City Scapes

Reassurance of


Dreams of Brecon


Reassurance of Trains


Trains supply reliability,

A pulse of pliability

Amongst the torso.

Vibrations course to rhythm's warming arm,

Steel's charming song upon the sleepers;

A blunt alarm

Gives reassurance to the gardens.


The choir hardens

With the siren of the Tender

And the Car Protection System

With its slender shrill

A snake around an action of misdeed.

Take heed of traffic hum

As it spreads its calm

Upon a pandemonium

Of horns.


And come, great train,

Whose song adorns paternal comfort

With a cloak of steel,

Vibrations and the rhythm of the wheel,

Still charming on the sleepers.

You are an ancient god,

Found being in the workings of the cog,

And worthy of respect,

Reliability and strength

In circumspect reunions

On the hour.




Dreams of Brecon


The obvious is not a path I would take

Through London's gateways,

Clinging with lament.

If I close my eyes, I am away again,

On a Brecon hillside, spent from a day of jazz,

Draining the earthy humour

From a Swansea posse

Up for the weekend.


Then the gentle arm of a train,

Rhythmically taking the bend,

Whispers on iron in the open air,

And makes me forget.


This is a sleepless walk;

Talk of dreams behind a window

That is plainly urban.

Where shall we now,

This dream and I?

Shall we snatch a dance before the city fox

Rattles a fence with its auburn tail

And bursts the map;

Scatters the trail away.



by Pete Crowther

The sea is calm, the sun is going down
As side by side we stand upon the shore
And watch each wave take shape, run in, and break
Upon the sand. No clouds just sea and sky
Dissolving in the distance where they meet.

We gaze across the waters to the east
And feel the emptiness of northern seas.
Somewhere out there the moon will rise tonight
And like our pagan forebears long ago
We wait as if a miracle to see.

At first there is a lightness in the sky
Then slowly rising from the sea, the moon
Is there, a white and shining globe of mist
As insubstantial as a wraith. It floats
Impossibly above the far horizon.

With slow solemnity we see it lift
Into the sky, solidify, and turn to gold
And I am minded of the priest at mass
Who kneels then raises high the sacred Host,
Plain wafer bread adored as living God.



This lovely morning I went walking
In a meadow where the air was sweet
It made my feet go dancing over
Growing grass and clumps of clover
Bird's-foot trefoil, bedstraw, thistle
Nectar-sweet for butterflies.
Bright buzzing bees were everywhere
While in the air the gentle yet
Insistent hum of hoverflies
Seemed like a psalm to praise the sun,
And all around, above, beyond
Birds called and sang their songs
Of summer and of love until
Quite suddenly all time stood still
And like a dream I could not tell
Just where I stopped, and where all else
Began, and in that boundless state
I smiled to find such joy and gladness
For I was standing in the heart
Of my true home, my family
And I loved it and it was me.


Other Scapes



by Pete Crowther