where art collides philosoperontap

April 11, 2009

A Loving God

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 11:40 am

In Italy this week
A loving God
Who is all powerful,
Killed off a couple
Of hundred people
In an earthquake.
They must have been
Evil, presumably?!

The bell tolled,
The faithful went to prayer
And their Leader sent a message
“Assuring us of his spiritual nearness,
Sharing the anguish”.

The bereaved I’m sure,
Would be comforted,
That the souls of the departed
Were fine,
Presuming they were
Good Catholics and
Regularly went
To confession,
The dead that is.

Some mercy was shown –
Survivors were found
Pleased that their names
Were not this time
On the celestial roll call.

The dead, Sofia, Carlo,
Anna, Francesco
Fictitious and fleeting,
Will be remembered for some years
By a plaque, itself destined
For destruction by some future
Wanton act of the same God.

The Orinoco Trail

Filed under: poems for children — Trefor Davies @ 10:37 am

In the morning the mist rolled down from the peaks
To mingle with the steam rising from the hot springs
That formed the headwaters of the Orinoco river.
The snows were still waiting to melt but we floated around the pools
Enjoying the scenery and the fact that we were warm
In spite of the obvious cool of the mountains.

Exploring the waters we were suddenly caught
In a current that left us powerless to resist;
Swept downwards we struggled to keep our heads
Above the torrent and to avoid the attentions of the rocks
That waited their chance at each bend.

In no time at all, it seemed, we found ourselves
Down the river and out at sea fighting huge waves
That pummeled us as much as had the river earlier in our journey.
The waves eventually grew smaller and we were washed
Onto a gentle sloping beach where we were able to recover.

Around us were exotic plants of all kinds
And above the beach the miracle of a terrace bar,
No illusion this but an invitation to partake.
Dripping back to our towels we picked up some
Valuables to barter for ice creams with the locals.

Wild water rapids we got licked!

The Starbucks Bubble

Filed under: poems — Tags: , , — Trefor Davies @ 9:07 am

Sitting there sipping my tea on the indoor terrace
I was completely relaxed and the noises
That bounced off the skin of my bubble
Added to my sense of wellbeing.
The sounds were never quite prominent enough to intrude
But I could hear what they were.

Chairs moved, table tennis balls pinged and ponged,
People spoke and I could, I thought, detect
The faint whirring of the air-conditioning fans above,
Teaspoons clicked and straws sucked as footsteps went by.
I could see the rainwater running
Down the glass roof outside the bubble
But the sound of the rain was only in my imagination.
Climbers went slowly up and down the wall.
A man, who had been sat with his daughter
For at least ten minutes in front of me finally spoke:
“When is your first exam?”

The family eventually found me and the bubble burst .

Jardin Des Sports, Longleat Center Parcs, Easter 09

April 6, 2009

What a show

Filed under: poems — Paulie @ 9:54 pm

Well,
We listened with amusement.
We enjoyed the later banter.
The elder male grandchild was on.
He held the crowd.
He shouted clear.
The description was crisp and the cola was tasty (so we hear).
Then we heard the sirens.

Center Parcs Longleat

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 8:45 pm

The pool, providing you can find somewhere to plonk your stuff, is a good place to go when you arrive.

The queue of cars, when it was time to go to the villa, was long and with engines running not particularly environmentally friendly.

The villa, when you finally get there in the car, is a long way from the pool.

It’s a good job we have the car, because 50 camels worth of baggage would have taken a long time to carry the seemingly miles to the villa.

The beer, after we had returned the car, was very satisfying.

The queue, in the Parc Market, was highly frustrating when considering all I wanted was a pack of bacon for breakfast.

The bill, from the Parc Market, did not represent a single pack of bacon.

The rain, on the way to the bike hire place, was somewhat disconcerting.

The rain, when riding the bike back to the villa, was very wet and for those of us with glasses, obfuscating.

The hills, between the bike shop and the villa, were completely exhausting.

The glass of wine, back at the villa, was absolutely essential.

The cuddle with Anne, at the end of it all, was highly satisfying

Center Parcs, Longleat, Easter 2009.

April 5, 2009

y coliers

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 8:50 pm

wyth awr i lawr i lwch,
uffern o le mewn tywyllwch;
eu tynged oedd syched hwch,
diffrwythwyd mewn diffeithwch.

gan alun davies

April 3, 2009

The bikers

Filed under: prose — Trefor Davies @ 8:07 pm

I first notice the two motorcycles when they passed me on the M50 a little north of Newport, just after the Celtic Manor junction. I was on my way home from a few days in Cardiff with my sister Sue.

When they passed me I pulled to the left a little to let them by. The rearmost bike was weaving a little side to side, stretching his legs out and riding high on the saddle. It seemed as if he had had a long journey and was flexing his muscles.

They raced on ahead and I thought nothing more. Then a little further north I saw one of them on the hard shoulder of the motorway clearly in difficulty. Looked like some sort of engine trouble. I passed him quickly and again I thought nothing of it.

Then I came across the second bike. He had slowed down and was constantly looking in his rear view mirror for his chum. There was nothing I could do. He had not seen his companion pulling up and could not turn around to go back and look for him. On the motorway I had no way of telling him what had happened.

I quickly pulled ahead of the second bike and my life moved on. I imagine they found each other eventually. It felt to me as if the two bikes were a pair of ducks and one of them had been caught by a fox, the other one flapping around helplessly wondering what had happened to its mate.

March 31, 2009

The boiling anger of Davy Jones

Filed under: poems — Trefor Davies @ 9:10 pm

front

What brought about the fury of that dawn?
An ire that kept the harbour’s ships at bay,
And hid the folk of town in narrow streets,
That rose above the battered beach cafe.

The birds unsettled, taunted by the waves,
Though blinding sand the elements’ ordeal,
The sea a boiling mass that overflowed
To crash upon the castle rocks at Peel.

The ocean’s cities in ill-disciplined parade,
Their towering sides, skyscrapers of the storm,
Disordered buildings ranged in disarray
With roads, deep troughs, that met no shape or form.

That Davy Jones had risen from his grave
Seemed certain to onlookers in the spray,
He chose to punish miscreants abroad
Who should have better meant to stay away.

harbour-wall

Then when at last the wind had sung its tune,
The clouds moved on to play to other halls,
And fishermen returned to ply their lines,
From high upon the granite harbour walls.

The Definitive Beetroot Sandwich

Filed under: miscellany — Tags: — Blues @ 11:56 am

the definitive beetroot sandwich recipe

The beetroot sandwich can be a magnificent part of your culinary repertoire.

Ingredients
1 Large, crusty, unsliced white loaf
Butter
1 Jar pickled baby beets
Salt to taste

Equipment
1 x side plate (or larger depending on the size of your bread) for presentation
1 x bread knife
1 x knife, fork, teaspoon

Using your bread knife, take your large unsliced loaf and cut two thick doorstop slices. If your bread is of the variety which tapers at each end (eg. a Bloomer), make sure you have two slices of the same size. Butter your bread liberally across the whole face of the slice.

Next, open your jar of Baby Pickled Beets. Note – it must be baby beetroot as the bigger variety can sometimes be too crunchy which detracts from the overall quality of the result. Using your teaspoon, select your baby beet, removing it from the jar to the plate. Take your knife and fork and cut the beetroot into generous, chunky slices. Arrange on the buttered bread. Apply seasoning as appropriate. Place finished sandwich on the same plate that you used to cut the beetroot as this will give you the opportunity to soak up all that extra vinegary, beetrooty, loveliness. Serve with large mug of steaming black filter coffee.

Variations
Some schools of thought state that the beetroot slicing should be on a separate plate. They are wrong. Others dictate that pre-sliced beetroot be used, and sometimes even the crinkle cut variety. I can understand this approach as it does take a step out of the process, and avoids dying ones fingers purple, but it does mean you cannot express your individuality in the chunkiness of your beetroot slices.

Warning
Loading your sandwich with too many beetroot chunks can result in mid-bite overflow. If you’re going to do this, make sure you’re wearing appropriate protective clothing.

March 17, 2009

Picture by Dex

Filed under: the art gallery — Trefor Davies @ 9:01 pm

Dex owns the Art Gallery at the corner of Occupation Road and Burton Road. This is one of his pictures.  You can catch him on www.tapenoise,com
 dscn0375

March 15, 2009

3 Games To Go

Filed under: prose — Trefor Davies @ 5:46 pm

Its three games to go and the situation is tight at the top of the table. We travel in convoy to Mablethorpe. It is a beautiful spring day and everyone is in buoyant spirits. What’s more the opposition only has 6 players. Huh, a walkover we think.

Disaster. They score first. No problem. We can recover. After all there are still 55 minutes to go.

Aargh. They score again. These are good little players. Their six are better than our seven who seem to have no idea what to do with the ball today. They just stand there looking at it. Hmm. This ain’t going to be so easy.

Three nil and it isn’t even half time yet! What is going on? This isn’t the team we recognize. We bring on a couple of subs to ring the changes.

Half time and the manager gives the lads a roasting in his team talk. More substitutions.

The second half starts and there seems to be little difference to the quality of our game. I start composing dramatic bits of poetry in my mind. “The season’s hopes dashed. Crashed on the rocks of Mablethorpe sea front. ” Not that there are any rocks in Mablethorpe. It is sand as far as the eye can see.

Fifteen minutes to go. We score. Hooray. A glimmer of hope, a chink of light. Come on lads, you can do it. Nerves are on edge.

Ten minutes to go. The game is picking up. We score number two. Hooray. Come on lads you can do it.

Five minutes to go. Number three. Sighs of relief all round. I begin to feel a little sorry for the opposition who have been by far the best side for most of the game despite being a man down.

Two minutes to go. Amazing. 4 – 3. Now an agonising couple of minutes whilst they pile on the pressure. The defence holds. The final whistle blows. We have all aged five years but the title hopes are still alive.

Well done boys.

Real Ales

Filed under: the art gallery — Trefor Davies @ 9:40 am

Abbot                              (5.0%)               £3.00

Bass                                  (4.4%)               £2.85

Bombardier                  (4.3%)               £2.85

Deuchars                       (3.8%)               £2.70

Ruddles                         (3.7%)               £2.45

Taylor’s Best               (3.5%)                £2.50

The Morning Star real ale tariff.

March 14, 2009

The last person to drive legally the wrong way down Cecil Street

Filed under: bailgate,miscellany — Trefor Davies @ 8:15 pm

As many of you will know Cecil Street, by the Turk’s Head pub, is a one way street that cannot be accessed from Newport.

Terry Mackown was the last person to drive down it legally coming from the Newport direction.  He had dropped a friend off by the Newport Arch to buy some meat from the butchers. There used to be a butcher’s shop there before it became the Klogz shoe shop.

He pulled in down Cecil Street to wait for the friend.  As he was parked there two workmen came and put up No Entry signs either side of the road.  To my knowledge he was the last person to ever drive down that street in a Westerley direction.

Somewhat poingant methinks.

The Burton Road Strip

Filed under: The Burton Road Strip — Trefor Davies @ 3:06 pm

The strip,
Furious confluence of disposable society,
Magnet for irreverents,
Cruising ground for hungry souls,
Melting pot for a global fondue,
Curry, Chinese, fish and chips,
Full English breakfast,
Even pork pies and sandwiches
From the Shell garage.
On your way home from the pub,
You can satisfy your needs
On the Burton Road Strip.

March 13, 2009

Guest Beers Today

Filed under: the art gallery — Trefor Davies @ 8:36 pm

Batemans GHA                                (4.2%)      £2.85

Dixons Diabolical                          (4.4%)      £2.95

Grafton Lady Catherine              (4.5%)      £2.95

Adnams “The Bitter”                    (3.7%)     £2.85

Spire Brewery Overture             (3.9%)      £2.85

Watch out for Irish beers next week for St Patrick’s Day!

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