National Poetry Day - "Blessed by the Bear"

On a recent work trip to London, I ended up waiting over an hour at Paddington Station for my designated train. As I waited I watched a stream of people visit the statue of Paddington Bear. I wrote the first draft of this poem while on the train home. As it's National Poetry Day today, I thought I'd share it.

Blessed by the Bear

Make haste to pause on platform one

His prints of paws guide pilgrims on

To selfies take with his saintly stare

Not hard, but warm; a gentle bear

See them come and seek to share

A sacred moment with the beloved bear

Take blessing from his worn-bright nose

And commemorate with smiling pose

Count them! Young, old, sullen, smiling

Teens too cool, then shyly styling

Greying couples grin for each other

And children clamber to shine for mother

And the bronze bear sees, and blesses, all

Safe travels, travellers, great and small

Bid adieu and quicken, journey on

Granted grace by Paddington

Previous poems:

We Are the Generation: X (published for National Poetry Day 2025)

Pethau Hen (published January 2024)

Older poems and stories

October 2025 review

We are already almost a week into November so time for a round up of October as it recedes into memory.

It was a big month in politics with a conference, canvassing, and Caerphilly! I blogged about my first Plaid Cymru conference and about Plaid Cymru's fantastic win in Caerphilly. 

Besides canvassing for the by-election I had some early morning train trips to various stations to talk to commuters about the inequitable rail funding in Wales. My journeys of discovery took me to Cogan, Radyr, Dingle Road and Dinas Powys usually with Anna, often with Ben, and on one occasion with John!

My travels weren't just limited to short range train trips. Cathy and I drove to Manchester to see Counting Crows play at the Apollo. It was our third event at that venue this year.

We had great seats in the balcony, very close to the stage. The band were great, although being so close we could see they were having to contend with lots of technical difficulties. 

For national poetry day, I posted a poem I wrote this year called 'We are the Generation: X'. It's not a happy poem. On a more upbeat note I blogged about how I have managed to recover (again) from type 2 diabetes.

I ended up having three trips to Dinas Powys this month. The train station leafleting session, my regular game of Blood Bowl with Bryan (on a blood-themed Friday!), and to watch Cardiff Draconians play in the Welsh Cup. The Dracs won and got through to the third round for the first time in their history.

Earlier in the month, I blogged about the new look Orange Llama Stadium when I watched the Dracs beat Cwmbran Celtic. I also went to my first Barry Town home game of the season - a disappointing defeat to Briton Ferry. I had a much better time at a Shrewsbury away day in Oldham, conveniently the Saturday after the Counting Crows gig in Manchester!

I'd been warned that Boundary Park was a cold football ground - and it was. But the stewards and staff there were really lovely. Shrewsbury led twice, scoring their second goal in the 90th minute to cause absolute mayhem in the packed away end, but then conceded a gutting equaliser in the last minute of additional time. Still, it was a useful away point and the goals warmed us up a bit. 

November will be a big month with a large work event and a big family birthday! Hopefully I will have some time to blog it as I go along!

National Poetry Day - "We are the Generation: X"

As it was National Poetry Day yesterday, here's a poem I started writing earlier this year. It's loosely based on a conversation I had with my schoolfriend Georgie, about the tendencies of people that align with the rough categorisation of 'Generation X'. It's been noted that people born in this cohort are statistically less likely to have children than the generations before and after them, are more likely to experience depression, are more likely to end their own lives, and so on. 

There is a working theory this is delayed trauma operating on a genetic level; a holdover from the tremendous stress of living through the Second World War, which was carried in the ova of women born immediately after the war, many of whom became the mothers of Generation X from the mid 60s onwards. I'm not sure how much I believe any of that. But it intrigues me. 

Another aspect of this is the memory of the pre-internet, Armageddon-anticipating era that I grew up in. I remember the books in the school library that went into detail about how much damage a nuclear bomb would cause, and, of course there was Where the Wind Blows by Raymond Briggs. Most science fiction was dystopic and every future in 2000AD was post-apocalyptic. We replaced Dan Dare, the hero pilot of the future, with Judge Dredd, the brutal law enforcer of Mega City One, and everyone thought that was normal. 

And, if you weren't going to die in the nuclear apocalypse, you were going to die of AIDS. The 80s were a great decade to grow up in, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. 

Anyway, it's all grist to the poetic mill. Here's the poem:

We are the Generation: X

We are the Generation: X

Stolen love and poisoned sex

We are the Generation: X

We are the Generation: X

No guiding stars or sacred texts

Dystopic dreaming solo treks  

We are the Generation: X

We are the Generation: X

Dancing to our doombeat hex

Genetic trauma atom wrecks

Reflective flexes so complex

We are the Generation: X

We are the Generation: X

Cynics as we cash our checks

Embrace the boots upon our necks

Our vicissitudes are misdirects

From the dread of what comes next

We are the Generation

X

Read more of my poems and stories on this index page

Pethau Hen (a poem)

I'm trying to be a little bit braver in 2024, and put some more of my creative stuff 'out there'. I know this blog doesn't have the biggest readership, but I'm starting here. 

This poem is called Pethau Hen, which means 'old things' in Cymraeg. It's inspired by some recent stays in North Wales, where if you go down the right valley (or the wrong one) you feel like you might meet something - or someone - unexpected. 

Mist-topped mountains in the Nantlle valley

Whisper me the secrets the sacred mountains keep

The ragged cragged nooks where the dragons sleep

Hills where tragic princes raised their broken forts

And clouds grant gloomful cover to wild faerie courts

Capture and interpret the turgid burbles of the brooks

Catch those corner glimpses that retreat from second looks

Dig up the bones of giants who left nothing but their graves

And greet the gladiators hiding in the waves

Take me where the gulls cry death on the pebble shore

The mesmerising skyline as flat as it is raw

Give me reason to believe and grieve the driven pethau hen

And call them near to meet me in the cold redemptive rain

March 2021 End of Month Review

So, that's March done and dusted. We are one quarter the way through 2021, and definitely a year into the pandemic now. On that note, the big personal pandemic-related event for me in March was being invited to have a Covid vaccination (blogged about here).

March also marked the one year anniversary of my work team's hasty "temporary" departure from our office when we discovered the ward above us was where all the patients with Covid were being parked. In the past year my team has successfully transitioned to working from home and we even had a meet up on the Spring Equinox for a takeaway cup of coffee and socially distanced walk. 

There has been a slight loosening of the various Covid restrictions and that meant I was able to get a hiarcut for the first time since October! I needed it.

Lockdown hair!

For a couple of days before my trim I kept singing "Goodbye, Lockdown Hair!" to the tune of Candle in the Wind as I walked around the house. It amused me if nobody else. It was so nice to have a cold neck again after my trip to the barbers.

The 21st March was Census Day. One big change for me compared to ten years ago is that I said that I was a Welsh speaker. It's funny to think that potentially a researcher 100 years hence will read my records and see that I went from not being a Welsh speaker to becoming one. I don't get to use my Welsh as often as I really should if I want to maintain my fluency. I want to attend further classes, but I found the Zoom version of Welsh classes less enjoyable, so I'm waiting to see if it will be possible to continue in real life classrooms any time soon.  

Zoom is a fact of pandemic life, though. I've been a member of the British Thematic Association, which is for all 'thematic' stamp collectors, for several years now. I've helped them start running Zoom presentations for people to talk about their collections over the past few months. In March I was the presenter, talking about my collection of stamps featuring the Statue of Liberty. 

My presentation included the two postcards pictured above, which had a personal connection. Cathy sent one of them to me, which was part of the impetus that got me focused on collecting the Statue of Liberty on stamps. I enjoyed presenting, but there was a bittersweet aspect to it when I dug out my collection and found some notes that my dad had written to me about some of the stamps.

The notes from Dad were poignant as we also saw the two year anniversary of his sudden passing. It was also the one year anniversary of my friend Ben's death, who died a year to the day after Dad. (This photo of me and Ben was taken on Shrewsbury Town's first trip to Wembley in 2018 - a very wet day and a defeat in the Associate Members Cup final.)

On the one year anniversary of Ben's death a lovely online memorial service was held. We were sent an order of service beforehand and it included a fragment of poetry that Ben really loved. It feels like a fitting way to end this monthly report.

Creative writing - list of stories and other stuff I've written

I have decided to chuck all the links to my creative writing in one post, which I will update as and when.

Short stories

Welcome to Chillsville

Beckham TM

Lost in Splott

Family Ties

Seasonal

Christmas Journey

Angel's Delight

Zodiac Team extracts

Victorious Earth (Background)

The Beginning

Scorpio's Story

Meeting in the Mess

Poems

All or Nothing

Winter Morning

Angel Voice

Windy Walk to Work

(By way of explanation - it was very windy walking to work yesterday. As I passed the entrance to an alleyway I heard a banging noise, as if someone was hammering on a door. However the source of the noise was a bin bag caught on a gate. Hence this haiku.)

Windy walk to work

Wet bin bag flaps, black

Wind-pinned against a gate

Yearning to fly free

All or Nothing

I've been looking through the archives and found this poem I wrote in January 2009, which kind of meshes with a lot of things I've been thinking recently.

All or nothing


We may get it wrong
As we travel along
And stamp on the brakes
If we make mistakes

We may get it right
To our utter delight
But we’ll have to move fast
Or the feeling won’t last

We may hear the words
And think they’re absurd
Or apply them in detail
And somehow still fail

Do we miss the point
As we sit in the joint
Our prison, our minds
As we numb our behinds?

At the end of the day
We aren’t what we say
What’s really true
Is that we are what we do.

Another poem (but not one of mine)

Love is a pineapple
Sweet and indefinable
- Piet Hein

A poem called 'Winter Morning'

I found this lurking in a little-used file on my computer. It's a poem I wrote 6 years ago. I was pleased with the rhythm. I especially like the second line of the second stanza.

Winter Morning

I sought God on a grey day
With a short horizon and cloud hung low
Mist obscured where I should go
And when I talked, I talked in tongues
But now I’m mute
And the point is moot
The tree of life yields bitter fruit

I sought God on a dark night
In the vaults of Heaven, in a crypt of stars
And moonshine shone on prison bars
And when I sang, I sang sad songs
But now I’m mute
And the point is moot
The tree of life yields bitter fruit

I sought God on a cold morn
In a ghost-white forest, under haunted trees
A chill wind stirred a grave of leaves
And when I wept, I wept alone
But now I’m mute
And the point is moot
The tree of life yields bitter fruit

I sought God on a drawn eve
When my breath was warm and my skin was cold
The world was young, yet I felt old
And when I slept, I slept like stone
Forever mute
But the point is moot
The tree of life yields bitter fruit

Angel voice (a poem)

I write more poems than I publish, but occasionally a scrap of verse seems to tangle well with itself and I think, 'hmmm, maybe I could show this to people'. 

So, anyway, here goes:

ANGEL VOICE

I used to be a high-flying angel
But they clipt my wings
After I slipped and sinned and fell

And tho’ now a broken earth-tied angel
Yet my crypt still sings
Heav’n’s secret songs, too sad too sweet to tell

Good Friday

At the Good Friday service today, The Blessing by Gerard Kelly was read out. It resonated with me. Particularly the last verse.

May you who are restless
Find rest
And in rest, restoration
And the healing
Of your hollow soul
May peace be yours
-
May you who are frozen
Find freedom
And in freedom the faith
To face the fire
And the thawing
Of your ice-gripped heart
May peace be yours
-
May you who are conflicted
Find convergence
And in convergence
Confidence
To be the one new child
Of your old divided self
May peace be yours
-
May you who live in tension
Find tenderness
And in tenderness the tendency
To kindness
And the creativity
Of a caring character
May peace be yours
-
And you who are Godless
May you find God
And in God,
The grace and growth you need
For fruit and fullness
And the love that will last you
Through the long-haul
Of a lived-for-others life
May peace be yours

A Valentine's poem

We had a power cut on Valentine’s night
So we played Scrabble by candlelight
I got two bingos, which was well nifty
And Cath had all vowels, but still scored two fifty

More interesting things from my week

1) I put the word Jedi down in a game of Scrabulous as a joke, and the dictionary accepted it. Cool.

2) E-marketing guru Michael Katz thought my entry into a haiku competition was one of the best. My haiku was:

Chat to guru Mike!
And listen perhaps to the
wisdom of penguins?

Sometimes the poetry of a song lyric strikes me as profound

"the stars were blazing like rebel diamonds, cut out from the sun"

-Read My Mind
(The Killers)