A ravaged beauty -
long threatened tired life,
riding appreciated*  


Friday’s  off-road cycle ride started late with a heart-choking chill head-wind blown rain - blurring my glassed vision, so I trusted into the triple lanes of colours slicing through the Vale of Neath.   Here a builder’s ladder jumped boomeranging off it's white van - attempting to decapitate me - behind me it’s miss was announced by squealing brakes and crunching impacts,  scaring alive splattered visions of a flat-end and being posted within a near drain.     Surviving today's devilled ribbon of the dangerous windscreen imprisoned - sitting with pub bound murderous cohorts - I found off-road safe solitude’s mountain bike path East to Coelbren - joining new, a fine yet unsigned cycle route curling around Mynydd y Drum, to open views of Cwm Tawe as I pass hunting twisting through woods a single Red Kite.   Then  gravities speed, circles barriers into Ystradgynlais top - a narrow ribboned descent, hemmed by cars and paved children to the rugby fields.

Senses travelogue -
previously un-experienced,
time spins slower

Here the trails old section points to Swansea - winding lost betwixt fields, paths, trees and roads to Cwmtawe Cycleway proper, there to pedal beside and across Afon Tawe with repeated special offers of  child saddled exhaust roaring  kamikazes, bicycle maiming broken glass, proudly owned attack dogs, branch hung ball-sacks of excrement, visions of the lost ripped-away steel gated stops, hacked-off wooden fences and never-there deceitful dreams of red doggy bins all disguised what passed for hidden beauty, which he called lovely ugly.    *Backing-into Pontardawe to crawl away below the dark bridge,
past a single inviting  pub - I accompany the Tawe and it's twin a decrepit polished canal
through ***** alleys - until our hero stutters, gapes then tunnels under
great noisious noxious ribbons of hurtling tired....

Pressured paced life -
impossible  commitments,
Living organic

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Springs cut Irises -
dripping vital red not purple,
far from my window


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The handsome man entered the Pub hand-in-hand with his father, then sat in the far corner ******* his thumb and humming, whilst the chocolate ice cream he had demanded from Daddy was ordered.

Us regulars hid our sadness by quaffing our brown pints of Rev.James and keeping up the joking banter.
Then, came his mumbled song.....

“Balll uut eass swept -
Chimrrrrr, Chiirriica,
war is never won”

Church quiet, the village pub listened lips clamped tears swelling

“***** cut swapped with eyes -
Chimerica, Chimerica,
war is never won”

As Steve, a veteran and hero of two tours in Afghanistan,
regressed further into childhood...



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Globalisation - orchestrated profiteers, betting our losses


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