Tuesday, 15 January 2013


Still no sign of snow here so today we have a little poem instead. 'French' was conceived from a grammar article in a French lesson back in late 2003 and was published in a collection of new writers by Welsh publisher Parthian called 'Next' in the summer of 2006 and became the first piece of writing I got paid for. It isn't perhaps the most cheerful of poems but it creates some good imagery and makes us hope we don't end up mad. 

The mad people clutch their
Remembering where
Their treasures are hidden.
Chests full of felt-tip pens,
Golden buttons,
And virgin white paper.
Bundles of cotton,
Old seaside postcards in melodic caramel,
Chains of yellow pearls.
Fossils of loved people,
Swabs of fabric,
Ripped through clinging on.
In green chairs
They rock,
Eyes glazed,
Permanently still.


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