Reclaimed Land (for Bute) #NationalPoetryDay


The pinnacle…
Follow the lights and you will find the gold.
A Severn wind rattles the soul,
Rain like pins my face a cushion.
Edifice a vision, wooden windows a fact,
a collection of faces glued in community,
Now divided again by scheme-funded foolery.
To escape is to renounce
Only with strength comes intrinsically.
As thrust upon pages turn,
A dying side street lives
on the ensign of principality!

Click On Cymru @orielcolwyn


Click on Cymru at Oriel Colwyn

I’m a Youth Worker for Conwy County Council in Colwyn bay. I’ve been teaching a group of 8 young people about Photography over the past few months as part of Cwl Cymru. We have been working together on their connection or importance of being Welsh. We have photographed in North wales

  • Betws Y Coed
  • Llandudno
  • Llanwrst
  • Colwyn Bay
  • Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
  • Bangor

We also took the group down to Cardiff Bay for a Weekend. Where we also took some photos

We have been lucky to get a space at Oriel Colwyn from the 11th January. Which we are followed by the excellent Tom Wood and Mike McCartney after him. So im really chuffed to be able to finish the project in such style. Make sure you check out http://orielcolwyn.org/ above the theatre and the great work Paul Sampson is doing.

Hopefully see you there

A5


———————-A5————————–
A poem by Alan Whitfield

A5

Sol closes to rest
its days work done.
across a green field,
its faint rays catch,
making my mind dispatch
back from where I ride.

Summers glum,
nothing done,
and then the sun.
We longed to the sky
and finally it shone.

The gray roads climb
tarmac sheen shines.
A smell of fresh air
senses a blur.

Treed hills like green cauliflower.
The Wilson falsetto gel,
eyes  well.
I’m in a place beyond singing
it’s so hard to tell.

The Bryn decline,
towards a slate mine
twisting and weaving
shadows go bold.

oh the sun, the feeling…

Reclaimed land


This slideshow requires JavaScript.

Reclaimed Land

The pinnacle…

follow the lights and you will find the gold.

A Severn wind rattles the soul,

rain like pins my face a cushion.

Edifice a vision, wooden windows a fact,

a collection of faces glued in community,

Now divided again by scheme funded foolery.

To escape is to renounce

only with strength from intrinsicality.

As thrust upon pages turn,

A dyeing side street lives

on the ensign of principality