It sags, double crooks then rises,
Cleaving to North Gower flatlands
Else hiking to Cefn Bryn.
Past stints of ferned sheep,
Burred ponies and cattle,
Grapple horns on tarmac or
Cudding the gorse.
Moments from the brow,
Lunnon corner and,
Fronted by fractured, drab flags,
It squats.
A Shelter.
Walls of broken bricks,
Red-hued and pitted,
Bear scars of weathered age.
Ash-topped, stone ceiling,
Shields inside, defending from much.
One bus each day,
So a seldom stop,
Used more by flock than folk.
Daubed in aimless tags,
Ubiquitous scribbles of shallow minds:
Spider,
I woz ere.
A common sight,
A Common blemish.
But one side stands apart.
Framed by wasted rust,
Bottoming in green,
Easing through royal and navy,
Stripes of yellow and black,
White eyes, white wings,
Graffiti worth a wall.
Naive, but not.
Anon sprays play,
That charms with mellow ease.
And skipping from the centre,
Just three words,
'I Love Bees.'
About the Creator
D Hug
Writing poems inspired by anything and everything! The beautiful scenery of Gower and Wales, how I feel about what I see or experience, places, faces, animals etc. Anyway, my poetry is a mishmash but I hope you enjoy reading it.
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Llion the Brave Version 2
Her screams diminished as Llion was dragged away from the cell. The stench in the corridor was less but there was still damp, decay, defecation, death. His feet dragged, like a raggedy puppet, the guard either side of him holding him fast. He could feel their individual fingers digging into his scant flesh, leaving their impression on his bones.
By Rachel Deeming8 days ago in Fiction
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