A Poem By Alan Whitfield

On the under pass
Is this that beaten path
purple rich from a fox glove shine
Dance the story to tell

Lay there.
arms out reached.
mirrored its life.
branch tips like fingers,
Grasping at untouched wind.

The dying man of Dwygyfylchi
A numb applied Clasping,
yields the hill fall
Still looks alive.

Bees gamble the heather.
As the wind still in its blow
Around the cumbersome Gray tree
No heart just soul…


Author: alanwhitfield80

Hello! I get about a bit so here about me first. I am a visual artist and poet who works within the context of fine art. My work is grounded in documentary, exploring the inner beauty of everyday life through various lens based media. Notions of nostalgia and social commentary are present, but from a definite northern working class perspective. Instinctively I exploring the townscapes of North Wales and the North West, often producing work that reflects the every day minutiae of life.

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