No Rhyme or Reason
No Rhyme or Reason
Poems from David Collins (This time its personal……)
There was a young man….
(Who knows what lies behind those locked doors and curtains?)
There was a young man from Llanrummee
who died, all alone: ‘cept for mummy.
Nobody missed him.
Nobody kissed him.
Doesn’t that all sound a bit funny?
The Distirct Line
Ely, Newtown, Grangetown.
Roath, Plasnewydd, Splott.
Streets that ran for ever.
Names that time forgot.
Leafy roads in Radyr.
Gardens with a plot.
Heol-y-something-somewhere.
Streets that cost a lot.
Pubs that used to be there.
Shops on every block.
Uncle Alfie worked there,
down on the Dry Dock.
Trees that overhang you,
Sycamore and yew,
Give cuttings back to neighbours.
That’s what you can do.
David Morgan’s tearoom
Sasparalla bar
Late night food at all hours
Cardiff after Dark.
What’s that place in town now?
Where Habitat used to be?
I’m sure it’s now a bookshop,
though nothing there by me.
My Cardiff changes daily.
The streets look different.
Wow.
No Tiger Bay on maps now.
No Ian Dury Town.
Where’s Chippy Lane Dad?
I really have no idea son.
“My Kinda Town?”
I walked about my town today
Just home from the sun
Guys live in doorways
homes for everyone??
Shops selling pound stuff –
Them that was trading
Rest all closed up
Capital degrading
Rainbows on pavements
Diversity so bright
One way
That way
Have to turn right
Can I park here mate ?
Not on your life
Gorra use bus lane
Trouble n strife
Think I’ll have a beer now
£10 for two
Coffee in glass houses
Ok to look through
Streets with chips and new names
All set up for big games
once a year a Welshman
Nothing bout Wrexham ?
Can’t buy jeans in High Street
Dolce or Gabbana
Market stalls and pedlars
USA bandannas
Been away a short while
Covid proved a trial?
Home is where your heart lies
But , have you lost my streets guys??
A Lifetime’s Wasted Saturdays
How did this all start then?
Back who knows when I guess?
Fixture lists and cuttings chart days and nights remembered; but when did I obsess?
When did “just a game” become a job for life; with names I still recall now – as one eye blinks it by.
90 minute dramas. Across so many years? Why does it count so much still?
Relegation Fears.
Scarfs lie in the attic and programmes in a crate. Alston, Evans, Earnshaw. Names that never date.
A goalie signed my programme. It must be worth much now, with corgi cars from childhood and stamps stuck in a row.
Catch a bus to York tonight. February. See how long that takes you in the snow. It’s sort of three days on from Coventry. Then Leeds and towns you won’t know. Three days on from Saturday; a long day in midweek. Will Tony drive to Gillingham? Can I park at Leekes?
Red Button
Red shirt; car crash of a season. This lifelong ode that I’ve now told, shows little rhyme or reason.
Blind faith behind that scarf. You don’t even wear it now. Or the hat. Badges. That green shirt for a tenner. Write about it. You know you wanna.
And what if you don’t go today? Will drama pass you by? If that hot date doesn’t get it is she still by your side?
Oh mighty fate. What was your plan? To spend my days, in one long daze, just like my dear old man? Will radios and tv news break hearts as I tune in, replaced my phones and even drones as time prolongs the pain. It’s the hope that kills you. That awful hope again.
Monday, Bloody, Monday. We lost at home you see. Imagine if this meant no more to you and him….. and me?
This affair – for love it surely is – bears all the pains of romance. Jilted, tilted, left me wilted. But still, my gaze unwavers. She knows you know that bird of mine. Yet grants me so few favours.
So sons still draw on biceps, to carry on the craze? A bluebird at my funeral, tears on glory days.
Settle in your armchair if this tale is not for you. Me? Well, it’s too late now.
Besides, what else would I do?
Suzanne
I never got much as a teen.
Few gropes with busty chicks.
Snogged Shirley under Jessie once.
Took Debbie took to the flics.
But there was Suzanne.
There was space behind the dentist
if you knew the fence’s gap.
Stephanie was a good sport there.
Teen stirrings in my lap.
But there was Suzanne.
Pat, oh Pat. You slipped away.
Maria kept things tight.
Fumblings under canvass
too much beer that night.
But there was Suzanne.
I liked her sister too.
Glasses I recall?
Never followed that one up.
Ann from City Hall.
But there was Suzanne.
Probably a Grandma now.
Kids called Kyle and Jake.
Tremorfa girls, with hair in curls.
Few liberties to take.
…….ah, but there was Suzanne.
The Culture Club
A wise man once addressed me. Well, not wise, though we spoke. “Where did this ‘Diff’ thing come from Dai? Do people really say that?” All culture must start somewhere, he mournfully opined. They slap their heads on Sloper Road or when they drive to Swansea. Bubbles in a bus of pain. Is this that culture thing again? That slapping’s in the Echo now. Ayatollah, ‘alf-an-‘alf. The river flows. The long, long Taff. Past Radyr and Llandaff. Schools are all called Ysgol. The wise man heaved a sigh. He doesn’t get the Caerdydd thing; that seems to pass him by. Cardiff the Chameleon. All seen or just unseen. Pages of a history book. Shown on a Giant Screen. Press your phone to find out more. Take pictures of your lunch. A bloke you know is feeling sad. You like it on the bus stop as the 57 comes. Past the pub you used to use. Lager now not Brains Dark booze. The Echo in the morning? Radio all the time. TV adverts sell you bets; when would you find the time? Seren’s in the sack race but she doesn’t have to win, just hop, skip, jump and taking part, finish with a grin. Dad can’t run, his leg has gone. Pontcanna did his knee in. Ninian Spurs and Splott US. Trying to get three in. No one train spots now do they? ‘less they do it on an App. Referee just drops the ball, no more Up and Dap. Culture is as culture goes, guess what’s coming next? Drones above the Castle Wall? Plaid win Cardiff West? One day will be tomorrow. Did you see that ahead? Or do you pine, for long lost times. Back to the Future, Doc said. Days you knew were yesterday. A phone box on the corner. Ring you mam, you’re running late – the Capitol was shut. Walking home mam, me and Joe, its not far to Tremorfa.
The Dragon has Two Tongues?
Do you live out Ely?
or are you from down Splott.
D’you say “at Rhiwbina”
…or “Gorra.” Glottal Stop.
You Cardiff or the Kairdiff?
Down the City? Rugger?
Is how you talks and where you walks
dependent on each other?
A railway line divides our rhyme
so too does that river.
Plasdŵr, Pontprennau, Canton, Docks
Why we speak with different spokes?
Social class dictates our lingo?
Golf at Radyr or Splott Bingo?
What a mix we are together.
Cymru am Byth or Cum on Wales
Langwidge and that accent.
Broken bottle tongue.
Our enchanted city
Divided.
But as one.
10/3
The finest sight
Is that a liner rising, rising up before me?
The captain of a Welsh Armada fleet?
Smiling down, on Crockherbtown.
Greyfriars and Queen Street.
A silver dome atops her brow.
Aldermen in ermine.
Where dusty clerks still leave their marks,
The wheels of life keep turning.
The shadow and a princess.
Not one, not two but three.
A fountain and a fortune.
Such a legacy.
Figures of stone
Gaze timelessly down
Science. Music. Rhymes.
O wonderful beast. You stand for ever.
Through ever changing times.
That fountain I once fell through.
My father’s tie I wore.
Sarnies made by mother.
Friends I see no more.
If Cardiff ever crumbles.
If Grangetown turns to dust
City Hall will stay there.
Cardiff says. It must.
Untitled
I’m not really a poet y’know
I don’t even rhyme
Most of the time
Alliteration
That’s more me.
Pentwyn People
Splott-on-Sea
(There’s a beach there now
Bricks and mortar
Shingle and sand
Muddy Water)
Assonance, a rhyme gone wrong.
So said Rita.
Should I verse in stricter meter?
Limericks yeh
Line, line, space
But that cynghanedd ar y maes?
Rhyme with a syllable then repeat twice?
Random thoughts I’ve scribbled down
Scruffy tales of my shiny town
I rhymed my city
One long ditty
Old dark streets or gardens pretty
Colon or comma? Too much fuss
Once I caught a Cardiff bus.
It was orange.