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January 9, 2020
Ceinwen E. Cariad Haydon.
I am a snagged stitch –
I tug my knitting
unravelled to shapelessness
I am a blunt pencil –
I chew my worn stub
taste words I might have written
Disorientated in time and faith
dementia’s eclipse casts over her moon
marooned memories sit misted by clouds
October 16, 2019
bell notes shimmer
hang in the air ring and rhyme
and shower shore-wards
they ripple out whipped egg-white...
June 24, 2019
When Pigs Can Fly
one day when pigs can fly we’ll be at peace with males
ancients who deny we are equal to them
assume we are weaklings
flimsy and frail men who
rap stale sexist jokes/with stings in the...
March 22, 2019
anchor him to his sour bed.
Outside, rainfall makes laundry
impractical to contemplate.
Once, he recalls, vigour flushed his limbs,
his groin, his heart. Now,
memories mock his jaundiced skin.
In cut-crystal glass, Glenfiddich
slops and doesn’t get the...