#Welsh #XXCentury
I was vicar of large things in a small parish. Small-minded I will not say, there were depths in some of them I shrank back from, wells that the word “God”
Moments of great calm, Kneeling before an altar Of wood in a stone church In summer, waiting for the God To speak; the air a staircase
We live in our own world, A world that is too small For you to stoop and enter Even on hands and knees, The adult subterfuge.
‘Poems from prison! About what?’ ‘Life and God.’ ‘God in prison? Friend, you trifle with me. His face, perhaps,
Dear parents, I forgive you my life, Begotten in a drab town, The intention was good; Passing the street now,
Laid now on his smooth bed For the last time, watching dully Through heavy eyelids the day’s co… Widow the sky, what can he say Worthy of record, the books all op…
Shelley dreamed it. Now the dream… The props crumble; the familiar wa… Are stale with tears trodden under… The heart’s flower withers at the… Bury it then, in history’s sterile…
England, what have you done to mak… My fathers used a stranger to my l… An offence to the ear, a shackle o… That would fit new thoughts to an… Answer me now. The workshop where…
Men who have hardly uncurled from their posture in the womb. Naked. Heads bowed, not in prayer, but in contemplation of the earth they came from,
Who said to the trout, You shall die on Good Friday To be food for a man And his pretty lady? It was I, said God,
Being unwise enough to have marrie… I never knew when she was not acti… ‘I love you’ she would say; I hea… Sigh. ‘I hate you’; I could never… They were still there. She was lo…
It was beautiful as God must be beautiful: glacial eyes that had looked on violence and come to terms with it; a body too huge
It will not always be like this, The air windless, a few last Leaves adding their decoration To the trees’ shoulders, braiding… Of the boughs with gold; a bird pr…
Like a painting it is set before o… But less brittle, ageless; these c… Are renewed daily with variations Of light and distance that no pain… Achieves or suggests. Then there…
Who put that crease in your soul, Davies, ready this fine morning For the staid chapel, where the B… Sobers the sunlight? Who taught y… And scheme at once, your eyes turn…