19 Oct 2014


The joneses having been left behind

As the industrial estuary bloats

A concrete stent forced through the head

Neatly trepanning the prominence

commerce’s darning suture drawn tight

all the way to the Druids Isle.

Channelling traffic along the coast

past the empty beaches and shuttered shops

vacant castles and the rusty rides

Eire beckons coyly from the sleek flanks

Of seacats ferrying tourists away from this

Once mystic land, to a new Celtic frontier

waiting to be diluted and tamed by a commodifying tide.

Wales has withdrawn to the hills

treasures stowed in caves of slate

as her borders and byways are blurred and absorbed

Not by covetous kings or expanding nations

But at the hand of bannered modernity

With conquering flags branded across the land like sheep.

Longbowmen raise fingers in defiance

Yew hewn and gut strung

Shouldered aside by the concrete crennelations

Dry stoned and graffiti decorated

As the expressway glides by, 

services one mile.