Horrified glance at your soiled sole,
A stench arises, takes its toll.
Victory march turned into dread,
Every step spreads what you tread.
Your bright day now fouled with spite,
Others stare at your sorry plight.
Unwelcome smear of canine crime,
Echoes follow every time.
Vengeance on dogs crosses your mind,
Embarrassment cruelly unkind.
Ruined shoe, your patience worn—
Hidden hazard in early morn.
Answers lost as you scrape and curse,
Despair deepens; it can’t get worse.
Dog owners’ sins you now despise,
Ominous brown that never dries.
Grim lesson on city streets,
Soiling steps with stinking feet.
Hellish smell that won’t abate,
In your nostrils, seals your fate.
Trauma from this squelchy doom.
Old regrets fill your gloom.
Never trust a path too clean.
Yield to caution, keep shoes keen.
Odds are low, but when you know—
Unseen turds can steal your show.
Reflect on every careless paw,
Silent curse on careless paw,
Haunted now by nature’s flaw.
Of all days, why today?
Eternally, you’ll watch your way.

Telling tales you’ve heard before, he holds the sticky floor,
Has to be the centre of the universe, and more.
For every single fact you state, he’s certain that it’s wrong.
Ready with a loud opinion all day long.
Empty pockets, full of brag, and always running late,

In every pub and on the bus, he’s sealed your weary fate.
Spilling half his pint again while blaming it on you,

Always got a "mate" who knows exactly what to do.
Laughing like a drain at jokes that only he finds great,
Waving his vape around the place to help him concentrate.
And when the silence would be gold, a treasure to behold,
You know his most repeated story has to be retold.
Standing there, he'll clap off-beat and try a clumsy dance.

Adopting a political (and soon-to-change) new stance.
Proudly offering his thoughts, a constant, flowing stream,
Insisting that he knows the truth behind the grander scheme.
Leaning in to share a tip with a conspiratorial wink,
Letting you know everything, he doesn't think.
Oblivious to the shared grins, the patience was wearing thin,
Confident he's charmed all the places he's been in.
Keeping life from being dull, a bore

The longest word is not a word at all.
It is a secret whispered in a server’s hum,
A ghost that haunts the databases of man,
Too vast for paper and too strange for tongue.
It is a formula, a chemical decree,
A blueprint, not a spell, for what we are.
One hundred eighty-nine thousand,
eight hundred nineteen letters long
A river of code that never meets the sea,
A serpent of the alphabet that has no end,
Uncoiled, to name a single, simple thing
That needs no name to do its sacred task.
It is the definition that devoured the page,
The label is larger than life.
But in the lab, for the sake of time and breath,
They call it Titin. Not a titan, not a myth,
But something quieter, and far more profound.
Deep in the muscle, in the quiet cell,
It lives, a tiny spring, a scaffolding of grace,
The smallest anchor in a hidden place.
It is the reason that our hearts can beat,
The elasticity in every flex and strain.
It is the silent worker, the un-thanked,
The humble engine in the body’s chain,
The quiet tension that allows us to mend,
The anchor holds things that must not bend.
So let the great word sleep within its file,
A monument to our defining style,
While in our flesh, the simple spring unseen
Does all the work its name could ever mean.
And proves the longest stories we can tell.
What is often written in the smallest cell?

In the hollow where the white hazels grow,
Yn nyffryn lle mae’r colomen yn nythu’n isel,
A name was born from the breath of snow,
Enw hir sy’n dawnsio fel awel ddistaw.
It rolls like thunder from mountain to shore,
Yn taranu trwy’r cymoedd, o fôr i fôr.
Not just a word, but a legend spun,
Stori sy’n dechrau dan haul a lloer.
Llanfair speaks with a saint’s soft grace,
Ac mae Tysilio’n gwenu yn y lle distaw,
While whirlpools churn at a rapid pace,
Ger drobwll gwyllt sy’n siglo’r galon graw.
The church and the cave stand side by side,
Eglwys a thir yn rhannu’r un llais,
One for the living, one for the tide,
Un dros y cof, un dros y daith.
Say it once if your lungs are strong,
Ond paid ag ofni os mae'n cymryd hir,
The name’s not short, but the heart is long,
Mae cariad y lle yn para drwy'r dir.
A village of stories, a song without end,
Pentref sy’n canu tan nos yn y glaw,
A tangle of letters, a curve, a bend,
Yn torri’r tafod ond yn llenwi’r awyr law.
They laughed the first time they saw the sign,
Ond clywodd y gwynt ei seinio’n gain,
Too many letters, a puzzle made,
Fel carreg wedi’i gerfio’n wnaed.
But say it once, and the valley hears,
Mae’r enw’n dawnsio dros flynyddoedd hir.
It lives in voices, old and young,
A’r plant yn ei ganu gyda’u tafod llyg.
No need to cut it down to size,
Mae pob sill yn rhan o’r wyrth yn llais.
It tells of saints, and storms, and stone,
Ac enaid y wlad, o’r tir i’r don.
Not just a name, but something more —
Mae’n allwedd i hanes, a’r drws i’r drôr.
The tongue may twist, the lungs may burn,
Ond mae’r galon yn cofio, yn dal i dŵr.
When strangers fumble on foreign tongues,
Maent yn clymu geiriau fel crys wedi’u hangori,
They learn anew what music hums,
Pan glywedant y galon yn curo’n gari.
Old villagers grin with knowing eyes,
Yn cofleidio’r enw fel hen ŵyl y wawr,
For every sound recalls the skies,
Pan adlewyrchir haul dros fryniau mawr.
Beneath each letter lies a soul,
O dan y sill, mae hanes wedi’i ffwrio,
A tapestry of voice made whole,
Gwehyddu geiriau’n fyw, yn ysbrydio.
Speak it once and you belong,
Un gair sy’n uno’r tir a’r môr,
In every heart it’s heard as song,
Yn curo’n un, heb ffin nac gôl.
Final Recitation
"Saint Mary's Church in the hollow of the white hazel near a rapid whirlpool and the Church of Saint Tysilio of the red cave."

Llanfair­pwll­gwyngyll­gogery­chwyrn­drobwll­llan­tysilio­­gogo­goch

"The name sings, the name lives once again, the name reigns supreme."
Mae’r enw’n canu, mae’r enw’n byw.unwaith eto, mae’r enw’n goruchwyli.

Let the *** be vast, a bronze cauldron for the gods.
Open the nets to the Aegean’s silver hoard.
Pull from the depths what has never been seen.
All that swims, all that hides in the green.
Dagger-sharp, the filleting knife is drawn.
On the block, the first of the fish is sawn.
Thick slices of ray, their wings like pale flags.
Every one perfect, no remnants, no rags.
Morsels of shark, a fighter’s lean meat.
And from the smaller hunters, something sweet.
Cut with precision, a chef’s steady hand.
Haul in the dogfish that patrol the sand.
Only the best, for this feast is a dare.
Salt of the sea still clinging to the air.
Everything briny, an ocean of taste.
Lay them in layers, with deliberate haste.
All of the creatures that glide and that gleam.
Crimson and pearl, a fisherman’s dream.
Heads of the wrasse, with their jewel-like eyes.
Open their jaws in a silent surprise.
Gather the gourmands, the mullet, the bass.
All to be joined, a magnificent mass.
Let the fire roar, let the water steam.
Echoes of sizzling, a waking dream.
Onward we build it, this tower of food.
Keep the skulls whole, for the texture and mood.
Roasted and burnished, a grim, grinning row.
All of the marrow and juices will flow.
Nothing is wasted, not scale and not bone.
In this great stew, every part finds a home.
Over the fire, the aroma ascends.
Leftover scraps from yesterday’s ends.
Even the leavings are worthy of art.
In goes the tail, in goes the heart.
Pour in the stock, a foundation of flavour.
Simmer it as a dish to be savoured.
All of the ocean, a tempest in a bowl.
Nothing is simple, nothing is whole.
Only a beautiful, glorious mess.
Deep in the pantry, a pungent distress.
Roots that are bitter, spices that bite.
In with the garlic, a flash of white light.
Mince the hot peppers, a dragon’s sharp breath.
Heap in the herbs that defy even death.
Yellowing mustard, a glorious sting.
Pound them together, and make the bowl sing.
Oath of a chef, to be bold and be brave.
Threading the needle of what we can save.
Rare are the spices from lands far away.
In this great kitchen, they all come to play.
Murmur of alchemy, scent on the air.
Mixing the common with what is most rare.
All things converge in the heat and the haze.
Through the long hours of these glorious days.
One final herb, a lost whisper, a ghost…

(Here begins the embedded sonnet.)
Strange herb of ghosts, a flavour time forgot,
In every kitchen, now a hollow space.
Long lost to winds on some forgotten plot,
Perfuming memory with its phantom grace.
How can a dish be whole without this prize?
It's resinous, wild magic, sharp and deep?
Only its echo in our minds can rise,
Pulled from history, the long years keep.
All other plants we gather and tend.
Reaching for something that we cannot find,
And so, a substitute we must commend.
Old recipes leave their true soul behind.
Maybe this honey can repair the loss,
Else we must praise a ghost that is not there.
(The sonnet ends, the free verse resumes)
Liquid sun of Hymettus, a river of gold.
In it, the stories of summer are told.
Thick and ambrosial, a gift from the bees.
Over the sharpness, to bring the tongue ease.
Knead in the flour to thicken the sauce.
All must be bound by a natural force.
Then, from the sky, let the second act start.
All of the birds who have mastered their art.
Kites from the cliff-face and larks from the lea.
Everything feathered and flying and free.
Capture the thrush with its musical throat.
Hunt down the blackbird and silence its note.
Yearning for flavours both earthy and high.
Morsels of fowl to be plucked from the sky.
Every small sparrow, each finch and each wren.
Nestled together, again and again.
On with the pigeon, the dove, and the quail.
Keep the wings crispy, along with the tail.
In goes the woodcock, a prize for a king.
Capture the starling and make its fat sing.
Hurl in the rooster, his crimson comb bright.
Let him surrender his fire and his light.
Everything roasted, and basted, and browned.
Piled on the platter, a glorious mound.
In with the dabchick that dives in the lake.
**** the small plover, for comedy’s sake.
Oh, what a noise as the diners all cheer!
See the great dish, banish all of your fear.
See how it steams, how it calls you to dine.
You will be part of this wondrous design.
Pour out the wine, let it flow and run free.
Here is a feast for the whole world to see.
Open your mouths for this riot of things.
Pluck out a morsel of crispy-fried wings.
Have you the stomach? Have you the soul?
All of creation inside one bowl.
Taste what the earth and the sky, and the sea gave.
Taste of the hunter, the fool, and the knave.
Oh, but we’re not finished yet, not at all.
Prepare for the final, the curtain-call.
Every last creature must answer the call.
Roasted or boiled, they will give their all.
In with the rabbit, the swift-footed hare.
Skinned and then jointed with delicate care.
Tenderly stewed till it falls from the bone.
Everything gathered, and everything known.
Rooster and pigeon, and partridge and goose.
All are now one; there is no more excuse.
Let the last bird, the great eagle, descend.
Even the king of the sky has to end.
Kettle-drum beat of a heart in a chest.
Torn from the air to be put to the test.
Roasted so slowly, its flesh must be sweet.
Yielding its power, a glorious meat.
Only its head, as a crown, will remain.
Neck-deep in gravy, a glorious stain.
Open the wine-skins, the red and the white.
Pour out a river of drunken delight.
Toast to the chef, to his madness, his art.
Every ingredient plays its part.
Kiss the hot rim of the bowl and then sip.
Every flavour alive on the lip.
Praise this mad soup from its top to its base.
Heaven and earth in a singular space.
All that was chaos is now brought to heel.
Lick the spoon clean, for this madness is real.
Let the world watch as we finish the feast.
Inside the belly of this hungry beast.
Oh, what a triumph! What glorious fun!
King of all dishes beneath the hot sun.
Infinite textures, a symphony bright.
Glory and gluttony, shadow and light.
Keep on devouring, don’t ever say when.
Let us be animals, not mortal men.
Open your soul to this beautiful sin.
Praise this great dish, where all journeys begin.
Endless delight from the fin to the feather.
Let us all eat of this madness together.
Everything is bound by the fire and the ***.
In this one moment, it’s all that we’ve got.
Oh, the grand taste of it all, bold and new.
Luscious and tender, the hare in the stew.
All of its wildness is tamed by the heat.
Gamey and rich, a magnificent treat.
Oozing with juices, a flavour so deep.
In the hot broth where the best secrets sleep.
Only the bones will be left on the plate.
Syrup of wine, boiled down, sealed by fate.
In it, the memory of sun-ripened vine.
Reducing to a glaze, a dark, sticky line.
All of its sweetness, a finishing touch.
In this great dish, it can never be much.
Over the meat, let it drizzle and fall.
Bathing each morsel, embracing it all.
All of the flavours are now locked in its shine.
Perfect and precious, a flavour divine.
Honey and wine, in a final embrace.
Every last corner and every last space.
Toasted and crispy, the skin and the wing.
Ready to crunch, and to crackle, and sing.
All of the textures, the soft and the hard.
Garnished with herbs from the palace’s yard.
All is now ready; the work is complete.
Now, let us sit. Now, my friends, let us eat.
Open the gates! Let the hungry descend!
Praise this great dish, from beginning to end.
This is not food, but a legend, a song.
Everything right that has ever been wrong.
Raise your forks to the sky and give praise!
You will remember this feast for all days.
Glory to madness, to hunger, to rhyme.
Oh, what a glorious waste of our time.
Now, not a sound but the scrape of a spoon.

Particles drifting
Nestled inside lung branches
Each breath digs deeper
Unseen crystals cling
Microscopic volcanoes
Overtake the light
Nature’s cruel design
Oxygen choked by silence
Unwilling exile
Light no longer moves
Through the smoke that thickens fast
Roots rise in the dust
Air, a hidden war
Minerals without mercy
Invasive and cold
Cough becomes a bell
Ringing down deserted halls
Of abandoned lungs
Scorched from the inside out
Cell by cell, the fire spreads
Over time’s quiet
Pulmonary ash
Internal avalanches
Crashing into unseen cliffs
Slow suffocation
In a breath that once meant life
Lost in the stillness
Inside, silence falls
Calcium ghosts taking hold
Over broken air
Violent and still
Yet ominous, it lingers on
Like snow in the chest
Coarse grains carve the dark
Afterthought of ancient flame
Never washed away
Over time, it sleeps
Coiled like smoke in the chimney lungs
Only dust remains
Numb to healing hands
Iron cannot clear the soot
Over and over
Something permanent
It is written in every breath
Stone lungs, soft no more