We have a habit of stoning prophets
from time to time, here in Jerusalem.
Along the spine where weight and time deposit;
inheritance of winter’s long union.
So you see, our god is a jealous god,
sunk into the language, it’s heart and bone,
when Christ is trapped in short stories of good,
weighed down by the scree of the dreaming stone.
Come, coiled thoughts of a lifeless destiny,
how strong hands build these nothings of today.
While we bathe in blame of old devilry,
our communities are weathered away.
In the reliquiae of history,
the chapel at its heart stands empty.
I grew up on a council estate in Neath, South Wales during the 1970’s. This fractured landscape of machines and mountains, with the underlying ‘Hiraeth’ in welsh life has developed into my poetry. I currently resides in Canterbury with my wife and baby daughter and works for NHS cancer services. My debut chapbook ‘Take Your Journeys Home’ is due for release with Clare Songbirds Publishing House later this year. I have been nominated the for Pushcart Prize (2018) for my poem ‘Sorrow on the Hill’ from my debut chapbook.
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