In celebration of the Dylan Thomas Centenary, Locws International are proud to share four public artworks currently on display in the city of Swansea, by artists Pete Fowler, DJ Roberts, Mark Folds, and Turner prize winner Jeremy Deller. For a location map and to plan your visit, click here.
All posts in Dylan Thomas 100
We provided two days of free Poetry Workshops for all the family at the Love Your Countryside Festival, Swansea. The festival was from 06.09.14 – 21.09.14 with events and activities spread across rural Swansea and The Gower. We ran our workshops at the two main events; the Gower Hub day on Sunday 14.09.14 in Bishops Wood Valley near to Caswell beach, and the Mawr Hub day on Sunday 21.09.14 at Garnswllt Activity centre in Ammanford.
Summer art competition for all ages – Entries have now CLOSED please keep watching for our next Locws competition!
We invited you to take part in our inspiring summer competition, to design your own cartoon drawings inspired by the writing of Dylan Thomas and his wonderful characters. For Art Across the City 2014, we commissioned New York artist, Jon Burgerman, to respond to the poetry and writing of Dylan Thomas, these cartoon drawings act as an exciting example to inspire you to start your own drawings of poetic characters.
We will make a selection of the best drawings to be displayed as part of a public exhibition in October 2014, to coordinate with the Dylan Thomas centenary celebrations.
There will be creative prizes for a number of the selected drawings thanks to kind sponsorship from Playright, Swansea.
As part of Art Across The City 2014, we launched the TAWE MEGA POEM. Inspired by the Dylan Thomas 100 centenary, Swansea and the artworks and workshops in Art Across The City, we want you to get involved in writing your own poetry to add to the MegaPoem. Award winning poet Rhian Edwards has written the opening lines and now it’s up to you to be inspired. The lines of poetry can respond to the previous line, be a message to the world, or whatever you think is poetic. We have received over 1000 entries to date, and every day we watch it grow longer.
We are looking for contributions from all over the world so send your lines of poetry to email@example.com and share them on social media #MegaPoem.
Here is the poem so far:
Baptised by Vikings and anchored like Rome in a brine basin of seven snapdragon hills, spills this marble town and city of laughter.
A pother of ship sails, a smelting brume, Copperopolis, coal harbour, metal morphosis to fire-clay, alum, tin-plate and porcelain.
To the coffee-ringed poems in the ruins and scrawling ashes of the Kardomah Cafe.
A fog sits snug in Swansea Bay Figures emerge cold from the grey
Shaking like fever and fearing their doom, Watchful of shadows in deepening gloom
But as the sun burts out the shadows sway, looking across Swansea bay
Their ranks slowly swelling as they follow a path that generations before them also had trod.
Some place to enter, enter into some place
Following a habit repeated down the centuries. Nature and nurture combining to guide them inwards.
High above the blitzed streets The winking lights of Cwmdonkin, Constitution and Clifton Row
Stare bug-eyed at passers by. shoaling on pavements, hearts full, feet dancing in rhythms of every emotion.
Heel and toe, to and fro, to the syncopating street bands of bus and bicycle, cart and cabby and their strident string and brass sections,
Twirling irreverent waltzes and impudent fandangos in the applauding glow, sprayed wide on wet acrylic pavements, of the sodium streetlights
Side step, quick step, dances in the key of life all twisted and tangoed along the fair-isle knitting patterns of their humdrum existences,
Cast readily into the burgeoning throng, step lightly on the mist kissed cobbles, trip a light fantastic from the hills into the valleys of
wobbly cast lines from fisherman hands lining up for inspection, be straight not saggy
Speaking of Vikings, Michael Laudrup got sacked. Revenge for Berserkers, long after the fact?
Barrage bricked, the walls of the River swell, sick no more
Nothing surer than taxes and death I sob uncontrollably as I take my last working breath
Sat locked waiting in Bath with a bubble poet pinching her snuff and the absurd, absurd drama of old age a mist cloud on the windscreen
Tick tock, tick tock. Wipers mark time passing, revealing countless clean beginnings as they obliterate the past.
Swansea Jack and Jill went up Townhill to fetch a bucket of water, mun
And Oer the crest o the ould train station was a pile o local vomit and there were boys on wheels, one had a tooth gone from his gob Grubby!
And den dere was an girf – a big auld girf – a proud Welsh girf riding up and high. All my eggs were spent but I didnt care. LLandaff.
Araf said the sign. So I sped up. I couldn’t wait to get to Swansea. Araf indeed you lovely bugger. You lovely bugger I repeated.
Big bloke big bloke 6 egg yolk – 6 egg yolk? Rugby is it? Rugby for breakfast.
There once was a fellow from Swansea Who dressed in a white and black onesie,
His missus said “Taff, You’re ‘aving a laugh”
And threw him out, now he is gonesie
Art Makes Children Powerful
Milky Milk, Mammy Milk. I’m yer Mammy. Mammy. Milky.
Swansea of seven hills Wales’ answer to Rome The bay is like Naples, it’s our lovely home
Windy down Wind St, whining ’bout wine Grey streets come alive, dressed to the nines
Half naked ‘cept tinsel, make up and fun 6 pints with me mates, 5 shots, just begun
What Hitler started the Council finished
when they ordered panzers instead of pansies causing chaos in the flower beds and annexing several roundabouts
before their mistake was spotted. Still, they’ll melt them down for plowshares, and order will return.
A finger-chilling morning, a blank Gendros sky, The neighbours’ black bags are piling, Past the Ladbrokes and the balaclavad children,
Paper-white clouds high in Rhyddwen Road, Past Caswell Beach, Liberty Stadium, The old man whistling louder than a gun
A rainy dark day in Swansea town and the wind Blowing everything around. Past the shut-down pub and the bright yellow houses.
A graphite-grey sky, this lovely, ugly town awakens. Revving engines, zombie-like commuters, tumbling leaves flying like graceful birds.
A stone-grey Llansamlet sky, rain picking at the pedestrians, Pepino’s Pizza, Teabag the tramp and the mitching pupils.
A nippy Penlan morning, the crumbling chapel, the spindly trees, the pea-green house on the street’s end to the towering Grape and Olive.
A yawn-filled morning, the familiar pitter patter of rain. A blur of fields, a flood of navy uniform, the mountain that hides the sun.
Pencil-grey clouds and charcoal tarmac. Past the lemon Volkswagen Beetle, the dead Redrow park and the ribbons of the Zebra Crossing.
The air is crisp in Tregof Village. Past the postman who walks across the garden, the potholed roads to the ash-filled steelworks.
A blinding, winter sun, a lonely park. Past the lady from the library, the over-flowing river, the moony boy, the estate where Kelsie lives.
The Llansamlet sun is drawn, the clunking train track, houses with ancient Christmas lights, the tattood folk and the sleeping policemen.
An ice-grey sky over Birchgrove, rain gushing down. Past the endless terraces, the Scissors Sisters Hairdressers and the wild gypsy horses.
A sun-stroked horizon, a bed that never lets go.The icecream truck, the flickering traffic light, the grey squirrel and the gossip ladies.
I eat my cereal in my own time for another day of bore. Past the man with no shoes and the jogger who smokes while he runs.
Runs to where? Where is there? Over by ‘ere he says with a stare.
He takes a drag from the dirty fag. Stumbles to a stop.coughs
Through Kingsway, one way, this way, to pave the way for more to open doors, brave the day, tired or fit, to air their graces&curse traffic
On High St. where the sister lives, a homeless person grumbles, bout his lack of baccy rolling skills due to arthritic manual fumbles
less than 30 yards away the Palace theater crumbles, perhaps they both should re locate, to Oystermouth down Mumbles.
A teeter in the terrace and a dream out of kilter, we lift steel from the furnace.
I made a Viking helmet from the fruit bowl and its contents but unfortunately it looks more like I have a banana lodged in my skull
I ask him again what the area out past Swansea is called but he just mumbles
Smile, while memories unfold before your eyes- people, places – all those faces – HOLD – the wave crashes round the stormy bay of your heart
When the elephant died the local shop sold out of black crepe when the elephant died the villagers mourned and mother Bostock retired
The elephant that died was bought for £20 They sent for help from all around Slaughterman, butcher, taxidermist and carpenter lent a hand
Between the wall & the stairs The elephant that died would stand For 60 years till the elephant that died met her demise
On a great bonfire The elephant that died was fried
Cline Gardens: giant rhubarb like elephant ears. Vaulting out of bog, positively prehistoric. Trust Swansea to plant its own umbrellas.
Clyne Gardens: mum tells me the red bridge is Monet’s, the one from waterlilies. I’ve always been so gullible.
A bold Swansea man Developed a plan To take an adventurous trip.
I’ll build a rocket from what’s in my pocket and things that I find down the tip.
He emptied his pocket And got quite a shock, it Held no more than loose change and fluff.
And an old polo mint, all covered in lint “I think I’ll need lots more stuff”.
So he went to the tip And his heart took a skip When he saw jumbled mountains of junk.
Old railings, and tellies, A pram and some wellies, And what looked like an elephant’s trunk.
He filled up the pram, With equipment and ran, To a shed he owned down near the Mumbles
Where he clanked and he squeaked, And he glued for a week, Until finally people heard rumbles.
His rocket unveiled, Pushed slowly on rails, Down to the shoreline at noon.
Climbing into the junk, He blew the elephant’s trunk And out came a wonderful tune
On hearing the sound, Folks flocked around, And asked him “Mate, what’s occuring?”
I’m off to the shtarsh Or maybe jusht Marsh He said but his voice it was slurring.
A lad said “You’re drunk!”, “No, it’sh the elephant’sh trunk, Blowing it made me quite giddy”
Let the countdown begin!, And he straps himself in, And jets of white smoke swirl about.
10, 9, 8, 7, He looks toward heaven 6, 5, 4, 3, 2 then 1
Ignition! he cries, And he closes his eyes, As he presses a button marked “BANG”
Now folk who were there, Do solemnly swear, They saw what I’ll tell you right now
That there was a roar, And the ship left the floor, Slowly at first, but then POW!!
At an incredible pace, It shot into space, And nobody really knew how.
Well this is a secret, Dear reader, please keep it, And don’t share it with anyone.
The rocket’s in orbit, To this very day, And it flies over Swansea at One.
Coke of joy that smelt the dream to untouchable lava, there is work that goes unseen.
Past the coughing donkeys on silt-slabbed Goosegog Lane,squirt 30 translucent eels with tacky bibles and evil intent
rain drops fell , lit our face with glee, ma has stories to tell delectable view to see, fragrance of wet earth is a jiffy of million worth
Stout calved shopgirls,2 Weights and last week’s Bunty,quiver behind vanilla nets that reek of hot Bovril and Icelandic Shag.
playing in the mud dancing to the sound of thunder to the nature completely surrendered season of joy and delight enthrall us ; lovely sight
fills a new urge for life to never lose hope after losing a fight a bright day is on the way after every eerie night
Sand singing, stinging in the salt laden wind, Resting awhile, then restless again, In its quest to find a windless haven.
Little did we know, all those years ago, the price this place would make us pay.
This sand is too soft for anger. These skies too cosy for rage. Little did we know.
And in the end there will be nothing.
In this back-street Sandfields pub I’ve just wandered into there’s a laid table with a tired and un-tiered wedding cake and a scattering of
guests who’ve just arrived. Two youths in a corner wear dark grey suits with white carnations. Some kids look bored. Light sparkles off my
glass as I pay for my pint and somewhere above my head Elton John is belting away at ‘Purple Heart’. Everyone looks thoroughly down-at-heel
and heart at this modest occasion. A regular sits at the bar scanning a Mirror as the kids grow more and more restless. The youths bring
over their empty glasses. The glum one’s the groom. The landlady yawns and pours him a short. ‘Iss a lovely day today, Stan,’ she sighs,
‘but I don know about ‘gettin married!’
Clout seam and ore, hand and horse, history of this city in sea, ore, and burning gorse.
I’ve ridden on a timeless wave, it took me all the way, to the open arms of Swansea Bay, where Salubrious Passage, eased my stay.
Behind Uncle Festiniog’s Emporium of Tiresome Epithets,debauched tabbycats glower into Bracchi bins for slippery fishtails of contentment.
Behind Uncle Festiniog’s Emporium of Tiresome Epithets,debauched tabbycats glower into Bracchi bins for slippery fishtails of contentment.
Crystal-white pigeons fly past the trees that no longer hold leaves. The stench of dirty old air as we climb the twisty hill and turn.
The damp threat of Swansea Town and the wave-singing sea. A distant tanker, anchored and mindful to the Mumbles rocks reaching out for Devon
An obelisk stands guard over a fury of gulls while the sea bleaches the shore and the kite-surfing frogmen glide with the buffeting wind.
Past Wind Street, the pig statue and the castle tipping over. To the busker strumming the two strings of his violin just like a guitar.
The old lady climbs Constitution Hill, half on her knees, past busfuls of pensioners and the two derelict nursing homes ageing side by side.
A sleeping estate and an accusing moon, past the graffitti’d Llwybr sign, the artificial ASDA green and the toothless monster car park.
Grey AM, past the windowed woman twitching her floral curtains, past the pale whiffs of weed and nine thirty doorstop tinnies.
Nose to the ground in Bryn Mill Park, sniff the grass, bench and shed, eat the crumbs, scare the ducks till their bums moon the air.
The water’s edge upon the lake So still a breath would shake it;
At my feet, broken leaves Spread like a promise,
And above, the birds in desolate call: ‘Where are you? Where are you?’
Grey pavings framed by greyer skies above: A pitying of turtle doves.
Taff river swelling, overflowing deluge, rescue boats in force on a drizzly St. David’s day. Daffodils swaying in the swirly, swirly gale.
The Taff gurgles and sploshes over Blackweir’s concrete basin and sill.A part of the river flows through the fish pass.
The sun sparkles like diamonds reflecting off the snow-topped hills far into the distance.I stand and look.This is my world.This is my Wales
The river washes a shoal of red,white and green fish down between the rocks in the valleys to spill out into the city on match day.
They split up, swimming in separate shoals to Primark, and the stadium,crowding under umbrellas,sheltering from the water that brought them.
Domestic skeletons, a pugilistic streak, and minor damage calls. Proper public stitches.
As a multitude of umbrellas sprout like a cornucopia of multi-coloured fungi protecting us from the seeping wounds in scar-slashed skies.
A watery history hoofing down in a horseshoe bay, spilling a coastal carpet of onyx seaweed, Granny’s Custard and worm casts.
Past the curling hill from Sketty, the Gorseinon girl in Taffy’s window, the wood-panelled Brunswick & Noah’s Yard with its swallowing sofas
Past Manselton Road for New Years Eve, turn of the century; my first and only photo of a firework blazing in a blacked out sky.
Past the Oystermouth Hotel, the Jack-packed houses and the Luftwaffe-bombed school, I stomp through Twin Town, careful not to stumble.
The lamplights are cooling, a fox slinks back home. I drive through a forest of traffic lights, a sea of cones, tyres swishing in the rain.
Costa Del Swansea takes itself for granted, fluid like the copper that runs through its veins. Sun shines, its people come out of hiding.
at weekend, to your gentle town, fascists armed with hate, sipped in your pubs, walked your streets, next time Abertawe, scream, no pasaron
Cut off from the golden, children with kites men digging lugworms, beach by a river of black tarmac Abertawe turns its ugly back on the sea
More milk is needed.
Past the rushing estuary at the sudden end of Ferry Road and the silent dog-walker is accompanied by her cat-sized beast.
Past the overgrown nettles along the rough path, past the colourful cottages and the stand-alone house that demands your attention.
In Swansea Marina, the sun’s reflection looks like a fire in the water while the crystals of sand are being washed away.
The wind whispers wildly in my ear, the pigeons hunt, the Castle Street waterfall glistens, the Swansea Jacks stone shines with pride.
Past the garden of daffodils and the bird choir, the crashing waves against the pier, Gwdihw Lane where the smokers hoot.
Past the mountains that pick at the clouds, past the butchers on Alexander Road, the Davids called Dai and the Welsh accents that boom.
Past the old lady struggling to carry bread, the abused phone box, the Londis off licence, the flowing trees and the blue and white chapel.
The sun is a spotlight, the dog yaps like a siren, umbrellas over wooden tables, boats harboured like sheep in a herd, amongst hilly waves.
Past the winking green light to Liberty Stadium where the Swans will rise and the crowds will roar like dragons.
Swansea High Street calls my name, music-filled to the ever-changing Bay of sandy children and bucket-carrying Dads.
Commmuters with their Costa coffees, Pound shops, two of them, the steps of Lazer Zone, the smells of pizza.
The simplicity of cut grass, the tune of cats waking, trees waving in the breeze, doors sliding open to a monk-like silence.
The road winds like a ribbon through the maze of houses in Cae Castell. The glowering buildings protect the town like soldiers.
Past the Bwlch Road Evergreens, humungus like giraffes, past the ivy-covered B&B and the beardy Rag-and-Bone man hunting for scrap metal.
Past the deafening drumbeat of the sports car, past Julian’s corner shop, the family of Daffodils and the gang of teenagers, loud as lions.
Past the swirling stream of Waunarlwydd Common, the waking pheasants, the buzzard sitting proud, heather bushes with no wind to be heard.
The wind whistles in my ear like a distant, gentle voice. I hear a choir of birds, a creaking of trees, then the accents of strangers.
Ivy covers like a Ninja, a bald man mows the lawn. The night-coloured dog misbehaves, children play with a ball of green lightening.
Past the retro sweet shop, Scrumptious, sweet jars in the window. Past the black and white hairdressers, past Yogi in Londis.
Past the red-brick boxing club and the sun- yellow building, the swishing trees, the toddlers crying to nursery.
Orange girls stumble down the steps of Castle Gardens, laden with shopping bags. Their bleached hair held back by their fake cat claws.
Condensation on the windows, damp grass, puddles, wet metal fences, the retirement home with smiling Grandmas, the abandoned church.
Tooting horns, beaming cars, flashing traffic lights, overgrown lawns, waving trees, wooden flower boxes, children screaming down the street
Past the bright lights of the fast food joints, rain flowing, past the Grand Theatre, the white walls of the IC2 and the excitement inside
Birds call at each other like alarm clocks. Past the stone-clad houses, the gravel on the walls. Poppies wreathe the monument like a scarf.
An icy breeze walks across my face, Glan-Y-Mor park awakens. I swerve around the monument to the Reverend James Pub, yellow as the sun.
Children hop onto the bus like bunnies,rushing for their beloved seats. We bump past the Castle Street fountain shooting from the ground.
The stench of Garden Village Lane and the creaking of the rusting swing. Past the curtained house, the rushing people and the eager cars.
A blue-veined sky, we go down the Valley hills. We see fancy cars, the Vue Cinema, kids screaming, smelling smoke in the air.
Past the library, the Canolfan Centre, the Gorseinon Aldi and everyone with Trolleys, past the cars tooting and the swirling roads.
The dark black sky bats the sun out of sight. We pass the Loughor signs covered in graffiti, the feather-hatted man and the chalkboards.
A sun-kissed day, smiles slapped on their faces. Past the white-painted LC2, past the seafront and the monstrous Grape and Olive Tower.
Breeze by my side, swaying trees, legs aching. It looks as if someone has painted the whole world green.
There was a poem of Swansea , a mega poem of Tawe, The Jacks did craft, a powerful draft of local peoples poetry
From Town’ill I stomp, my eyes drawn onto our bank of Swans, I m careful not to stumble on cobbled ski slope, its 5 degrees warmer down ere
Does Dylan deserve ‘dis? Does Dylan deserve dat? Defo Dai ,Defo
Townhill’s people Dylan assembled to meet Benjamin and create, remember and perform words for their own glory. Hallelujah BBC2. SOON!
The typically, happy Swansea man. Turkish barber trimmed eyebrows remove any Dennis Healey from his face. Silver grey hair trimmed 3 weekly
Minding his own jack business. I see his magnificence built on his neatly piled pyjamas
He smiles at my successes His still white, size 14, addias shell toecap dap collection, shares my wardrobe He d rather live quietly
Saw someone in Swansea market who said God I thought you was dead. I’m not I been there done that and chose to live instead.
My brain it has holes in and stuff it just leaks out, I forgot to but my name up there. I’m Sue A’Hern who chose to live instead.
Swansea, my first love, my first hate Every time I try to leave You pull me back into your jealous embrace
nurtured and grown in this fair city, much to love much to pity. how I love swansea city
Who knew what this town could breed but we all must conceed anything is possible if we truely believe
But what separates the believers from the non-believers?
Swansea is home for two different birds the Ospreys and Swans. Black and white, two different games, two different worlds.
Chess-like and clashing, tarmac and linen. Jostling, on wing with slow back crows.
Trawlers sail into the docks at dawn under the watch of Kilvey Hill.
Outward bound the sails go by sailing on with out a glance towards the shore.
The great swan of Swansea pecks out my feeble eyeballs in loving fashion and steals my creamy ice-cream with pure fashion.
and we all stand together
The sea as silk wraps round me smoothing my skin
turn to say something clever, now wine is in my weather, no press for sure, cast this weak line to sink or swim.
the swan of seas, the sea of swans? thou art confused at the sea of nothingness the empty pit which lies before me
Shall we cast ourselves into this vast sea of forgetfulness? Here dolphins glide and Mermaids play within Swansea’s eternal bliss.
Confirms only a fraction, corroborates in silence I was here, Like lights on the hill.
Do you Intrigue Console Interest Or merely confirm my existence.
Miscellaneous necessary equations, form only some of the parts.
They tell me Swansea cemeteries are full, Bury me standing up – save room, was good enough when I was alive.
Kilvey Hill looks down on events Industry done it’s worse and moved on. In the soil lay childhood memories of making dens and having fun.
Let’s all wander through the market, a bag of cockles in hand. Through the town and across the Mumbles Road, to build castles in the sand.
To the Pump House, where once was a blue bridge over the Marina. Where Dylan sits outside the pub, wishing he could order a beer.
`coffee-ringed poems or beer-ringed poems or what else would be on order outside the pub?
Cast adrift your thoughts and look out over the bay, see the breathing town, awash with possibilities and the sea stretches on for miles….
Everywhere I look there is, new art high and low, Cardboard heads and giant text, everywhere I go,
Only the heart holds memories, only the mind regret. Love is ever a stranger ill met.
let the rain wash over me and set me free..lets enjoy the art across this great City
I like Swansea because you can play Rugby. Rugby is a fun. I like to play in the sun.
I LIKE TO PLAY IN THE PARK IN THE DARK
HAVING ICE CREAM IS MY DREAM!
Seas of utopian futures collide, mesmerised by the glint of an eye, surely resides for ever amid the Swansea skies
days out in the swansea sun, having fun, playing in the sea and chasing all the bees
I like to watch the boats in the marina as they float float float.
Swansea city are the best they play foot ball then have a rest
I like the beach at Swansea bay, I go there with my friends to play.
having ice cream on the beach and playing in the sand making castle
swansea museum is a great place to be, hope you have as much fun as me.
We just met Dylan Thomas. Swansea is still the best place 🙂
The Mughal family – Having a great time in Swansea. Luton.
do not go gently into that good night
we came to see some monkeys in plantasia, they were cheeky just like me
On a lovely day at the Marina looking at the boats the sun is shining 🙂
Getting ready to go in the sunshine
looking for the hills to drop in on my longboard for a long speedy trip
the days are long for skaters but are short for everyone else.
boat trips will be great, can not wait
i have travelled far and wide just to enjoy the country side
walking is all so bad apart from when your in the gower it makes it fun especially in the sun
time to go swimming i have had so much fun sad to leave but i have had so much fun
The grey curtain of the bay when horizon has sunk, encases you like a wet blanket..
down Swansea bay we watch in ore, as the red arrows fly by and soar soar soar!
Dylan Thomas was a very clever chap, his poetry put Swansea on the map.
Born in The Strand, long,long ago Grew up,wandered and roamed.I had to come back I’m a Swansea Jack.To recover the heart I’d left at home.
Back in Swansea, my heart and me; Old friends are still about.And when I go,scatter my ashes, so I’ll still be here, no doubt. Bette.
Looking out to swansea bay, I saw a sliver of silver, everwhere else was dark.The silver ran across a boat and it was beautiful,lit up alone
Gower has a power which make you want to stay and each day say,and pray, that it is a joy, to be a boy and live in Gower.
If cefn bryn were a bit smaller, i would feel a little bit taller
the MINE culture has strangled the pit community , where solidarity it fought mortally , ideals played the everyday onslaught …
Spinning plate nestbox Flying sorcerer Pine tree needle Unpicks rules Swansea seabird song for Shanty town concrete prefab fools
Rhossili bay, oh what a great day !
The sands may have been washed away But the rocks remain Firm and rugged as ever Shaped by the sea And the Hand of God.
Breath pounding in your chest the view starts and stops everything and anything.
in Swansea anything is possible if you believe it is
Easter time in swansea city. The sun is shining, the chicks and ducks are chirping in the city centre. children hunt for golden eggs.
we all dream of joe’s ice cream!
Me and Glo went to what used to be the Maritime Museum. Showed her the old train n tram lines, 65 years in Swansea and she’d never seen em.
Went for a coffee, a couple of streets and boats away from the sand. Heard a voice I recognised, sat at the table behind was Jo Brand.
i love cheese from swansea lol
I like swansea people
Art and Paintings schools and more if your feeling hot sit by the sea shore.
ble ydyn nhw sy’n caru y byd
stars are only skyfully
stay where you’ve never thought to erase the full mind the full mind
pwy a phwy maen nhw a fi a thri a thri?
pay less attention when crossing Tawe melt into river bay waves air flying is fun
how long does it go on and when will you finally say fine
ever mindful of a hole in our world we invented a beginning to keep us entertained stories and stories over and over while in the woods a
full moon flowered
a wild garlic and another wove a way to the sea
os wyt ti’n dechrau ble wyt ti’n nawr dyn ni’n colli y gyd
but sitting on the fallen oak she becomes herself again
branching out into the summer clouds, hanging adrift in far out dreams that weave the story being told
Come in No4 ew times up I’m coming now in a minet I bloody luvs zis I do That’ll be a Swansea boating lake minute then Ow mush ew times up
Mid-Wales1848, an elephant died of lead poisoning it’s buried behind the Talbot Hotel. It must be true coz the internet told me as well.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-wales-13094803 Don’t know if a link is poetry. But the Talbot Hotel Elephant I just had to see.
nofio yn lc 2, hufen ia yn joe’s
Her sweeping bay an attribute of gold New buildings now adorn her just like jewels As forward she keeps moving brave and bold (Dem Carosi)
abertawe, the new and the old, lots of secrets waiting to be told.
Shreck is love, Shreck is life.
What would you charge to get rid of my wife?!!!
Nothing, ‘cos she’s your trouble & strife!
We love Wales and all its hills We think Wales is special and brill We love exploring in our caravan Although we never get a suntan
We come to Wales whenever we can To visit Mared and Prysor and little Betsan
SHREK IS LOVE SHREK IS LIFE
ew are fabdbulous ew r.
hey hey hey hey mush machine
sound pal mate nice ‘un 😉
The slang, sounds and dialect that bind and joins us, that repells and keeps others at bay has its own musciality and beauty, if you listen
You cannot fail to hear, cannot filter:
Im here and you are there
Me and bro and mum are down the marina.
All you need is love, love is all you need
I love my family and my family loves me….
i think its time i went for a wee
watching and soaring, seagulls so cheeky, Swansea’s surveillance system, they’ll keep you in check,
Do not go gently into this good night, Down shots, get leathered and pass out, What a typical Swansea sight!
Shakespeares women pout and ponder on a Swansea stage, women named ships recorded on the dock stone page, words bleed into Swansea bay.
cycles and icecream on the swansea bay what a painful ride on a sunny day!
Her sweeping bay an attribute of gold New buildings now adorn her just like jewels As forward she keeps moving brave and bold
Her craftsmen won’t give up their set of tools
if they did then they would be fools.
i hate bad rules they are for fools! i love my family and my family loves me i think it is time for a wee an a cup of tea
sun is shining very bright, colours illuminate our heart. time is constant, it never stops. rejoice the world and stick to right.
On a rainy Easter day We find ourselves on the way to Swansea…. Where we look at the sea And thankfully Give thanks for Easter Sunday.
On Easter Sunday the bunnies come out to play on Swansea bay to play all day in Swansea bay today.
A bright, bright, Easter Monday. A sparkling bay, holiday time rushing by …
Out from the train station colours and cultures explode Mingling together on the pedestrian-filled roads
Out from the train station colours and cultures explode Mingling together on the pedestrian-filled roads
My regular vendor of The Big Issue magazine Smiles as though forgetting the hardship he’s seen
We chat for a while then I go on my way Both of us bidding the other a good day
Shops of all shapes beckon with open doors Today, though, I pass; I’m headed for the shore
The streets curve and explore, long and wide Somehow not diminishing the immenseness of the sky
Birds soar and wheel overhead; the sound of seagulls enthrals me As I continue on my path the swooshing of the sea calls to me
I pass beyond the city centre, emerge onto the docks Away from the city-dwellers and tourist flocks
I follow the docks round, admiring the boats It’s still a wonder to me how such bulky bodies stay afloat
As a writer I’m entranced by the little ships’ names Seren-Y-Mor to Black Beauty – no two are the same
The path carries names too; I wonder to whom they belong A Harry Potter quote makes me smile; the magic’s still strong
I cross a bridge, round a building and through a gap in the railings And there I am; there’s the beach; far out ships are sailing
Shoes and socks off; my feet want to breathe Bare feet and a top hat; don’t care how I’m perceived
I slide down onto the beach, glad I didn’t fall Run across the sand, absorbing it all
Nature is multi-sensory; the sand between my toes Is as rough as bark and as soft as a rose
I let myself wander; oh how I long to feel free The adventures I’d have; the places I’d see
I wonder for miles as the tide peacefully recedes Strolling far from civilisation, only nature’s call do I heed
As my feet leave the humans my imagination takes flight Here are the unboundaries I yearn for day and night
Eventually I have to turn back; I’ve places to be But I know I’ll return; this beach hasn’t seen the last of me
As I head back from the horizon I pause to scrawl a few lines On the canvas of life the ramblings of a philosophical weirdo’s mind
I make it to the steps, brush my feet off and redress From here my words are illegible, a deep and meaningful mess
I make my eternal promise to travel someday then return to the city Unable to see even derelict building sites as anything less than pretty
This city makes me smile, with its colour and multi-culture And seagulls eyeing sandwich crusts like packs of ravenous vultures
Buskers fill my meandering with music, make my day just that much brighter Every time i come here my wallet mysteriously gets lighter
Over there I once joined a protest – there, by the big screen Wearing my pride flag as a cape and wanting to be seen
I may be young and trans* and lonely but Swansea keeps me going strong The colour, vibrancy and and variety make me feel like i might belong
And so, as I turn away, it is with the utmost resignation I appreciate everything as I trudge back to the station
Big Issue guy is gone but I expect I’ll see him tomorrow Wearing the same red waistcoat and a smile, without a hint of pain or sorrow
I cast a last look round then head to meet my train Already the high that Swansea brings is beginning to feel strained
As the train pulls away I think about living here In Swansea, that is – on the train would be a bit queer
Mostly I long to travel, but if i couldn’t Swansea would suit me Colourful and interesting and as vibrant as a city can be
But what I love the most about Swansea is still remarkable to me Swansea gives me a feeling of almost being free
As a thousand persons catch my eyes, I sketch in my book those who appear out of silence, racket, quirk and circumstance with bliss
12 colours turn into dozens in the water by the indigo of the sky, the memories of those moments in time are forever captured and displayed.
It has lovely beaches where we can swim and play The ice creams are delicious,it really makes my day
I wish that there was more to do in this waterfront museum.
education is key to people like me
swansea is amazing swansea is cool.
I played cricket at the beach yesterday
fun with my friends
here I float on my ice floe boat
We rock at the Waterfont
‘phorescent green gloaming dawn’s druzzle ruddy gorged tulip glandes burst seedless dribble damp petal to sweet humus oh, fecund spring
the heavy ships rock in the calm swansea bay
the peaks are a beautiful blue
forever changing, evolving
growing ever stronger
roses are red,violets are blue,we are so lucky that we know you!
art is POWER!!
Art is empowering !!
Every inch a glory of Florence, Disrobed and standing on a plinth, Burnt willow scratches likeness onto paper. Where is Mathew now?
Amongst the bustle of portfolios, in anonymous faded blue jeans and T-shirt. He collected his payment and left Swansea Institute for Greece
From the north to the south,old to young,we celebrate the joyful words of poetry, Proudly written and read,in honour of the best
thoughtfulness of Susie’s ankle reminded me of the Heather on our shoe strings attached for-evz – in the digital age
And the rain never stops pounding down into the hole in my boot leaving me damp and sad
and with that ring she knew that she had found her space in time. her song become sweeter than the dew on her brow. love was amongst them.
Swansea…sunkissed…windswept arena of saltinesss…ever altering an ugly ,lovely mixtureof all things special
moving forward together getting stronger together
this great museum like a big colusseum.
seeing the sea allows deep, calming breaths and an instant feeling of well being
Calcium Cones tumbled and turned, By a Gower sea tide across a wide bay, Look and learn of the ocean’s means.
Sastrugied sands washed by a millennium of tides, As time passes we understand less and less, of the colours and rhythm of times passing!
daizy the doggy looks like a logy and she is one too
Dizzy Daizy, a doggy that’s lazy lolls around in shiny coat shapooed by salty waves
AROUND MY CITY, AROUND MY CITY, COME ON DYLAN FINISH MY DITTY!!!
We are down the Marina, ;’
Drenched in Sun, if only a day Wrenching fun for the holiday, Alan Y mor, the town does lay, With boats in harbour by the bay
Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna Krishna Hare Hare Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama Rama Hare Hare
Entwining threads of my mind enclosed in twine of distorted cord. Forward I thrust and must survive and shine my warmth and love.
in wales we see the bright yellow daffodils in wales we here the wind howling
And here we are father in tow, he’s had a great time- I just know, I can see him across the way, he has definitely had a happy birthday
Drops streaming, distan tears await homecoming. She is ready to breath again, toffee melting on continental shores. Birds of paradise await
i like wales because of the bright blue sea in the beach i like wales because of the colourfull flowers
i like Wales because its colourful, i like Wales because its got nice sights,
i like Wales because its got nice places, i like Wales because its got museums,
Sea of brainwaves here and now
i love guinea pigs
monday morning and the sun is shinning over swansea.April and spring time
Half term finished Museum echoes quiet Cool interior breezes Open space is light
I return but briefly Too many thoughts return to me More than I can see In this old city: More than I hope In a day to cope
Or to fight Throughout the night
Or to fight with myself who has been anchored here in bricks and stone from which on wings I fly sometimes away
Inevitably to return I have made this place my home
I wish I had the time to be a poet, Poop, sick farts and burps now a mum to twins and don’t I know it
Delete redundant dialogue, Integrate information, Omit unnecessary words, Granma suits me fine.
Wysiwyg, is that a welsh word, if not it should be.
Sent Tawe Mega Poem link to Taff To give him food for thought, And to get him to write one So come on Taff – we’re waiting 🙂
Walking down High Street fills her with dread She aspires to Cath Kidston, but, She’s more suited to Greggs.
With Channel knock offs in handbag, Corned beef pasty in hand, And a bright pink daisy on her Alice band.
I’m coming home, back to where I belong the waiting game begins waiting waiting
When I was down in Pembroke I met a girl, pretty in her summer dress That one day she would be my wife I little then did guess
Now sixty years have passed Our family has grown Now to a great-grandchild at last Be careful down in Pembroke
Where meetings to far things lead Be careful down in Pembroke Just mark my words and Heed!
Self proclaimed identity, is not my intention. Carefully constructed lines, pour from creative consciousness. Words marked and heeded.
They are what they are, only temporarily mine, words owned by all.
Irresistible urges bring symbols to page, = ? ! * :-} } } } }. . .
Signs and signifiers flow, From psyche, to consciousness, out via the pen.
If you fail to understand, success is brought. In your grasping of intent, achievement is gained.
Words are my wall, climb over if you can, You are more than welcome. = ? ! * :-} } } } }. . .
Maybe they do, whatever you choose… = ? ! * :-} } } } }. . .
Housing greatness for my teenage years The city rousing in me dreams of future Facilitating needed growth Not, however, being life’s hope
you can defend the world for justice with the truth,but if the truth is not true war will commence
It is the sea the rolling strolling foam backed whirls of winter water. It holds the key
With its low melodious discords And its wild percussion Rising to tumultuous climax And dying into tranquility
Gillian, Eleanor and Justine, 3, are about to embark on a hunt for tea
the tea was found very profound, now its time for cakes and all manner of other lovely bakes
spring flowers awash with pale contrasting rich, ornate green, waiting for summer’s golden hues, filtering through the woodland’s trees.
THE MINER’s TEAR With a blackened finger he points and fears This terrible day of four hundred tear’s Young mothers, wives and brides to be
Who will they bring from this hell? Deeper than the drinking well. Young David? Just a boy you know! Or old man Bryn with son in tow?
A massive blast a wind that burns With all their heart they run and turn. The smell of gas came much too late That spark of light that seale
The men and boys of the colliery No more nights of life to see Now laying cold in a saddened grave For our comfort their lives they gave
We will not forget you Brave men of coal Risking your life in that deepest hole You will always be here in our dreams ,
Risking it all on Welsh coal seams.
While high above I sit now on warm stone smooth and sculpted by wind, water and time the same water that traces paths
Down through the hills, and down still further into the workings beneath
Swansea is great.Swansea is wonderful.
I for one like Swansea how it is:)
And then, as if by magic, a giant pig faced octopus appeared
Deeper still down in the mines miners mine down down down till it is dark.
And gloomy too.
But we come back up, into the light, into the air above Here the water still falls, rushing down in streaks and silver trails
over black rocks and green hills past grey walls and glass through brick and stone and out again into the sea
from water we come and to water we will return. 90% of out bodies, the land and the sea
In the slippered hush of night, the dancing stars will light the bay
And we will dance with them.
love is the only guide listen with your heart as it whispers to you
Love is where its at
Take caution in the sorrowful loves of others,
The wind filled the sails and blew the small yacht across the dancing waves while the dolphins played around its bows.
I like the flag because the colour
i saw the life burning like fire orange and red steaming colours hot and fiering burning flames fires flames schorching hot hot hot hot
the sky was crimson orange and blue
and the visitors came to Swansea, to see Wales and its wandering, winking, wondering and wonderful sights, sighs and sounds. And some stayed
And some left. Yet it is still here, with its sea and its people. Long ago it was home and home is still in its people, its mountains
and its valleys.
gazing out at the deep blue sea of Swansea Bay forever changing but still the same.
At night, the lights of ships from foreign lands, flicker sleepily at the edge of silent, velvet black, Swansea bay.
tomorrow the sailors will explore this city and take away a piece of it in their hearts, a need in them always to return
the swansea valley looks so neat, but even more when its complete
we walked around here with our feet,
and gazed before us at this amazing feat
For it is an amazing area with so much to see, the flora and fauna, the cliffs and the sea
where else in the world you rather be, than here in the heart of good old Swansea.
Watching groaning, grinding, mechanical monsters, gnashing their teeth, spitting out bricks
childhood and age collide, blood ties run deep. Memories stir and crystalise,
I do not feast from societies silver spoon, those that have truly found bliss via the sun, sky, stars, sea and moon.
The skies are grey and heavy with rain
It should be renamed Thomas Town, With a poem placed on each street, Where people can read and enjoy and talk about them when they meet.
What an intriguing idea. A town of poets in a country of poets of rhyme and metre would we become- All know its? Ahh the Welsh blood sings
I might have not been born at all be this wind that keeps you company this corner of the sky that you observe
weary of the earth’s hypocrisies before you travel on again towards the horizon that calls out your name
Haiku Cymraes counting out her syllables hand under chin
Wales, Wales, the country of dragons, With drums for coal that look like wagons,
If watching rugby they always win, Because they sing and it makes them grin.
Coal, copper smelting, industrial history past, Looking forward, with vision, imagination vast
buzzards and kites soaring and whirling.. smoke from cottage chimneys comes curling….
My Dad, always a collar and tie ,always did his duty, provided for us, loved us as we loved him.
The girls of Swansea Bay are are pretty as the live long day
I wish had more brains Instead of head full of poop. Coz if I did I be inclined to start a Facebook Swansea Moaners Poetry Group.
sitting in the dock of the bay overlooking my life
This water contains special powers from Swans who have swum in it. It was supercharged during 2014 & brought to you by Agua Jacks
Laddered legs mind ramble There you are, fierce in that fashion store, holey tighted fellow shopper. Why are you so holey?
My bored bargain hunter mind drifts with the possibilities. You have bussed it into swansea centre this rainy morning. Umbrella in lap
as you stare mindlessly out of the window, its spokes scratching across your lap as you approach your bus stop destination. Oh well.
Or it’s a fashion statement that I have yet to recognise as it hasn’t yet appeared on south wales eve post womens style page
You found out about this fashion via a cool teenage blogger from New York.
You welcome bringing this off the wall, up to the minute mode to me and all that view you in Swansea ‘s Oxford street.
Or it’s a badge of honour from your welcome tussle this morning with your lust soaked lover?
Could it be HE, with his calloused cement mixer hands pulling at your amorous thighs that unravelled your denier
Or is it SHE that is your lover? the talon nailed top shop assistant with bee hive and kohl-ed eyes
And your ladders are a proud love bite from your lesbian passion this morning.
Or are they old tights thrown on and worn with a middle finger to their battered nature
As you determinedly wear those shorts you had set aside last night to wear this day for this Swansea shopping trip
If this ladder is not a result of a welcome tussle or trend or self confidence, you would have swiftly binned them and wore something else
These laddered leg tights, my ramble concludes you wear them well. Swansea salutes you!
missing my friend who watched over the bay the old iron slip bridge grieving for his home
Fisherman with lantern and rope Scanning the horizon for hope
What passes this time what remains is memories. Memories when recall become strong Memories which are unpleasant when recall
They not only become strong, but take you’re life to catastophe memories which are pleasant when recall they not only become strong
but give you a purpose to live forever
not only a clown with out make up but a staunch man of the sea always laughing in danger for he brings fish to me
Welsh horns sound mirroring the Walian hills, rugged yet beautiful
all the men on the hills cheeky but somehow truthful
Spiderman is really cool because he is a super hero!
Life has many shadows but the sunshine makes them all, this echo sounding in my heart finds hope with each new fall;
If a gift is freely given with true kindness from the start, It matters not if it’s accepted, but that the thought is from the heart.
swansea swansea rain oh rain swansea swansea have a fun game?
an endless dream of life and laughter todays sorrows tomorrows ever after
lots of talent but mainly at singing and pineapples who eat pears
swansea’s heart’s dance like graceful swans but when the rain comes they remain strong swansea is a place of joy of laughter fun and joy
steve the banana went out with penelope the apple MEMO; NEVER TUST APPLES IN RELASIONSHIPS
the colourful beach is so blue
Surrealism is obviously alive and well in modern Swansea – Dylan would be so proud of us now in all our lovely craziness 🙂
It’s May and I go to Clyne Gardens to hear the band play. What do you know – the generator’s not working, so no concert – well done Swansea
It’s June and I go to Singleton park to watch the gay boys play. What do you know – there’s a Lady Gaga tribute act – well done Swansea
yes we may live in an ugly town yet look around at our lovely parks lovely coastline
We will all good gently into the Bible black night. The waves crashing around us; the shale of the sand blowing gently about our feet. MEM
Art may just be a picture but it makes our town beautiful. Shauna A’Hearne
From Australia I came to this beautiful land Where handsome welsh dragons are always at hand
theres frost in the air and snow on the land but a warm welcome awaits and a pint in my hand !
as there is a print in my hand a tiger comes towards me i start to sssssscccccrrrrrrreeeeeaaaaammmmmm!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
art is a piece of work that you love till the day you die and it is poetry of amazment
friends are also poetry my friends have stuck by me thick and thin and they will always be there for me:) :*:D
Family is also art they are always there and they always care.
This museum is amazing I love the sport exhibit !
The red coated lady sits on the steps staring across the bay drinking her latte pining for her lover so near yet so far away
Eager city forging ahead, never sleeps, not going to bed, Change with time, stay lively and bright, I love Swansea both day and night.
This poem aint La Boheme But to be terse it’s my verse It’s fine coz it’s mine!
For the Locws lovelies You solicit words and explain art Volunteers with noble souls and heart
beans beans are good for your heart the more you eat the more you fart
painting paintings look what they are when your passing in the car
More Poetry Is Needed (response) Life is meant to be lived, not to be read.
Poems poems you know what they are Sometimes you hear them in the car.
poems catching you’r eye while you’r going by
You need to listen and agree, its higher than a tree.
More poetry more fun, if you want to be a number one.
More poetry is needed, its there in black and white, will anyone listen, do I need to bring up a fight?
poetry can be heard in song it dosent have to be boaring and long
I live in a house, I don’t have a mouse, But lots of cats, And I hate RATS!
I don’t know why, But I’m going to fly, In my kite, That is white.
Its in town, come down and see is you agree with me 🙂 (Abigael)
No poetry is needed that wall is a lie life is colourful not black and white
why is poetry real it is boring
Yesterday is History, Tomorrow is a Mystery, And today’s a gift… that’s why they call it the Present!
when life gives you lemons, make orange juice and leave the world wondering how you did it!
dont eat yellow snow
believe, i know it sounds like a cat poster but its true
life is like a camera focus on whats right capture the good times and delete the negative
MEGA poem MEGA poem what could it be? MEGA poem MEGA poem it must be something special for YOU and ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Roses are red violets are blue you’re the best teacher I love U!
Roses are red skies are blue i have a best friend it is you !!!!!!!!
Is yesterday, tomorrow today?
Everybody relies on somebody for something, so please be nice
art art makes me powerful what about you
ART makes friends become closer together
we need more colour throughout life
The art that we saw it was the best
Jaggy man in his Jaguar Shoes, Saxophone swinging with the blues,
Singing songs all day We’ll always be champions And will beat Cardiff Never be losers Shelvey’s always on top Every 1 has fun Always welcome
Swansea is beautiful Waterfront Museum Abertawe is Welsh for Swansea Not always sunny Swansea’s sights Exotic Plantasia And lush beaches!!!
Everyday we come and go, But if you come to Swansea, It will lift you up when you feel low.
Come and relax, Visit the Waterfront Museum and maybe u will find an axe, Take a stroll down the marina & then you can control your cleaner!
feet ache but want to see all of swansea because its exciting and interesting were on a short break we need more time – so we’ll come again
and make the next verse rhyme
Art is an amazing thing It could be plain or it could have some bling! Art could have pictures or words It could have fish or maybe birds.
Mae rhai yn drist Ac mae rhai sy’n rhoi gwen o glust i glust.
Barddoniaeth – mae rhaid cael mwy ohono Mae angen lle i farddoniaeth, ond ble?
Lliwiau amryliw i gelf i gyd Mae pawb yn hoffi celf o hyd.
Mae’r byd yn lliwgar ond ydy e’n mynd i … barhau?
Lluniau lliwgar fel yr enfys Geiriau gwyn ar gefndir du.
Art makes children happy Art is colourful and makes people interested.
Art is amazing, art is nice, Make it from anything – from clay to ice.
Art: Why? Need we ask why? Or isits purpose to make us ask why? Why do we ask why? Why not just: Art?
because i makes kids good
Why just Art: Consider Poetry
Poetry is art.
mae cymraeg yn neis
art and poetry make the world a happier place.
a poetry and art make people smile.
i like wiled animals
Poems make us happy!!
sunshine makes me smie
sunshine makes me happy
sunshine makes me smile
Everyone is an inspiration to someone
lol is a happy word
there once was a man from Swansea Who was a bit of a pansy
He liked to eat cheese, and feel the sea breeze, as he strolled around town in his onesie
The old cars and horses outside are creating a beautiful view outside the museum on this sunny sunny day,
Horses, buses and cars what about clubs, pubs and bars?
That Dylan Thomas dude
I come from that city of Swansea Founded on copper and coal, Where the grafters get on the council, And the dreamers stay on the dole.
as there are no more jobs where you can work with coal
Love must have credit, despite its means; Passions despise to bank and character. Charity doles not in public scenes;
Tenderness designsnot to barter. Viv Griffiths
art across my city public art raising questions, aspirations and spirit confirming more poetry is needed. by us all. for us all.
six pieces for Dylan’s praise sited here in this city by Locws. Heads and voices, colour, dialogue and form. Inspiring Jack public today.
To the ocean of leaves Where you can hear the sound whale song echoing on the edge of a breeze
Topography town up down hills all around The straights are narrow the heights heady Houses like limpets cling to inclines cluster on cliffs
I come from the city of Swansea Built by the sailor and smith. Where the fables are woven to fashions, For behind every fable’s a wish.
people know what they mean
all you have to do is let your imagination flow
one day there lived a boy called jimmy he wanted to become a artist
art is magical like you
poetry is not a hobby it’s a felling!
dylan thomas was the person who inspierd me with art ?
So to the land of No Good Boyo we have come
beginnings buried by the silt of ages where once the red deer ran
And mediocre medicine was metered out to The masses as they trooped through the maze.
i like this museum because it the best museum by owain harris
Fire Is Hot Ice Is Cold I Didnt See Anything Before
Where ever you go You’ll be sure to know That I am always with you
of rules and desks, of forms and functionaries, until and at last someone said, Can i help you? Whats wrong?’ and i can explain the bleedin
g hand and torn face of the screaming baby—– its a dog, i said
come swim in the bay walk into the sea and lie under cobalt blue sky summer sun heights marine diamond lights heaven is underneath us
lie and watch the paddle board go by oar dip board slip along the flat calm coast a day like this may not come again
The sea is flat calm, a flat calm sea body, sun and water, water and sun away from the shore away from the beach, out of reach
Look from afar the sand shore Langland lovelies bikini clad laid out in rows tanned and glossy waiting to be appreciated
surfers l unwind their surfless energy watch and appreciate
for inspiration for the soldiers who fought for us and died for us hope you succeed in the next war
Mumbles shelters under the Nab As morning light reveals the pueblo blanco There for the tourist taking
Wind dervishes across the town Stinging, singing, free to slap Knock down, clog up and frisk. The Welsh Dragon will rise again.
Gentle falling rain drifting Over rooftops on westerly breezes Gulls squawk –
Diving over waves that lap the shore Of Swansea Bay Swooping toward Mumbles Head
Where they rest their weary wings
Laverbread black nights warm the cockles of my heart in the ugly, lovely town of Swansea as I look for Dylan’s footsteps and find my own…
love this place, the life but the seagulls are viscous at times
stealing are chips
although there are some rainy times, tomorrow may be sunny
and tomorrow I will be on holiday with my mummy
Tonight is the last game in Britain for Jonny!
Bale will get the winner for Real tonight!
And you might even bite
as it comes towards you with its razor sharp teeth you make a dive to underneath
You crouch down low to keep real safe You breathe in really deeply, you look like a waif.
I love your eyes, when the midnight is coming.
the fairies awake to touch the skin that hides beneath your very soul
and words and music fill the air with all the joy we all will share
and your eyes are bright,in the morning light.
Trenches of pillows, butterfly wire Riotous colours and textures inspire
Friar, liar, cryer, flyer. Words all rhyming, tomato!
In the dark dark night i had a terrible fright!
When I close my eyes, I see your eyes …..
a big art workshop on the old station site set Danylo’s artistic endeavours alight his contribution , a cross, attached to the banner
the concentration tongue, his 5 year old’s manner the call for more art needed through fun, his creativity heeded
the smiles, the glitter, the glue, the paint the children’s beauty no need for restraint
that museum workshop just an hour spent his fingers in paint pots his patterns well meant
Don’t touch the art! let the art touch you don t move the exhibit! let the exhibit move you its so tempting to get hold of it
its because the art has got hold of you! will you ever possess the art? or will the invigilators continue to tease. Art makes YOU powerful
I was dropped here like it or not, now I love it more and more
I moved around but stayed here
am i real or make believe
OMG Chloe they made monsters!
Can I do another one? No. Can I do one for my Brother? No. Can I do one for my Granddad? No. He said I have to. No.
Can my Brother do one himself? Yes.
no no no
the chicken was to spicy
And the Pie was too yuck The Soup was too warm The Ice Cream is melting The Cookie is crumbling The Bagel is hard But the food was too yum
Food poem made by Daniel Rhys Thomas
Baby playing, mother tending. Activity everywhere, sun-baked and loving. Shoeless feet striding in time, Is anyone going anywhere?
it is 3:10 and the sun is shining. what a beautiful day. A quiet hall, green grass, a happy baby – all at last.
the time has come the end of the day time to go on our way
I don’t own this land, I possess it. Or rather, it possesses me. For everything I see, I touch and feel for Wales is the very heart of me.
I can take my time, to think about my rhime; sitting on my chair, fiddling with my hair.
I’m in Swansea, staying with Nan. She’s brought me here for the very first time. I’m finding out all I can, about this city in it’s prime.
Libby Rowe, Telford
climbed the tower sea gives it power.
Everyone is in a rush to get there, but no one knows where they are going
Outside is where I love to be, And I like to climb a tree.
My sister likes lego, and on her roller blades she likes to go go go!
Last day of volunteer sentry Guarding the art Explaining he exhibits around the city, I’ve done my part
Fun it’s been I’ve had a ball, Wandering miles in the main hall.
We’ve come from Aldridge to see The fun of Swansea
My name is Emily Pearl I have come to the museum to learn.
the maritime museum is lots of fun especially for kids and relaxing for mum i enjoyed the spaciousness the friendly staff and their gracious
soft is the heart that does not know loneliness
I remember Swansea fifty years ago and more when the Mumbles train went along the bay.
drifting and hugging the coast past ancient memories in black and white of boys with toffeed apples and sticky sweet candy floss dreams
I just had a pancake
It was tasty
curse u perry the platapus
Perry waz ere 2014
I just went swimming and my brother just went climbing
cats go meow dogs go woof but what animal makes the sound on the roof?
spectral wishes, rainbows of the afterlife.
i like money cose gohn is funny xxxx
i love ART cos im creeativ lol
Swansea, Swansea, you called me back, to trees made of gems, welsh cakes and laver bread, It’s been 28 years – too long!
cows go moo when they poo
noob by Anselm
staying out of the rain in the museum it’s knowledge we gain
twirl and dance like floating fairys
prance like cows in the diary
boats outside gently rocking like a baby’s cradle
sleeping slowly like a bear in the air
sparkling stars above me high
stomp stomp clap clap pat pat jump jump. knock knock who’s there?stomp stomp clap clap pat pat jump jump ha ha!
laughing and shining just like we were a star, we are young and free, dancing in the harbour breeze
watching the ships go by, we fell our ease! Hey wait where’s my ice-cream!
I lol have lol a lol really lol bad lol nervous lol laugh lol lol lol.
ice-cream sundae eaten on a monday in harlibam park with cows in the dark
strolling the town with no certain frown while watching the day fly away.
my dads playing golf in the park while my brothers playing footie with a basking shark
i ran through the forest, i dodged oak trees, and i screamed through the pines, ‘Its the Beast of Bonymaen!’
i ran through the forest, i dodged oak trees, and i screamed through the pines, ‘Its the Beast of Bonymaen!’
‘The World’ This world that we all live on is a garden out in space, and island in a desert that protects the human race.
We never take much notice of the animals or plants, were they put here for a reason? was it fate or merely chance?
so many questions to be asked about this world of ours, but must we never make mistakes we have it in our power.
But look at what we have, our mountains far and wide, the vastness of our oceans can swallow a mans pride.
Was it a miracle or a privilege from birth, that the greatest gift set down to man, was to walk upon this earth. Russell Morgan
I wake up in the morning on the sea front i didn’ know how i was there the sun set woke me up because i seen beautify colours with my friend
by Georgia Miggins and my best friend Nicole Myers
Creation stood in judgment;the day had really come,when man takes up the stand to ask please lord what have I done.
God looked down on the world he made with his own tender hands and then placed his eyes upon his one creation he called man.
My son he said to him in one almighty voice. This world that I created was for you and out of choice.
But in creating everything in you I left a flaw, the secrets that you learn in life are yours forever more.
The master of all animals I placed upon this earth you hunt and slaughter other life its been your flaw from birth.
The ocean,s and the mountain,s I carved with my own hands the garden you call eden it was this very land.
This land that I created a garden made for you with animals that roam here you must protect them too.
A gift that you were given to learn to love each day, not to destroy or desicrate or merely throw away.
Man bowed in shame and pleaded please god give me one more chance this world that you created I will cherish and enhance.
It is as you have told me a gift from up above so let me prove my worth to you and cherish it with love.
God in all his wisdom gave judgment on that day,he thought of man in all his worth and what he had to say.
He placed his hands upon the earth and created it again when it was young and innocent and free from hurt and pain.
God turned to man and said to him in one almighty voice. You are the one thing I won,t change for I have made my choice.
Remember what has happend here do not tempt me again and make this world a better place thats free from hurt and pain.
They flew across the sky In terror people would be When the machine went high
It time to show how important poetry is It is Dylan Thomas is art How wrote the amazing under milk wood Which is in our heart
Write a poem It’s fun
Write a poem about anything it doesn’t have to rhyme, Can be about anything or something, doesn’t need to rhyme like mine.
Memory is without sound a dumb deceit a wingless beat seeking no permission getting none this airless haulage comes, repeats
the faded conversation and what is passed goes on ‘til we are found amongst time’s wreckage its mute remains possess us like a sleep.
… and at Swansea sands, the sea’s lace dresses the beach
Across the backbone of this land, this rock, the stanza stones link. They look out on the moors upon the weathered brink.
Silver-ribboned rivers cut swathes through ancient gnarls of rock, undeterred, determined. Mumbling age-old secrets to burnished banks.
To the sea, to the sea and far beyond, its influence unbounded, its fate unfounded.
Seagull of Swansea bold are they, Cheeky and family orientated,
Nesting in my chimney, Calling their aunties and uncles back to their nesting place.
Bye The See Swansy
She’s dead two minutes from now, Grumble grumble, I was early, She’s applying for a job.
Swansea. The Vetch, means something to all who live around it. And those in the suburbs. Football, fun, green space in the city.
A place to come together and share ideas and our culture with friends.
Gower. Stood up high above Langland looking down the miles of coast beyond.
Breathing in the salty fresh sea air and feeling the breeze on my face and through my hair.
Watching the mosaic of mirrors bobbing on the waves. D’win hapus iawn.
Brassy murmerings amongst the grassy ornings, Will this rainbow day keep our families away? Lets paint and draw and write today.
City from the sea, land sand born together, to build a city to make a town, many people in a town just look at the face of swansea town.
We will tip toe down to the butterfly ball, Dressed to kill for Dylan’s gold dust, Hoping for a sprinkling of fairy dust,
To polish up our act, Could we live our life this way, Or shy, never express ourselves to the hilt, Never at a drunken tilt.
Summer Fete, in the park, a sunny day, by the sea, fun and activities for everyone.
Everyone except the inmates of the prison, But at least they can hear the music and laughter.
I’ve made some painting too, Having fun in the sun, At Sandfields Summer Fair.
Swansea Swansea, – Home of the brave. Swansea Swansea, – Where I was born and raised.
Swansea Swansea, – I laughed and played. Swansea Swansea, – Is where my heart is tamed.
I’m going in a minute because I can’t stand the noise, the sunshine, the heat.
Onto my bike and away from this place, to the fresh air of the sea – if only I could get in it,
escape my worries, relax in the cool, to return to my friends, my family.
Seeds scattered from afar, take root between the city and the sea.
A garden blooms.
And wildflowers dance together to a thousand different tunes.
A wise old owl, once sat in a tree, The more he heard, the less he spoke,
The more he spoke, the less he heard, Let us listen to that wise old bird.
Who needs a play area, when.. You’ve got a hill you can run down, and up.. Again and again.
Sunny Sandfields fun at the vetch, Bouncing, sliding, smiles for miles, Painting fun, football and the coconut shy, Got to go home now..Why?
A whipping orange unicorn, Whipping a salamander with his tail, And the salamander is whipping back, They just don’t like one another.
A very symmetrical mountain, Over the bridge, I couldn’t tell you the price.
Sun of wind, Brother of rain, Daughters clouds, Float by without care, On a summer day, Without a care, Without a crown.
The mumbles from Mumbles echo across the bay, As out hymns and arias carry the Swans all the way.
The Swans they sing, they sing their song, the song is sweet, the song is long, but no one listens, as the Swans sing their song.
From Garnswilt to Felindre, there is so much to see, from robins to skylarks, and down to the sea.
The ground may be poor, on the top of Graig Fawr, but the landscape is heavenly right down to the Gower.
If this poem was train tracks, around the world it would lay, it would link all the countries, it could go all the way!
Green leaves have started to turn, the trees breathe a sigh of relief, with every breath a few more drop, autumn is coming.
Stately blades slicing the air, power stolen from the wind, the silence of the hills envelopes us, save for an alarm unheard due to limit us
Sands with many secrets untold, sands with timeless stories unfold, shared histories, new beginnings
Together the sun is nice and bright, together we have plenty of light, together this should be, a wondrous day to see
Friends joined together, to enjoy such weather
This day will be so good, Even if we chop up wood, Together here we stay, All to have a beautiful day.
You can spend your whole life looking, At hills you’ll never climb, Valleys forever hidden, Adventures never taken
Carpe diem, Take the dappled path
Lucky to have the long warm summer weather, Friends and family flock together, Like birds of a feather.
I love to be by the sea, But the Mumbles is too busy for me, Should I move to the city or countryside, and say goodbye to the tide.
The man and the spider had a spider house, The seahorse and the cloud had a cloud house
The man loves the watering can, The crown had a big pink house.
It’s cool in the school, Playing with owl’s poo and other things to do!
A poem, a few words, A special place with lots of birds, Swallows on their way to do their thing, Africa here they come.
Scampering ewes punctuate the bracken laced commons, Elegant wind mills, Spin like dancing feathers in the crisp morning breeze.
The bounty of nature made better by a sunny day, Hills and valleys lead down to the sandy Swansea bay.
Nature cradles mankind, In it’s generous hands, We must protect these beautiful lands, So full of wonder
Through sun and thunder, But of course after us, Indeed it still stands
Dragons caverns enrich our lands, Ancient crafts by young Welsh hands,
Seaweed whispers in mermaids ears, Glorious views, fields, hills and sands.
Wakey wakey, Rise and shine! it’s time to get up and make some rhymes!
Indoors, outdoors, running around and round and round.
I know whatever I do I will do my best, But there comes a time in a mans life, Where a man must rest,
Some people call me Ron, Some people call me Jon, I’ve tried my best, but it’s time to rest!
Our pellets are not poo, It’s bits of their food that they cannot chew,
Bones of mice or skulls of voles, Get caught up ‘cos they are eaten whole!
It’s beautifully sunny, It’s a wonderful day, This poem is humungous, I’d just like to say.
Leaves float in the air, Fish swim really fast, Bats fly in the sky, Dragons breathe fire.
Riding down the valley, To the wind swept beach, And foaming sea of Swansea bay.
Bazza has a camera, Rowan rolls the dice, The water can and mice took a picture.
Glorious vista, Industrious past, Hidden gems, Sharing interests, To a background of unknown beauty.
Colors thrown across the garden from the stained glass window in the hall, Think of change, monument, Where next will it go?
Clouds float in the storm, Bats float and flap, Sea- horses can swim up in the ocean, Ghosts can float too, Butterflies can fly.
Abundantly generous views, Filled with hollows and swooping swallows,
To inspire these lines of poetry, And sculpted willows as we gaze over the flowing hills.
Swooping swallows darting into the blue, Arial acrobats against the clouds, Chasing excitedly, Drinking the heated air, Wishing for night.
Seriously fast, scattering spiders, Curled up caterpillars quietly cooch.
The sun shines on Sunday and the week ahead is fine, so why am I sad when life is just divine.
With the sound of the trees, And the sound of the sea, I can smile and I’m happy to just be me.
My grumpy grandad is always in a huff, He huffs and puffs but always has a LAUGH! 🙂
Come see a tree in Swansea!
Holly went to the wood
Once there was a scary Dragon.
I LOVE making sand castles!
Gwennan lives with the fairies amongst the trees.
The bat and the rat playing in the woods and climbing the trees, They saw a ghost hiding in the tree,
The ghost said ‘do you want a bonfire in my house?’ They said ‘yes!’ and sang wonderful songs.
I’ve just heard a story from Wales, with enchanting fairy tales. There was a princess,
Who could not rest, So the fairies protected her in a nest.
Trees make us happy, We climb them, We swing on them, We eat their fruit, I eat a plum, It is yum in my tum!
Pieces of delight fall gently upwards, Leaves falling sound, Falling upward toward the light
Down in the woods with the boys, Making a crash, Making a noise.
And in the tranquil, hidden valleys, Lie the highlands above the city springs, The water that gives the city life.
Sunshine and the sound of children walking through the woods.
Mindcraft tells you about stuff
The capital of Figi is Suva.
Trees waving in the wind saying hello.
Thunder storms flash and crash, Bash over trees, Max.
I am happy because I love the water and forrest. Miruha.
Tree wood for shade, Drinking fizzy lemonade.
The leaves russell in the wind. Rhys.
Moss and damp, Time grows, Spaces and places, Memories in shadows, Shadows in memories.
Go, little lane, Across the courageous spaces.
I went to the wood with my hood.
Eating things, yum yum yum, Riglling inside my tum tum tum!
The sound of the moving trees and the feel of the cool breeze. Holly and James.
Quiet chattering of children playing, The shrieks of laughter as waves crash onto the shore.
Turnips a dog who bounces like a frog!
Seeds, trees, weeds, bee, Plant some seeds pollenated by the bees, we need the weeds shaded by the trees. Robyn.
The dragons breath reeks, Smell of villagers burning, Death has no voice with which to speak,
Heavy mist, Heavy hands, The bloody scale of justice poison tipped, Prayers of the helpless, Unheard on the wind, The dragons breath.
I was born in Gower, I’ve always lived in Gowerm I’ll never leave Gower,
It’s in my heart, It’s in my blood, It’s in my dreams, I’ll forever be a Gower girl.
Don’t despair, I’ll always be there.
Golden future days! Leaves falling! Trees loaded with fruits of the woods- lush!
Dolphins, Dolphins swim as fast as a tiger, And they jump up and down like a kangaroo, They hunt really fast, They look like shadows.
Once there was a man, A wee wee man, Then his van crashed and the lightning crashed,
He wandered in the streets looking for something to eat. Once there was a man a poor poor man, Lying in the streets. By Pip.
Leaves everywhere waving at the sun. Elin.
Me, well you see. I like this tree, it’s full of glee. And it’s a mystery.
We have the noise of the leaves of the trees in the wood and the mushrooms stand still at their roots.
Photographs drying in the smoky dappled breeze.
And then I realized it was all a dream. Audrey.
A bat wearing a hat attacks a fat cat, milly is silly on the wily lands, pebbles meddles in the golden sands.
Mummy the mop.
Nature never let’s you down.
Never give up. Find a way ‘cos thats what winners do.
A ghost found a key in the happy face of me. A cat kin fell off a cat kin tree.
The green is fee, The green us calm, The green breathe, The green is here.
Spiders, witches and bats, Ghosts, pumpkins and cats, You never knew what you will see, It’s a halloween mystery.
Butterfly. By Lydia.
A seal bobbing up and down in the wave.
Woof woof, Wow! what’s that? Meow! Oh no open the door! Aled, aged 2.
Fire gets higher in the wood.
Poetry is quiet time for a rhythm or 2!
The cat lounged in the patch of sunlight amongst the pear trees.
The sun glistening through the lovely green leaves of the hazel tree.
Riding the ramps at Swansea Exist.
I weave willow in the woods to make a dream catcher!
Treading softly with tranquil purpose to know the peace that dwells within.
There was a girl with golden hair running on the beach in her underwear.
The sound of the birds singing in the trees, The leaves are blowing in the breeze. What a wonderful world.
Trees, trees, trees, Can we have some of that place.
Sing with your heart.
The pitter patter of paws playing with autumn leaves.
There are trees, There are peoples, There are paths, There are ideas, Nothing escapes entropy.
As the wind blows through the old oak tree here, All I can think of are the good times when I was younger,
When there was no rain which was polluted with your smog.
And she wandered and wondered.
Le soleil brille, l’eau coule sous le pont, la mer exil sous les etoiles qui brille deus le moin
If the page is a forest, The sunlight is a pen with flowing bright ink to paint a thought within, within the shade.
Eight firers through like lime green shot silk.
The sky shines through the trees.
Swansea simply makes us smile on sunny september days!
Look at the tree in the sea.
As I stare up at this tree, I edge towards some poerty, Fail I might, we will see, Succeeding would bring me glee!
Dress colors blue, pink orange.
And the sun was beating down on my love.
Pterodactyls once flew above the trees, They ate fish and three portions of greens.
Sitting quietly under the tree, Whispered words on the wings of a bee.
From a trickle to a flow is how the river goes.
In the wood, Tomos being good, As we sat amongst the trees, You never know how.
Babble and bubble through the riffles and the pools it flows.
Scotering and sweets are fun, fun, fun!
How lucky are we to live in such a beautiful place?
Magical, mystical childhood memories erased!
The trees blow in the breeze and the bees buzz along happily.
As I play with my friends in the woods I listen to the world. I love playing with Holly!
Y los pajaros, Cantaron junto al mac.
But let’s hope the dog doesn’t get stuck in a bog.
The trees smile to themselves on a summers day.
The littering was frightening.
Sunlight filtered down through the beach trees covering everything in natures patterns.
In the woods, Trotting along there comes a house that’s all lovely and good.
Flags waving gracefully in the wind.
Beautiful woods, Lovely walk, We had a great time, We are off now it’s five.
When the sky falls it turns into a ball.
Amazing feeling in the september sun, waves and woodland, wildlife, all glorious xx
Dancing waves and crashing seas, Swansea spreads it’s seeds with ease.
Salty sea, Sun, green leaves, fun, Held together in a valley wood so fair with love in the air.
On our way to the round house, We stopped to write a verse and then we skipped on down the road and ready to reverse.
Trees help us breath.
A whipping orange unicorn, Whipping a salamander with his tail, And the salamander is whipping back.
Who needs a play area, when, You’ve got a hill you can run down, and up, again and again.
The Owl A wise old owl, once sat in a tree, The more he heard, the less he spoke,
The more he spoke, the less he heard, Let us listen to, that wise old bird.
Seeds scattered From afar Take root Between the city And the sea A garden blooms And wildflowers dance together To a thousand Diferent tunes
I’m going in a minute because I can’t stand the noise, the sunshine, the heat,
Onto my bike and away from this place, to the fresh air of the sea,
If only I could get in it, escape my worries, relax in the cool,
To return to my friends, my family.
Swansea, Swansea – Home of the brave, Swansea, Swansea – Where I was born and raised,
Swansea, Swansea – I laughed and played, Swansea, Swansea – Is where my heart is tamed.
I’ve made some painting too, Having fun in the sun, At Sandfields summer fair.
Summer Fete, in the park, a sunny day, by the sea, fun and activities for everyone,
Everyone except the inmates of the prison, but at least they can hear the music and laughter.
We will tip toe down to the butterfly ball, Dressed to kill for Dylans gold dust, Hoping for a sprinkling of fairy dust,
To polish up our act, Could we live our life to his life, Or shy, never express ourselves to the hilt, Never at a drunken tilt.
City from the sea, Land sand born together, To build a city to make a town, Many people in a town, Just look at the face of Swansea town.
Brassy murmerings amongst the grassy ornings, Will this rainbow day keep our families away? Lets paint and draw and write today!
Gower Stood up high above Langland looking down the miles of coast beyond.
Breathing in the salty fresh sea air and feeling the breeze on my face and through my hair.
Watching the mosaic of mirrors bobbing on the waves. D’win hapus iawn.
Swansea. The Vetch, means something to all who live around it. And those in the suburbs. Football, fun, green space in the city.
A place to come together and share ideas and our culture with friends.
She’s dead, Two minutes from now, Grumble, grumble, I was early, She’s applying for a job.
Bye, The Sea, Swansea
Seagull of Swansea, Bold are they, Cheeky and family orientated.
Nesting in my chimney, Calling their Aunties and Uncles, Back to their nesting places.
Sunny Sandfields fun at the Vetch, Bouncing, sliding, smiles for miles.
Painting fun, football and the coconut shy, Got to go home now, why?
Sun of wind Brother of rain Daughters clouds Float by without care On a summer day Without a care Without a crown.
A very symmetrical mountain over the bridge, I couldn’t tell you the price.
The forgiven sun, Speaks in sparks,
Across the clouded quilts, And down filled heads of us, its children.
Everyone is smarter,
Than I am,
But the truth will come out loud,
One of these days.
Back in Swansea,
The river that allows me to step in,
As many times I can afford when all I own is time,
Now enriched by the green fuse injection.
Ringed across the bay, In whirlpool clouds,
Shift and swirl, Twin towers of the steelworks,
A fairy palace at nightfall, Shoots sparks of fire,
Flumes to scare the moon, Beneath, the houses, hunched,
And scruffed, cling to, Streets slick with rain.
The fabric of this town is in my DNA,
And my DNA is in the fabric of this town.
Go darkly into the words of the Baptist Bible black book. Retribution, hell fire and damnation awaits you,
The ‘vengeful God’ of the Old Testament…Repent! I, warrior of words reject the punishment,
Of eternal hell and lores, So, go peacefully into the world and sow seeds of happiness, love and generosity of spirit.
The olden glitter rage for sequin fans, Becomes a dull glimmer of former glory in recent times.
Your head and,
We were here long before the vikings and before Rome.
Thousands of years we have called this home.
In Newquay town where the sailors dwell,
Squats a road guards the red blood gates of hell,
Where the women wail and children moan,
For the men lost the the sea gods throne,
There the angels dance to the devils beat,
As the horsemen ride for widow street.
If words alone could exorcise,
What words would take away our pain,
Allowing us to believe again,
That human creatures were special.
My children ran and hid in all the tiny spaces of Dylan’s park,
Now they are grown and far away,
And I am left behind with my dog,
My memories and echoes of Dylan.
I came from the east 38 years ago, The Welsh land was a feast I was treated to,
And I ate and I ate and could eat a lot more gratefully digesting visual bliss,
I absorb and love and throw it a kiss, Oh Wales I do love you so.
When I look at the sea,
I feel free as can be,
When days are sunny,
And warm or bright and breezy,
The fresh air makes me sleepy,
Reminds me of my childhood days when I was happy.
Strolling through the shallow waters on the sandy shore,
Aware of the hidden pebbles, and shells, the cockles and mussels,
The black grime of laverbread taken to market,
The Kardomah lunch smell permeating the air,
Swansea smells and sounds of times gone by.
Man pulling a suitcase not going anywhere, Just up and down Mount Pleasant hill, Trawling searching through the bins of bedsit land.
The Meridian Tower, standing high,
Ruler of the Swansea sky,
Both bold and beautiful in its ways,
Always leaves you in a faze,
Guards of both sea and land,
The Meridian tower, there it stands.
We the fashionably wild,
Wear hats at home and kilts upon the plain,
While hats tug and feathers ruffle to a refreshing run,
Cross hatched lines sway ponderously to anothers gait.
The end of summer,
Going into the tunnel of Winter,
Like losing ones sight,
The pain of cold, skeleton fingers,
It will end and begin.
The swift, willowing trickles of Autumn stretch the leaves of my thoughts,
As they empty out across the streets and seas of scenery,
Spraying my very spirit in unblemished joy, but not always.
In Cwmdonkin, I’m in step, With the child, And the man,
Seeing through, His Words, Our past, And present.
Over the sea,
Over the sea,
All away from friends,
Over the sea,
Over the sea,
It never ends.
This morning I found a slow worm,
A slinky South Wales dragon,
I warmed him up in my lap,
And sent him on his way.
Becoming a fish in a fish empty sea, While imagining riding on Swansea’s white horses.
Plagiarised meta verbiage sequential normal verbiage,
Cockleless Swansea, Stolen automatic celebrity of pronoun,
In meaning here is chaos, the poets have copper plate tongues, and lines.
The words shift and shrink against the vastness of the channel, sand and sky.
The midnight sun is low over the horizon,
Viking trading post of deco buildings, Now born again from a copper egg And a poet’s bottle.
I feel so free when I walk by the sea of old Swansea town
With the sun, Swansea shines in my mind. But my heart is helpless in the heavy, wet wintertime.
The oyster as city, the mouth opens to reveal the pearl, salt on the tongue
leaves a dry hungry residue for Dylanspots, psychic geographising, a look for the sunspots or sodium tweets of an ancestral tongue’s trust.
Beauty looms around the corners of dead streets, Laughing at people for trying to impose structure, ‘The land belongs to me’ says the sea.
Brutalist resistance. Civic decentering. Dunes of duality Shifting under tides of hope. High hope leaves a line Hope is far out today
And even far out of the sea, you can sing about Swansea bay : It becomes an image with its light shining inside
far away from reality like false poetry when you become to dream instead of look at the secret beauty of the real world
Unicorns pull art across the city for2015 Volunteers and artists help art to be seen Quadrant based questions what does this art mean
Beauty in reality is always there The real question is actually where Dream to search and do not hide Love the world and enjoy the ride
Beyond the tide my mind craves space The horizon cleans my eyes
do you want to volunteer? around art? this year? come and join all of us who volunteer with Locws
a new programme of public art is building to an April start volunteer recruitment underway apply to volunteer locally today
a varied bunch of volunteers some artists and of all careers they like to chat with folks about the art across and throughout our city
my hand extends across this welsh land to offer love and friendship to all
i know a horse who ate tomato sauce. He was Hungary so he went to a country, He liked to bookie, with his monkey hoobie.
My home town Abertawe How I miss you now I’ve gone A town of love and laughter Art, poetry and song
I know one day I will return I can’t wait to come back Because wher’er I go or live I’ll always be a Jack…
What I just did was fun What I just did was creative Like I was in a world of my own My fingers just wanted to carry on.
Today is another day My feet hurt From walking. This chair is nice.
The sun is warm in the sky, beating down on us, i wonder what it’s made of, probably a giant mini cheddar
ode to the original cheddar giving life to us and all whose warmth it touches thanks for everything being alive is great
spaghetti is yum it lives in my tum I sprinkled it in cheese so Finlay said please
there was a bug who dug and dug while eating a pot of gold. I said to him don’t make a dim unless you have something to say OK!!! Finlay
If I was a butterfly, I would stretch out my wings and fly way up high and travel across the sky until the end of the day drew nigh. Hx
The sky is blue, the grass is green, just like a kidney bean
Live life like theres no tommorow live life without sorrow
look to the future, and not to the past
live for yourself, and live it wild, and fast
Move forward, never look back, because you only live once, and thats a fact
Smiley faces is nice to see, and because it looks like me
In memory of my dad. ” My dad was my star, he was a carpenter, he built many buildings in swansea, he was a true legend”
Red is bright, blue is cool, now its time to go to school
My house is a home, and im not alone
Leaves are green, leaves are brown, we can see them on the ground
The future may not be bright, and the pain may feel endless, but sometimes when you hold on longer, the sun will riseand will only rise for
Trees, trees so tall, i am four and only small””
My book is full of wonderful things to see, its easy to read like 1, 2, 3
In the beginning there was you and me, playing, and dancing, in hometown of Swansea. Snow and rain, and sun and shine, the city mine
He fly’s through the sky, and is really fast
I opened the book, i had a look, i saw the mushroom
Windmill, windmill, you work so hard, really we are worlds apart
Whirling windmills, swirling leaves, clouds above mark a heart, an ending here or a new start
fantasy poems, visual imagery, tell a tale of woe and misery
not just woe, but all smiley things too, a whole tapestry of thoughts and rhymes, to mark the times in Swansea seaside town
the sounds the smells the waves the people the smiles the kids. it’s the place to be sunny jack land swansea
smells of the jacket potatoes drifting in the air, the sounds of the wave playing in the gardens sarah lee davey
Bob opened the door knob and asked Jeff to be his chef Mel rang a bell because Bob’s food was ready!
dyer taught me to die and eat a pie while Shelvy was selfish He said pelvis
flop from the top, down to the floor and run away from a big boar!
Running on the beaches, splashing in the sea, I love visiting swansea, Swansea City!
I love to Go to the LC The waves are sooo juicy. Also strolling on the peir makes me wanna scream…SWANSEA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
paige did you get colder before you got older, no one got wiser, we all just got gold.
Gingers rule even though they have to go to school, they will take over the world just you wait and see!!
Where a line meets another line, a shape begins to form, not an ordinary, but something out of the norm. A line, a point, beginning….end!!
those lines and dots they can form knots pick at em like u pick at spots
Feelings when you love someone who is no longer there remembering shows that you really care
jewel of sea, teases the ships to land in a jasmine Botany bay, fragrant air blows my blind girl with her rose window to the headland
Waiting on a warm April afternoon I people watch in a car park // couples arguing, children, two men with soft velvet voices //
// in the car next mine // gulls flowing in with the river // perfect clouds in blue sky // tree tops far beyond
mowing the grass, fresh aromas fill the air
grass, glass, pass, fast
Swansea used to be a beautiful city. But over the last 10/15 years it has slowly and gradually deteriorated
Until now it is a shadow of its former self. -Come on guys, let’s all try to work together and get it back to the standard it used to be!
Swansea is amazing, Swansea makes me smile. Swansea is my heart of hearts, Swansea had a Mumbles mile.
If I had to chose a home, Swansea’s where it’d be. If i had to be a gnome, I know here I would be free.
My name is Scarlet Rose And this is how I feel If any of you disagree just message me your spiel.
Surprisingly Wonderful Aesthetically Nautical Super Exciting Area
I walk around in a sea town where is Swansea, with a frown? Buildings and people change and come and go and my eyes and mind are rearranged
For better for worse I understand the town the place is loud and grand. And I stand here amid the land where Welsh & “ness” go hand in hand
I walk around the sea town and all the hills are going down “Where is Swansea?” I repeat while the gulls show me their beak
They laugh at me -or perhaps with?- I hold my first belief and then show them my back.
Swansea’s where friends are -my latest group of friends here- the last decade went Haiku by a painter
Satchitananda, that’s who we are our deep down Self the timeless center of all Universes
As a wave is a function of the whole ocean, so your deep down Self is a function of what the whole Universe does.
Everywhere and nowhere at once.
I don’t know what to write, I’m sorry -said the Londoner in front of a screen- Oh, I don’t know, think of something, mate? He laughs. End.
I don’t know what to write now -said the Welsh girl- I have to be inspired by something. She nods and smiles. She changes the plot.
Godfather, godfather, what can I do? I have a few problems, that’s why I come to you. Tell me, tell me, what do you know?
All I hear from you is wise words. How do I get rid of somebody, make him disappear? Send him to the crows. Is this wise, is this wise?
Because…who knows, he will come back to give you a rose. Beware, beware, he knows you know. Listen, listen, then you will grow.
The rain stays mainly in Spain but Spain never rains.
Grow your own vegetables in Gower, that only will give you resilient power.
Sharing a house, working in a call center, paying back student loans, being late for jobseekers, scraping your pennies for 99p shop NOW!
Oh, ciudad de los cisnes y del mar anhelante de ir por delante de su recuerdo los nuevos habitantes que nacen o se han movido reflexionan
Que habremos hecho para acabar aqui, enfrente del acantilado me siento a respirar aire viciado y rezo a un cerebro cuerdo vivo que abandonan
Untroubled buildings decay
Untroubled waters sleep
Untroubled secrets keep
Troubled children stay
there’s something deep inside me im afraid to let it out theres something deep inside me it makes me scream and shout empty is how i feel
Swansea is the best. Blaenymaes school is the best. There are lots of brilliant shops and lovely sandy beaches. The cold, deep and huge sea.
A city of warm-hearted people Srihariketty
A beautiful place with beautiful people -but I almost went away- I decided to come back and Swansea is where I stay! Claire Jones
From reading books, and playing games I have watched you since you were small from babe in arms to growing boy I’ve shared your tears
and times of joy. Dear Grandson, how I care for you and always want to share with you the times in life when you’re on top
or to give you a cuddle when spirits drop. So when your parents need some space there’ll be a welcome at my place
Grandparents have their uses too there’ll always be a room for you. When memories are short, and days are long you’re in my heart
-where you belong. You’ve given me great times to treasure, my Grandson, I love you beyond measure. B.S. Lewis
Dad…from choc-a-bloc shallows or sun-baked cliff we’d watch him swimming away – that effortless, lazy stroke of his slicing through breake
rs taking him further and further out (the speck of the dog in hopelss pursuit) to where it was doldrum-calm – a floating heaven, a fleetin
g haven somewhere beyond the crowds, the workaday streets, the reach of everyone: weightless and still there or splashing and fountaining fe
et – sometimes diving so deep we’d hold our breath wondering when or if he’d ever come up, but mostly just lying there – our Raft our Buoy
our Moby Dick – eyes closed or gazing through toes at a sail or a mast – the hazy, lazy coast of distant Devon…
Life can be miserable sometimes -I lost my mother seven years ago- she died of cancer, a tumor, in the head. I’ve seen three counselors
I was very angry I wasn’t happy with -you mustn’t say- God I had a nervous breakdown, I did. This is true. I went from heaven End of tunnel
You never get over it, that’s the fact. They say time is a healer, but… It’s nice to talk to somebody. I don’t talk to many people.
Then I met my boyfriend, so it’s not so bad. Some people are still living with cancer hard to put in words. You got to see it to believe it
Silence is golden -so they say but take my words, it’s not silence can be caused by many things, by deafness which can lead to a lonely life
a deaf person is very wary of speaking to another person because if they reply they cannot hear them; also they will rarely speak
to another deaf person because they will not hear so they retreat into their own silent world which leads them to avoid company
mostly through embarrassment. – B. S. Lewis
Your star Catch the star that holds your destiny the one that shines in your heart always believe that your goal is attainable
as long as you commit yourself to it. The greatest gift in life are acquired through determination and hard work you alone can make
your dreams come true. Give your dreams and hopes everything you’ve got then you will achieve your goal. – B.S. Lewis
The soldier. Soldier, soldier, rough at sight gentle was his name sweetness was what was known of him flowers were placed on his grave.
His clothing was so dirty and sweat poured from his face. he battled in the trenches in weather cold and grim.
His thoughts of home and comfort warmed him from within. He fought for Queen and country not to be forgotten when in battle he did fall
His life was taken from him. He was an only son but many sons were saved because of this brave one. But glory he shall have
in a better place. His brothers and his sisters all live in peace since that day has past. But one day they will meet that brave soldier
who gave his very last.
Empty shops. Empty places. Sums up our city. Lots of lovely shops. Busy. They have all gone to Cardiff.
Empty shops. Blank faces. Sums up our city. It’s not just the shops. It’s everything. It’s a time of abandonment.
Empty shops and blank faces. Sums up our city. That’s what the case is.
Free. Exhilarated. Dancing with strangers. Painting smiles in my emotions. Looking both sides before crossing the street in case I see you.
The party Bring your own drink -and your own vote- and if your party wins then you can gloat!
Crazy, crazy, crazy woman. It’s windy. Wendy, like the wind blowing. You crazy, she crazy, me crazy. Man with no name was one of them.
All poetry rhymes otherwise, crimes But if you eat rye you’re allowed to cry It doesn’t have to mean as long as a word is seen
Emma, Emma, big and bold with me she laughs and feels she’s sold. Dream, dream, she likes and snores she tells me things that no one knows
Tell me, tell me I ask her more my dreams and schemes are long and sore I will not tell I hear her say you will have to tell me before I go
Wait, wait, I way to her, drive your car, my dear, or you will stay.
We must go -at 5 o’clock- we have a meeting in Sainsbury’s -at 5 o’clock- you’re welcome to join us for a coffee -at 5 o’clock- no, no, no
More Poetry is Needed Maybe it’s succeeded: A void of words A chasm of verbs A prison of nouns A depth with no bounds? NO –
An expanse of fluent cogent phrases On a bed of daisies A symphony of sentences falling as stars Settling into the realm of the written word
A release of the iron bars ’till finally all poetry is heard OUTCOME All poetry is heeded!
let’s have a coffee at costa
or stroll through Cline gardens letting our spaniel alfie run wild and free . As we reach the hill we all roll down like children .
I like to sit on the stones to relax my feet and say hi to the people that i meet
when i am down the beach i like to have a treat and rest my tired feet and say sup to people i meet!!!!!!
when im down at the beach i like having an ice cream its sooooo nice i call it a nicecream!!!!!!!!!
When I’m down by the sea, it makes me as happy as can be! Playing in the sun and having loads of fun the beach is where I want to be!!!!!!!!
I like to watch all the waves whilst counting the days until I will be here again!
i like to sit on the sand when im on the beach because it makes me feel as happy as can de!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The coffee ring poems now painted on walls. Bright tattoo tags: tribal territory. Working under the skin of shufflers by.
I like going to joe`s ice cream and sitting in the rock pool.
The waves rolling in over the sand and crashing against the rocks
Open up your heart and experience the magic & power of the universerse …
sitting in the sun on my favourite bench in the rhodedendrum gardens with lily and ralph my dogs
Our Cockapoodle waggles her tail on the lawns of remnant aristocrats.
Swallows glide along the Clyne tree-line, like Airbus A380’s along Greenland to New York. Their African calls brighten up the place.
take it to the bridge, betwixt the curb sides, is where I lay
Learn to love yourself, unconditionally, inside & outside. Let the tears flow freely like iced diamonds
Sorry no can do cuz I know kung- fu Because you fall seven times stand up eight!
Adding on to make you straight like making things go on a date
writing now to make a frown going down to go to town.
you know what would make a train three buckets of glass pains.
Five nights at Freddy’s is a game which you will desire to play
If you know how to make art you could see the sun shine.
with support from your mom you will make us go on
come on everybody show up here and expand this by adding some ideas.
There was a man, with a mysterious red object for a head…on his waist..he had jeans, no one knew the reason or means…
balloons ran out of helium……..there all stuck theres no holding em…………swansea has art and culture all over the place
so get involved and give it a new face
pink splodges falling off the stairs…. the man staring at them who just doesn’t care
or does he?
and i can’t find the way to Swansea, the signs seem to all be pointing in different directions
but is there just one way? When did we decide that there was only one way to do things?
a sentence says a lot, but a picture says more…
like actions speak louder than words
or do they?
swansea is awesome!!!!!
or is it?
thats how it seems but don’t assume. cities can change as much as life
It changes as much as the tides
More poetry is needed the poster pleaded, for less gloom and doom, let us make room for words and faith, not blind but kind, words embellish
words embellished and more than relished by whom it may concern, for whom words toll and touch the soul, that pull
you inside out and make you want to stamp your feet and shout, yes more poetry is needed, let us hope the posters plea is heeded.
Slack tide of a City waiting to change A wealth of investors lay dormant and still Spring-melt economies warmth from the sun
Take the deadweight of history into the sea Horizons unlimited no setting sun Futures not written are open to all
hustle bustle toil and muscle street hard pounding down tramping feet around the town office doors open shut welcome shoppers wealthy or not
tired and weary happy or tearey looking for a seat somewhere to eat before going home taking car bus or train
business finished money spent dark streets quiet digesting their diet of lost hungry souls. Anabee
Jerry and Tom to Wind street they went. This time without fuss and the rest of us. To open a bottle they were hell bent.
A custom of old had made them so bold. A date to remember in mid November when the knowing parley for New Beaujolais day.
The high pitched bleating of a seagull leaning into the wind drowns out the ocean roar of morning rush hour traffic.
Smooth hot chocolate creamy foam view Postcard view Sunlight breaks through silver on the grey. Glacier calm the sea bridges the gap between
From this side of the bay to Mumbles Head.A line of shadow marks the horizon as sea grey meets blue sky grey
where heavy rain clouds are gathering, their movements changing the view.
lightly they tread, tip toeing along the sky. they’ll ruin your washing, left on the line, soaked right through.
The golden sunshine now clasps the whole city in warm embrace the people rejoice in her unforgettable splenour
Flotsamed houses litter a storm-washed shore Clinging limpet-like to ancient roots An almost lost language names the rows.
never lose faith of what you believe in. never lose faith in what is true always lose faith in the people that decieve you always lose faith
A hunch of grey-paned houses Takes shelter from the gathering storm; Seagulls freewheel in slow motion Over gloaming skies;
A tread of light; Unbelieving; Frightful at sight Almost decieving Here the town lay, Under blue breezes
Rising above the winter coat of grey The hills and shores with age old defiance grasp For the palest rays of sun on a clear Spring day,
Desperate to say “We are still here!”. We have not succumbed to the numbing cold of the winter winds. The clock has turned,
And the warmth renews our verdant banks With daffodil speckled delight.
Each a torch, a warning a scream of spring Our resistance to leaving a victory in itself the clock has turned
Take part in a free poetry workshop with award winning poet Rhian Edwards as part of the Dylan Thomas centenary celebrations for Art Across the City 2014! Workshop will be taking place at Swansea Museum on Saturday 29th March and Saturday 5th April from 11am – 4pm. Book your place now!
Winner of Wales Book of the Year 2013, the Roland Mathias Prize for Poetry 2013, the People’s Choice 2013, as well as current winner of the John Tripp Award for Spoken Poetry, Rhian Edwards is a rare poet who successfully bridges the gap between page and performance poetry.