John Rickell Poems

Pentrefoelas, pronounce it as you will
beside the road to Holyhead
a single arch across the Conwy
on the way to Ysbyty Ifan,
...

We had no plans except to meet,
a long time since the last,
caught up the news before we left
then fifteen miles and pretty flags
...

In the thistle bed
you play, dancing
rhythms all your own
no ballet pas de deux,
...

I had not known a day so quick
darkness soon upon us, the gate
sombre in its cloak of moss
tight shut, the latch wrought,
...

Squat Cathedral at the city centre
looks half finished from the race course
the Ure at my back forded by
a concrete ramp, for tanks
...

This the land of squires and spires
stone and brick, slate, deep eaves and thatch
stubble fields with open gates and welcome.
Quarries yielding ore and stone, soon for
...

We spoke each and far away
ether-wards our conversation
drifting in the breeze
guided by more than random thoughts
...

The view across the wood
so different from the spring,
cold and down to minus six.
Ferns have dropped their fronds
...

They wriggle and writhe
in the shade upon a bed of peat.
a humble mattress soft and warm
leaves for sheets, mosses for a pillow;
...

We took the table leg
set it on a stand, a nail at either end
and another in the middle
found a wheel from a pedal car
...