Peter J 5d
Am I the only one
who thinks she wrote
that for me.
Am I the only one
who looked among her words
yet struggled to find their reflection.
Am I the only one she wrote?
That now I see her kneeling
among the soft ruins of Capel y ffin
nestled among a bosoms heave
that lays halfway through a dark
Dyffryn Ewias.
Am I that only one
who sits among his darkest keys
then fails to unlock this quivering wing.
And all things become known to me,
as stealing Crows flock to the moon
Later they returned without their plunder
only to find my thirst had been quenched by my ignorance and the black return of her hand.
#tales from the ty bach
Peter J 6d
I don’t like analogies
Even though my life is much like a piano played in an empty room.
I neither use comparisons
Even though I compare everything and everyone to you.
I’m not judgmental
Even though I know you didn’t mean to hurt me or so I hope.
And I don’t light Roman Candles
Even though one explodes inside me  every time I see your name or read your words.
#like a wandering minstrel 1 sing and I’m gone.
Peter J Oct 1
In dreams
Part sleep, part awake,
my alters, my graves, my kingdom, a white soldiers grave,
so white so still so becalmed amongst a forest of grey stone
that never grows nor listens to the drowned in their slow sad sail.

I dreamt,
Part sleep, part awake,
Turnstiles, corn fields, jackdaws, people shuffling behind a leaning coffin toward the slopping church at Mwnt and I was alive for the day and my breast heaved at the red path that led to the sea

I repose,
Part sleep, part awake,
my words, the brown owl that hunts, a raging sea.
Granite men with slate chiseled chin sang of worship and the death of a child first born, crucified fastened to his cross with nails for our sins.
And there in the Church whose bell no longer rings the sabbath.
Where doors no longer open for the wicked who in their confusion knows the only way out is between the trees and the calendar days that turn slowly and one finger is never enough for the school yard boy that tell tales over a stollen cigarette.

I dream my dreams with a shadowed echo born from yesterday's life, my escape from a woman's luck and slashed down tales of double timed leaves that fall as I slumber.
For when I awoke this mornings dream, I was alive.
A Welsh weekend away.
Peter J Sep 19
Were I blind that I no longer
see the shape of my mountain,
Its silhouette as it curtain’s
a crimson falling sun.

Were I deaf that I no longer
heard a chapel bell that ring’s through
my valleys or song birds that serenade
lovers who lie in wild flowered fields.

Or should I loose all my senses that
I no longer catch the scent of wild Anemone,
taste wild mint nor warm summers rain
as it run’s down your salted thighs.

Should I retain all my senses and memories
so I could never forget your freckled face
your curled red hair, your soft white skin
You would know by my touch rwy'n dy garu di.
Peter J Sep 13
Behnaz Akhgar said yesterday
that today would be cooler
A weather front edging in
from somewhere far out east.
The ancient garden trees
their leaves starting to turn
are covered with lichen
a sure sign the air as been
good this year.
This early nine month Sun
that is blazing down on this early
nine month morn fails
in its attempt to bring warmth,
while the garden is quiet all over.
No longer children laughing
playing around the pool
and idle chit chat from my family
that I only see at the mention of a party.
Late night music that lingered
long after everyone has gone
from those long hot nights
dumbing stumbling down
from long lost steps so close.
Forgotten is the aroma from
last nights bbq that’s now covered
and just stands there in burnt silence.
And I too stand alone in my quiet,
arms stretched as a great big bear
with a yawn to match,
my neck achingly stretched to my grizzly bear shoulder.
Hibernation seems such a fabulous idea
yet I can't help but wonder,
if bears sleep alone too.
#just a little doodle before I venture out into this September day
Peter J Sep 7
My life isn’t always imbued
With calm and serenity
Nor the bleak house that invariably
Submits to darkened nights that
swings as slowly as a lone child
With a bouncing ball.

My days are neither cooled
By summers late rain that falls
Slower than a widowed cockle
picker her back long curved
Who lives, sings her sea bounty
While her apron is brown and torn.

My days are grounded on Earth
On a sunny Friday afternoon
Between the barking of dogs
And the wind passing through
heavy beach that croak and groan
While my toes clutch to grass afraid
That I’ll fall off.

Today is such a day
For laying flowers on a grave
Wondering what the green object is,
that stands out more than all the dead flowers that litter my view.
Today is such a day
That my mind wanders off on Simone’s ample hair that I marvelled at before we made love.
Today is just another day
Where time is heavier than stone
And the clock rushes past the time you thought it was.
Today is now.
Feet firmly on terra firma
My electricity discharged
My energy flat
My batteries discharged
And Simone will have to wait another day.
#sat in Llanfrechfa church yard with my shoes and socks off
Peter J Sep 5
The dead cannot hear nor feel the shadow we cast
Yet they know this man of earth and earth 
His hair tangled blood in the wildwood of life
Where horned upon his brambled dance
Thighs lay spread, unquenched 
Waiting for their buttermilk fill
That in rudeness would blush a sullen sun.

The dead cannot see or smell the wisps of hay
Yet they know this bringer of seasoned chime
His spring whistled twisted dance is the wildwood of life
Where broken wings brought uproar at night
When petticoats were hoist high with reluctant ease
Anticipating their confessor to confess his delight
That shamed the cotton shawled ****** wife.

The dead cannot tell in truth or dare
Furred lips squeal upon some lashed young tongue 
Words that flatter then deceive the wildwood infant life
Thrown around as confetti but retains the bouquet 
Meant for a virgins eye and her wanton ****
She that became a woman before her time
Laid down on a grave and let the storm in.
#it really is time to give this stuff up...
Next page