Tag: Photos

The Box

Couple Walking on Porthcawl Beach

Memories and feelings
All wrapped up in cotton wool
And bubble wrap;
Gently placed inside the box
With polystyrene pieces
And packs of desiccant;
Sealed and marked,
“Do not destroy,”
And archived.

For now, I have no need
Of memories or feelings;
Now that you’ve gone
And left me all alone
To face the bleakness of a future
Filled with sadness,
Filled with tears,
Filled with grief,
And uncertainty

Maybe, some day,
Our great grandchildren
Will look inside
To marvel at the love we shared.
“How quaint that they should be
Together, Oh so long!”
And give us pride of place
Upon their shelves
And mantels.

Or maybe you and I
Will reunite
To open up the box
And let the memories rekindle
The love that bound us
Together, forever;
To set the feelings free
To flood our hearts
And souls.

‘These three remain:
Faith, hope, and love;’
Anchors for this lonely soul
To which I cling with calloused hands
That long to feel
The softness of your cheeks.
Faith, hope, and love
That soon we’ll reunite
In Paradise.

Collier Lad

Dare Valley Country Park

Collier lad, where are you, now?
Now that the coal dust has settled
On this valley, that once vibrated
To the hum of pit head winding wheels.

Your lamp, extinguished
When the last seam came to an end,
When the last tram rolled to a halt,
And the last shift clocked off.

Fourteen, you were. A child.
But Dad was gone;
A victim of your valley’s success;
And no one else to feed the family.

So down you went;
Down into the deep, dark mine,
To bend your back and dig,
Like any other man.

Then came the closure.
Pit-head baths run dry.
And were you sorry?
Oh no. No more mines for you.

Just a wracking cough
That tortured your lungs,
And an aching back with black scars
To remind you of the life you’d lived.

And now, now that all the coal is gone,
Who remembers?
Walking through the country park
That once was colliery.

The lake, man-made,
Once full of earth’s dark matter,
That fed the washeries,
Now clean, and stocked with fish.

A park-like garden
Where wild flowers grow
And wild animals roam
And memories drift by.

A park, where once you toiled;
You, and so many like you;
Not knowing, when the alarm whistle sounded,
Whether you would live or die.

And you are gone,
Though memories linger
Of the sacrifice you made
To feed the greedy flames.

Sleep well, my son.
Rest your weary head.
And know that as these paths are crossed, today,
A memory of you lives on.

The Treasures of Days Gone By

In an age when we have been trained to discard things very quickly and replace them with something new, would it not be good to remember that the discarded item was once useful, valuable, necessary, even. Often, when we make a new purchase, we praise it highly, boast about the “bargain” that we struck, and tell others that we don’t know how we ever managed without it. So what changed? Why is a perfectly useful item no longer necessary? Like this door, have we forgotten its value?

Ivied Door at St Fagans

Old doorway now closed.

Ivied frame sealed shut with age.

It once was useful.

We were sitting at the picnic table, enjoying our lunch on a visit to the Museum of Welsh Life at St Fagans when I noticed this old doorway, surrounded by ivy. I was struck by the way the ivy frames the door, and the contrasts between the various colours and materials.

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