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 

To Bethena

I missed your love and kindness,
your soul of souls,
but beauty with its assorted delinquents and trinkets
never fades or wilts,
and 'tho I nest amongst adders in the dawn
I am at the gentle mercy of you always.
Those eyes, that smile,
a face which had all the answers
and hangs forever, a portrait in my chest.
Oh to have known you darling Bethena!
To have held your hand
and walked with you, both poets on fire,
a furious blaze all together smothering the page.

I gaze into your eyes, those chessnut pools
and know what might have been
is happening now in the emerald garden
where your delicate touch is freezing the furies.
Bethena! Gone before your time
but time itself will be your tribute
as those you Love remember you,
and this ode, testament of your inspiration
which reshaped the horizons of a distant hand.
Oh to have known you!
But content am I to know that you live on,
triumphed over crocodiles
and sending Love in butterflies...

©Steven Francis poems 2010

Remembering you today, 12 years on x

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

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

The Song Of Heledd

My brothers were killed at a single stroke
defending the poor town of Tern.
The blood on the fields was as common as grass
and the hall of Cynddylan is burned.

** **

Cynddylan would ride into battle and kill.
His heart was as wld as a boar,
the enemy corpses were two layers deep
when my brother he rode out to war.

** **

Cynddylan he rode in a fine purple cloak
and he treated his guests like a lord.
Now his white flesh it lies in a coffin of black,
his life claimed by the vile Saxon hoardes.

** **

Cynddylan will never return to his hall,
it is dark, there's no fire and no bed.
I lie sick and feeble, and stroke the dark hair
that will never grow grey on his head.

written by the Celtic Bards for the Prince of Powys, Cynddylan who died in 655.

To Bethena

I missed your love and kindness,
your soul of souls,
but beauty with its assorted delinquents and trinkets
never fades or wilts,
and 'tho I nest amongst adders in the dawn
I am at the gentle mercy of you always.
Those eyes, that smile,
a face which had all the answers
and hangs forever, a portrait in my chest.
Oh to have known you darling Bethena!
To have held your hand
and walked with you, both poets on fire,
a furious blaze all together smothering the page.

I gaze into your eyes, those chessnut pools
and know what might have been
is happening now in the emerald garden
where your delicate touch is freezing the furies.
Bethena! Gone before your time
but time itself will be your tribute
as those you Love remember you,
and this ode, testament of your inspiration
which reshaped the horizons of a distant hand.
Oh to have known you!
But content am I to know that you live on,
triumphed over crocodiles
and sending Love in butterflies...

@ Steven Francis poems 2010