Blog Archives

Andromeda, by Guy Fletcher

31/12/2018

I stroll on a clear winter's night
to the sound of owls and the ugly roar
of cars from the motorway
which sliced the land leaving a scar.
My gaze leads to the white-freckled heavens
remembering I'm peering back in time
and through a telescope a view sublime:

Andromeda but 2 million years ago.
As I stare at the crescent moon and stars
I lay my own problems aside.
How much more wonderful is this vista
than flimsy material possessions
and feel the presence of a higher power
invigorated...at this lonely hour.

The Bore, by Ian Fletcher

26/12/2018

Back when I was a kid I
my dad always told me
I still remember the time I
there was this teacher who
that was the very last time I
I’ll never forget Freshers’ week
the drunkest I’ve ever been was
I was dating this cute blond girl
the first joint I smoked was when
we decided our wedding would
the worst job I ever had was
now that reminds me of when I
something similar happened to me
I was having a pint in the Lion
the best holiday I ever had was
back when I was a kid I

Notes from an Asylum, by Guy Fletcher

18/12/2018

In the Glamorgan Archives
I studied a book of records,
a time machine from 1905.
Photographs of forgotten inmates
stared at me with sightless eyes
with handwritten headings saying "Imbecile"
and it was quite impossible not to feel

a sadness viewing these lost souls,
female photographs in black and white
afflicted with "Acute Melancholia"
and "Mania", the notes
denoting their progress (or lack of it)
and not the language which the doctors now speak
so no unpronounceable words in Greek.

One thought she had known a doctor
for over 60 years although a teenager
and another convinced she was Napoleon,
some even incarcerated for epilepsy.
Oh, there were so many tragic tales
but all their problems have drifted away,
I close the book...but memories will stay.

The Ghost of Christmas Past, by Ian Fletcher

15/12/2018

Ah, that Christmas Eve
of so many years ago
when my brother and me
stared at our presents
wrapped under the tree
when our world was whole.

It’s Christmas time again
some fifty years hence
yet I think not of now
nor of things to come
for Heaven lies in the past

on that Christmas Eve
of so many years ago
when my brother and me
stared at our presents
wrapped under the tree
when the world was whole.

Cold Condensation, by Guy Fletcher

10/12/2018

On the cold condensation of the bus shelter
he writes her name and a love message.
The swept golden leaves by his side
are now coated with a hard frost.
He shivers but it's not just the cold
sadly remembering the times of old

and when he later returns
the message has disappeared.
Letters would have dripped with tears
as the sun rose, for everything
is transient and nature does not care
about his lost eyes...and total despair.

The Pub That Would Not Die, by Guy Fletcher

3/12/2018

How fine that Cardiff has the grace
to keep one of its historic pubs
unlike the Vulcan delivered
screaming to St Fagan's museum.
The Golden Cross abounded with characters:
"Irish Meg," "Billy Shortlegs," "Plymouth Eliza,"
and I wonder what these punters would say
if they were to wander around today

with high-rise buildings scarring the horizon
and The Golden Cross an island of the past.
There was many a fight on a Saturday night,
it stood near the notorious brothels
at Charlotte Street and Whitmore Lane.
Yet now it's far more sedate,
staring defiantly at passers-by
for this is the pub...that would not die.