I be Zakoor the bard I be
and Crowman kind of comes
to see
clad in his cloak
i call him “Noir”
apparently, he acts the star
in my opera on a hill
where mountain spirits
embolden still
a crazy world below the sky
where lots of different winged Gods fly
Dolgellau ancient town of old
where suddenly tornadoes rolled
Their jet engines split the sky
the poet tells them
which is why
“Noir” comes by, his ebony
cloak and eyes appeal to me
Leaping weeping a deepening gloom
Except their death won’t find a tomb
Packed in ice off to some place
To be cooked and served
It’s a disgrace
So many buddies we lost today
To the greedy nets
Now on display
Breathing it’s a criminal act
When born a fish how they react
Drag us screaming out of the blue
And cook us on a plate for YOU
Look out of the window
what do you see
glistening bushes
diadems be
a stillness in time
timeless and still
the bluest of skies
and the Moelwins that spill
their magnitude skywards
Dolgellau the town
in spirited light force
this poet is drowned
A White House of comfort
Awelfa by name
who sits on a hill
for that is it’s claim.
Imagine for a moment
The bull you think he doesn’t know
Your polishing up his living horns
It’s def not just for show
The ring is in his nostrils
Hurting every day
And they are using polish
To wipe the guilt away
Every tug is hurting
He is swallowing the blood
But does this cow hand realise
Caught up in his own buzz
So many of these corporate vampires all they know about
Is juggling with their margins
Screwed at every stage
Nutrition ha what do they care
Professionally their fights
Are with money masters
The supermarket chains
Best buy fresh and freeze yourself
And profit from those gains
Both male and female Robins sing
red breasted clarions
ecliptic ring
Cryptochrome
a magnetic field
an orange sigh perchance they yield
with solitary stature
ever tested
male is female brood on show
in female birds that’s if you know
ears apparently the worms below
Much more able than most of us know.
I am so on my own
In my cool mountain nest
Overlooking the moelwyns
Pitching with zest
Whose skirt of dark crimson
And great mists of grey
Look out down the valley
Below them today
History taught us
An emerald cloak
Resisting beyond all else
A wispy soak
The cry of the windswept
The gulls honoured scream
Boundless extending
More so than would seem
Histories trajectory
Solemnly sighs
The rooftops hang fire
Where mist covered skies
Evolve in their blissful and awkward acclaim
It’s the spirits of yesteryear
That knowingly name.
Ever walked into a forest
of the giant redwood trees
stood and cranked one’s neck to stare
upwards high into the air
180 feet it goes
Into clouds utter shrouds
1000 years it’s fought it’s way
out of the earth
yes all that way
The Pacific Lunber Company
decided they would log
all these years of history
Luna would
join the bog
that was until Young Julia
with guts and courage who decided she
would climb the tree 180;feet
and sit
Sitting there she’d be
imagine it the guts it took
The courage and the pain
180 feet into the clouds
she took the strain
the winds the rain the isolation
two bloody years she stayed
threatened by this corporate crowd
most would have gone insane
the courage and commitment
all her natural reserves
She fought off storms apparent
despite her weakening nerves
she sat it out remarkably
despite
the Lumber crowd
very little shelter
resolute and proud
she had no running water
no bathroom, stuck on high
up there where even the birds
preferred not to fly
despite the remonstration of loggers
down below
she fought off their resentment
and won the case you know
luna the tree was saved by her
a lassie built on grit
90mph winds on a platform
she did sit
we never can forget her
She the
the bravest stare
all that time she sat it out
up there in the air.
It came upon a Winters Day
perhaps from whom it came
who knows
the River Cherwell flowing by
and on the banks
those seeing
Cry
maybe it’s a corporate sin
fly tipping
its the biggest bin
of shit plastic industrial
sighting the contempt of it
and scum
curling lips and snarling breath
the despicable the meanest
an imminent death.
with the quietest hum
A murder in the vicinity
A lot of caring birds
Looking at the evidence
It’s the humans lost for words
Man Risks life to help deer youtube.com/shorts/yYTZK3H… via @YouTube
Courage clearly seen here
A deer tied up in knots
A man with guts apparent
Brave this man has lots
He cares not with a bloody gun
His own life in the mix
Quietly saves the wild Deer
Great some people have no idea
What great means
Three dead bears
They were living earlier
Probably said their prayers
Until this bunch of rough necks
Armed with shot came by
Very little tween their ears
And three bears had to die
Did they care about their families
Their environment no way
Three arse oles known as hunters
Burst on the scene some say
I magine killing elephants
Beautiful handsome souls
Gunning them down to use their skin
To make our bags
The goals
we score in a rich tapestry
Of wildness to the fore
Murdering young Tuskers
All that blood and gore
Hermes bags dripping with blood
Which the management ignore
who’d shop at their store
not me for certain !!
Love is the richest quality
Anyone can feel
Light headed floating in the clouds
It has such sweet appeal
Bubbling in one’s bloodstream
Reaching to the brain
Love is like a tidal wave
With everything to gain
Heads tied together imagine the
pain
Emotionally speaking Sheep
Their disdain for their keepers
The farmers
The rotten embalmers
Heartless soulless
Miserable rotters
Let’s knock their heads together
Help them see sense
These mountains have so much to offer to those
Who wander the paths inspiration just throws
Souls into believing the age old scene
We share as we wander to hillocks as green
Its so mesmerising the freedom one feels
The special awareness that truly reveals
Ancestral glimpses magical sights
Being up there observing
The myriad heights
Deep lakes and valleys
Peter Green – Albatros youtu.be/3oSlZMe2WIo?si… via @YouTube
Here was a genius
Musically
Great compositions
And consistently
Brought conceptual sounds
Into welcoming ears
A masterful stroke
I can never strut my stuff up there
but from my home I see
a massive mountainous gifted soul
that for an eternity
has been there beaming outwards
a mighty beast of rock
festooned with paths and waterfalls
and black bogs sets to knock
The stuffing out of climbers
A crack of the whip
The scream of a man
They can sense danger
Just cos they can
Evil and violence
It’s what’s they get
Beaten and tortured
In humanities debt
Imagine being a mother
As knackered as could be
Lots of piglets at you
Gulping hungrily
Laying in a shitty sty
Aching like the hell
Shitting where you are laying
Indeed an awful smell
The farmer is a violent sod
He kicks you when he can
You are covered in bruises
This is how life began
Horror from the first moment
Every flipping day
And when the farmer chooses
To kill you it’s the
way
A bullet in your fanny
It’s just too much to pay
Just so you lot can eat bacon
With chips and sauce
A voice from your past
May leave you aghast
It’s Rex now living away
In the high mountains
Where llamas and pan pipes
Are shared by him yes night and day
He doesn’t get a chance to
Visit
Rollrights or stone Henge for he
Is mostly now closer to volcanoes
Happy though relatively.
Emotions bring tears
To a true heart felt moment
Whatever it be
It’s a personal trait
It’s never a weakness
Just poetical justice
Not just any local business
a brilliant firm that will
honour its undertakings
its pioneering skill
will take on and will tackle
artistry in stone
engaging in true craftsmanship
thats heartfelt as they have shown
in walls and steps that they undertake
with mindfulness and care
tireless in their expertise
and wonderfully aware
active art embellished
with time honoured skills it’s true
heroic in the scheme of things
There that’s been my view
a harmony of consciousness
a partnership that’s strong
a talented local family
tasked with true aplomb
Moelwyn Bach – your first mountain? youtu.be/HUp4EDo9g1w?si… via @YouTube
I see it every day
It’s beauty on display
A magical array
It is there to stay
Colourful and rare
It’s waterfalls we share
It’s picture postcard scene
I can’t resist
The ennobled mist
It’s magical embrace
The forest trees
Have lost their
leaves
And I remember your sweet face
Its not yet 5.00 pm
the blue sky of today
that is now a dark blue
this is Nature’s way
of showing us winter
and frost of yesterday
that just about melted
and now it will pay
as it sits getting colder
all over again
the thrill of the sun
an enlightened refrain
the truest resilience
in situ it sits
as the ice comes to conquer
with irs Wintry bits
to cut into the marrow
to seer with the hoar
crystals of real frost
One best not ignore
Dewi stands out there
his neighbourly skill
giant stones apparently
a new step will
Be so much easier
for me to climb
to reach up to the sky
in the passage of time
GAP Michael Kors Super dry H&M. Hugo Boss
and fashion houses using wool
Our detriment and defilement
brought about by you
the ignorant and arrogant
who do not have a clue
you neglect us
You cause us trauma
And lesions, that are so sore
and it’s all to do with our pure wool
and our pain you just ignore
all around our tail area and
our genitals as well
And then running sores
wounded , we are wounded
it’s just hell.
In sanity and cruelty
we are the worst for wear
mauled and bloody savaged
By those who do not care
i mean what we are going through
festering by the day
exuding pus and maggots
As we slowly rot away
live lamb cutting is evil
unhygienic too
dysfunctional it’s true
we sob and cry
we bleed some die
infectivity
and because you demand profit
we suffer unbelievably.
the mountain ermine coated
white as white can be
Over night the snow has fallen
it looks beautifully
serene
a soft embrace
embellishing the scene
An amazing stillness
with the bushes outside green
vivid crisp and verdant
no snow here today
Dolgellau looks resplendent
in a wintry sort of way.
Ofcourse they a real
And they really feel
The external lives around
With fewer of them
Like a kind of gem
They sparkle so I have found
Innate wealth created
Invisibility
The woods
Become their haven
In the midst of time
They be
Rex Tyler is a Poet, Campaigner, former owner of an organic shop of 30 years, and Public Speaker living in Berkhamsted, UK.
