray Gravelle)

18 December: Christmas Concert in Nantgaredig

18 December: Christmas Concert in Glangwili (to raise funds for the neonatal unit at hospital)

The Cravings Of A Welshman

Oh rampant pains
of a drunken Welshman
as he prowled the streets
for a simple Englishman.
To pick his bones
and lob the stones,
into pools of choir
as Myfanwy groans.

The ale and laver
does hwyl his soul,
from Felinfoel
to fields of coal.
On Burry Port
and Pembrey shores,
the Welshman
knows his cockle chores.
Gwenllian walks in Kidwelly mun,
without her head,
beyond the sun.

Cymru! Wales!
Where bards run riot
The cawl is deep
the lovespoons quiet.
Long he sleeps
on Merlin's hill,
the wizard's Welsh
stirred Bennett's Phil.

Dragon red
lift claw in pride,
three feathers comb
the pride inside.
No fear breaks
the soul of man,
storms lay shattered
by cwtches hand.

Wales! Cymru!
Ancient Celts,
mother's tongue
on dafodil belts.
Sing of old
as sing we must,
the Cymru tribes
of Swansea dust...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

Wales Opt IN for Organ Donation

Last night Wales became the first country in Great Britain to introduce a policy of presumed consent for organ donation. The Human Transplantation Bill (in Wales) was approved by the National Assembly (43 in favour, only 8 against) so from 2015 people who have been a resident in Wales (18+ age) for more than 12 months will have to make it clear they do not wish to donate their organs, and if not then consent will be deemed to have been given.
Now inevitably there are have been murmurs of disagreement, and arguments from religious angles but on the whole, folk have thought it a positive step with some doctors admitting its very forward thinking of Wales.
Dai Jakes thoroughly approves too; it gives me a warm glow inside to think bits of my body will be living in someone else after ive shuffled off this mortal coil (providing any organs are of use of course!) A final good deed and triumphant last hurrah of a life lived well (or at least as well as one could.) Why not? Im sure there are clever philosophical arguments to be made against automatic organ donation but when all is said and done, you will be dead and being dead doesn't require petty things as limbs and eyeballs, trust me on this. You will either be spirit or dust.
Still not convinced by the always humble Mr Jakes? No worries! This isn't mandatory, having an opt out system for organ donation doesn't remove any rights from you so simply opt out. Easy. I could stir the pot and finish by saying, heck if you feel so strongly about it, carry a card which says, "Im A Selfish Person And Don't Want My Organs Used After Death ", but im in a fairly jovial mood today so I won't. Toodle pip for now!

The Other Thomas

Poet R.S. Thomas

On this Good Friday, we also celebrate 100 years since the birth of R.S. Thomas, one of Wales' greatest poets. (He was also an Anglican priest.) It has been said that Thomas found communicating with God hard, indeed many even thought him an athiest but I think this is to miss the point completely. Read his works and you will soon discover that Thomas used his poetry to reveals his 'version' of God. A God that shows Himself in small doses if you will, through nature which was featured heavily in his beautiful work.
Work, that much like my own poetry, was not written with a solid idea or agenda in mind before putting pen to paper, but words and imagery that unfolded as soon as he wrote. What I like to call 'living poetry'. It really is a joy to read.

Night Sky by R.S. Thomas

What they are saying is
that there is life there, too:
that the universe is the size it is
to enable us to catch up.

They have gone on from the human:
that shining is a reflection
of their intelligence. Godhead
is the colonisation by mind

of untenanted space. It is its own
light, a statement beyond language
of conceptual truth. Every night
is a rinsing myself of the darkness

that is in my veins. I let the stars inject me
with fire, silent as it is far,
but certain in its cauterising
of my despair. I am a slow

traveller, but there is more than time
to arrive. Resting in the intervals
of my breathing, I pick up the signals
relayed to me from a periphery I comprehend.

When Sky Lights Scramble A Wired Brain

UFO? What I saw.

I am no fan of Star Trek and space capers so im not one quick to subscribe to stories of UFOs and alien abduction. Indeed much of it I look at as the crazy ramblings of drunkards and attention seekers, eager to find their way into those late night news slots after the important events have been covered and they're looking for light entertainment. Of course this doesn't necessarily mean I discard tales of "little green men" completely. In fact I honestly-to-my-bones don't believe we are alone in this universe, of course I don't, afterall the universe is a pretty vast place and there must be SOMETHING else out there, even its just different coloured grass. These has to be life elsewhere.
But I don't go around (like some do) believing that every strange light the the nighttime sky is down to E.T. Remember, the military have some pretty neat looking pieces of flying kit which can seem very alien to the civilian eye. Especially a civilian brought up on Star Wars and Dr Who. Imagination is a powerful thing, with no limit to the amount of weird images that can be conjured up. When the sun goes down, a science fiction fan can easily transform a Chinook helicopter into the Millenium Falcon. My minds eye is not as easily fooled.
However on the evening of November 17th, 2009 at around 11pm, I DID witness something strange in the sky. Admittedly one might put it down to the fact I had been at the scotch but I was not falling down drunk and seeing things. Also my wife was at my side and she rarely drinks. No this was something....different. If it convinced me it must have been because even when merry on whisky im not one to be persuaded by unicorns and yetis. As we both stood shocked, I couldn't quite orchestrate my thoughts. There was no fear (probably the booze helped there) and no instant panic. Just silence as we watched this craft hover for around two or three minutes. It was made all the more intense because we live on a hill in a very rural area so the only light came from this glassy looking beast, there are no other house lights, streetlights or traffic to catch and maybe confuse the eye.
Other people who have witnessed UFOs have reported hearing low humming sounds but there was no sound to this curious sight on a usually very uneventful Carmarthenshire hillside.
As for colours, I have always imagined UFOs to be neon green and red thanks to a spinning toy I had as a boy but as you can see in my shabbily drawn sketch (made on my computers painting programme) this one was mainly orange and yellow with streaks of light blue. The orange was most vivid and is most 'alive' im my mind when I picture it.
It disappeared as quickly as it arrived and left me, the cynic supreme, with a new appreciation of just how wild and wonderful this life, this universe is.

World Poetry Day

Its World Poetry Day today so thought I would share a couple of my pieces with you. Mwynhewch! Enjoy!


Dim Haul Dros Gleision (No Sun Over Gleision)

There was no sun that day
when four miners lights went out for good;
the cave mouth stretched into an endless hymn
as hawks and kinder birds carved the sky
to guide spirits to their rest.
Heroes of an unforgiving underworld,
the earthly tomb,
kingdom of the black.
While I and all of Wales tipped hands to God
four blinded roots were pulled
and the red dragon's one lifted claw
was raised a little higher in honour of the men.
Gartref bois! Home!
From the eyeless santuary of the pit
to the Valleys call,
our father's land
where you will have the symphony of a nation's hearts
to sing you to your rest,

A bydd yr haul ddim farw nawr...
(and the sun won't die now)

© Steven Francis poems 2011

In loving memory of Phillip Hill, Charles Breslin, David Powell and Garry Jenkins, rest in peace my Welsh brothers. Hedd Perfaith Hedd.

**** The Furnace Fields ****

As I close my eyes at troubled times
I am welcomed back to the Furnace fields,
that holy land
where wood fell over itself to be wood
and wild was the beauty like fires over California.
Furnace fields!, live long inside my dreadlocked mind,
grow snakes and newts in crispy ferns
to guard against the wretched clock.
Offer me a pond so that I may sink into oblivion,
flushing tyres and telephones from a plastic bowel;
bury me oh mighty field
let my siren be quiet within those fishy roots...

@ Steven Francis poems 2011

Inspired by the old Furnace fields in Burry Port

Wales Win (again)

WINNING!

Dai iawn Cymru fach! 2013 6 Nations rugby champions! Lets remind ourselves of the full time score shall we: Wales 30 England 3. The wheels of the chariot fell OFF OFF OFF lulz as they say on teh internet. Da iawn eto Cymru!

Happy St. David's Day All!

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Sant hapus i chi gyd! Happy Saint David's Day everyone! Mr Jakes will sadly be missing out on the Cawl because I had more than my fair share of the Welsh Manna yesterday (and Duw it was great) but there will be Welshcakes for tea and seeing as its friday, a few pints of Felinfoel Ale for supper.

To be born in Wales,
Not with a silver spoon in your mouth,
But, with music in your blood
And with poetry in your soul,
Is a privilege indeed.

Taken from the poem "In Passing" written in 1967 by Brian Harris

God bless St. David and God bless Wales

Dai's 6 Nations Predictions

Today is the start of the rugby 6 Nations! And first game up is Wales v Ireland in the grand Millennium Stadium in Cardiff. Dai Jakes wasn't too shabby last year with predictions so heres this afternoons score broght to you via Jenkins bakeries fortune pasties (good idea there mun!): Wales 19 Ireland 14.

Now let us warm up with a dance with Tom and Delilah. Mwynhewch! Pob lwc bois !!

Old Mullet Kissing Grey Harbour Walls

Burry Port, west dock

Returning to ones home town after many years abscence, and having very little to do with the place inbetween, is a very strange experience. One that was heaped upon myself yesterday when I decided to visit my late mothers grave.
I was born and raised in Burry Port, a tiny fishing village in West Wales, where everyone lives inside each others pockets, feeding off gossip like starved pigeons. The only Gods honest real smiles found there are on Friday and Saturday evenings, when the entire town it seems congregate in its many pubs to wash away the weeks misery and woes with lager tops and bacardi.
It was a wonderful place to grow up, sandwiched between a rough sobering coast with three sleepy harbours and pea green hills which serve as a dominating background to houses, chapels and parks.
There were many places to keep a young boy entertained; the Furnace fields with its waist high ferns, newt filled ponds and narrow lanes formed by vicious brambles. The old tramline, a path which started near the park and took its walkers on a honeysuckle scented stroll alongside a bubbling river to the foot of the towns protective hills. There were the ash pit ponds along the coast, formed by waste from a power station, eerie like the surface of the moon, white grey and pitted. Home to herons and weasels, with a little cove perfect for pirate boys in summer holidays.
There were a hundred distractions and I knew them all. I knew every rope swing whipping over nasty nettles, every ramshackled den, even the underground mine shafts I was not a stranger too. The very air, a mixture of sea, oil and earth, was comfort and thrilled my lungs.
But I had moved many years ago, and although Ive always wanted to go back, I never really had good reason to other than to attend the funeral of my mother, and it was her who took me back yesterday. Good mothers always bring their sons home.
It never occurred to me how different it would feel, how cold a town it had become to me since I last stumbled with earnest along its fine roads. The second I stepped out of the car and looked toward the old iron footbridge which crosses the railway track, and leads to the main street and its short parade of shops, I felt a stranger to it all. An outsider.
As I crossed the fabled bridge, (which had been a regular hangout in my teenage years) I was met with a familiar sight: Stepney road, which runs almost straight through the town, and pubs spill out into chip shops on the opposite side. The heart of the place, busy but not so loud as you could not sleep if needed.
I had stood on part of this bridge, many many times in years long past, like a hungover buzzard watching locals and buses run around in sun and rain. The bridge had been a stage to many pranks and episodes, many alcohol fuelled, others stirred by mischievious youth.
And now as I descended the steps I felt completely out of touch. I looked around at the old Smartiland sweet shop, and the street 'corner' where gangs of locals would congregate after a night swilling in the Hope & Anchor and other taverns, and nothing stirred in me. The feeling of this town being home had entirely disappeared.
I was no longer a 'local', I knew nothing of the gossip or petty scandal that was currently brewing as they do in small communities. Indeed if it were not for my distinctive West Walian accent I could almost have passed for a tourist, visiting from the Shoreline caravan park half a mile away.
I rolled back the years in my mind, to a time where I could have gone into any pub, shop or chip shop and been welcomed by warm smiles on instantly reconisable faces. People knew me, I knew them and everyone local shared everything.
Not anymore I thought as I made my way along Station road toward the Co-op supermarket, my one time daily port for beer. Nothing but groceries would be available now, and only pints at the bar would be offererd. Enquiries into health or discussions on town developments would be off limits, for even though I was, (and still am) a 'Burry Portian', I had a different address outside of the fold.
In the car park I looked around a final time and for a minute everything came alive again; lunchtime drinkers in the old Carbay club, teenagers diving off harbour walls and the black redundant crane, Carmarthen Bay power station, that mighty red bricked building with its three giant smoke stacks reaching to the clouds and July carnivals always with its fairy queens and fisticuffs.
Its all there in my heart and these memories will never leave me, however much I leave its tiny shore. Porth Tywyn yn fy enaid.

From Cymru to Facebook and Dallas

Cymru Am Byth

Quick foreword: this is going to be one of those scatty blog posts which hop from one subject to another like im juggling hot spuds. The mouth and tail and a meeting someplace inbetween.


Facebook. Most of the time its full of self indulgent status 'headlines' and " 'Like' This If You Love Granny " type garbage. Basically it is what you should expect from a website where the majority have nothing to say. Ever. Thankfully not everyone is a self absorbed twit and this is where the site becomes an extremely useful tool. Social media is frighteningly efficient at getting messages across to the masses and because its done in a fun way (as opposed to seemingly lecture, people hate that), the message sinks in.
Of course it doesn't have to be earth shattering news worthy of Moses. It can be a simple statement spread amongst friends, bringing them closer together. You might be already be aware of it but it doesn't harm to pass it along via Facebook/Twitter. Take the 'card' above that I spotted on a friends page for instance. How glad it made me feel! Sure all my friends already knew Welsh was my first language and that as an old Strade schoolboy (Welsh language comprehensive school in west Wales), Welsh is my mother tongue but having things like this pop up at random always feels good. "Dwi'n Siarad Cymraeg ac yn falch o hynny" Translation: I speak Welsh and am glad of that. And yes by all that is Cawl and Ray Gravelle, I am glad I speak it and God help us if this ancient, beautiful language ever dies.
Dai Jakes is actually teaching a few American friends some Cymraeg (Welsh) via Facebook. Oh aye, its a little wish of mine to be able to claim I took some diolch's and da iawn's to the streets of Texas and California. Mr Jakes the pioneer taking the gospels of Burry Port and Carmarthen to the busy sidewalks of Houston and Dallas bars! And I was all set to get my pinny out too but Ann Romney has already spread the Welshcake love so America has been spared the Dai's Youtube Welshcake Extravaganza (be grateful for that at least.)
Duw all this from Facebook? Where will end mun?

Don't Sleep

Don't sleep cariad fach,
the goodgly 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

Dear Rest of the World

More Bony Bum than Boney M

MTV have a new reality television show (haven't we got enough of these by now?) called 'The Valleys', and it is supposed to show real life here in Wales. Being a proud Welshman I felt it my duty to defend my beautiful country. Please world, don't be fooled! This show might be an accurate depiction of a friday and saturday night in the cities (and thats any UK city not just Wales) where trampy, self indulgent women and vain men wallow in fake tan and kebab grease, but its certainly not a true reflection on the rest of this country. And to think that even if a single person outside Wales believes The Valleys is typical of all Welshmen and women is extremely depressing.
Real reality check ~ most decent Welshies are embarrassed over this show and are weeping into our cawls that we are being portrayed as crass, lewd thickos who do nothing but dream of fame and fortune all day. One of the shows bimbos even admits that her boyfriend keeps her, while she searches for her slice of the celebrity pie. Another said, “it’s not for old people, for nannas and stuff. If you’ve got a bum like me, let me tell you it’s banging, so get it out.” Dear me, put the bony looking thing away love and where is the OFF button?
This NOT Wales. This is not real Wales. This a snapshot of the deluded minds of teenagers throughout Britain (and probably the rest of the world.) Watch it by all means, but watch it as it should be watched, like a piece of silly entertainment and not as a real glimpse of Welsh life. Think of it more The Hills Have Eyes than The Valleys.

Gleision Colliery: A Poem

As prayers are being said all over Wales for the four miners who died at Gleision Colliery, I publish my poem again in their honour.

Dim Haul Dros Gleision (No Sun Over Gleision)

There was no sun that day
when four miners lights went out for good;
the cave mouth stretched into an endless hymn
as hawks and kinder birds carved the sky
to guide spirits to their rest.
Heroes of an unforgiving underworld,
the earthly tomb,
kingdom of the black.
While I and all of Wales tipped hands to God
four blinded roots were pulled
and the red dragon's one lifted claw
was raised a little higher in honour of the men.
Gartref bois! Home!
From the eyeless santuary of the pit
to the Valleys call,
our father's land
where you will have the symphony of a nation's hearts
to sing you to your rest,

A bydd yr haul ddim farw nawr...
(and the sun won't die now)

© Steven Francis poems 2011