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Flotsam and Jetsam

~ Assorted odds and ends

Flotsam and Jetsam

Tag Archives: Poems of Place

Let’s Walk The Bridge

14 Sunday Dec 2025

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Lyrics, Marians on the Mawddach, poems of place, Poetry, Songs

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Barmouth Bridge, In Memoriam, Loss, Poems of Place, Songs

(And think of some who’ve crossed)

Poems of Place: The Barmouth Viaduct

 First night in Hall with first night fear

You calmed the room and charmed all here

And later still when midnight chimed,

With notes compared our friendship primed.

            Let’s walk the ridge

            Let’s cross the bridge

            Let’s walk that bridge 

Together

It seems so long since we first met

But not as long as mountains yet

So many things we seemed to share

Both pilgrims with a friendship rare

            Let’s walk the ridge.

            Let’s cross the bridge

            Let’s walk that bridge 

Together

Somewhere beyond that darkened crest

Your stage is now where Quakers rest 

And sometimes lit by orange moons

We’ll speak your rhymes and sing your tunes

Let’s walk the ridge

            Let’s cross the bridge

            Let’s walk that bridge 

Together

That night with Thom and Gill and me,

The wind was strong sandblasting sea.

With ashes then we’d come to throw

You back to where the flowers grow

Let’s walk the ridge

            Let’s cross the bridge

            Let’s walk that bridge 

Forever.

Dr Samuel Johnson Wants a Word with You

13 Saturday May 2023

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in poems of place, Poetry, The Language of Voice

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Poems of Place

Poems of Place: At Dr. Johnson’s House, Gough Square

First words, last words. 

Old words, new words. 

Buzzwords, adwords

Few words, lost-for-words words.

Sounds like Wordsworth

Sounds like wordplay.

Bonded words, fighting words 

Weasel words, F words, 

Upon my word!

A thousand words,

In a war of words 

I’m lost for words.

Word of the law, word of the Lord

Words in edgeways, words in ears

Word of mouth, word of mum

Spoken in jest, heard on street

Mark my words, then mince my words,

And if words fail me!

I’ll eat my words 

Famous Last Words….

Johnson was not a man of few words….

Samuel Johnson’s House of Words is the world’s only museum that celebrates the power of words and their defining role in creating the language of humanity. http://www.drjohnsonshouse.org

Poems of Place: Acela Express

05 Tuesday Jan 2016

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in poems of place, Poetry

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Boston, New York, Poems of Place, Train journeys

Boston to New York, November 18th 2015

 

Flopped, fatigued against the grain and route,

We left the dark cold concrete Boston quay

In business class, our train a silver flute

Of gleaming portholes and intricacy.

We passed sad sidings and graffitied trucks,

Framed azured skies, dark edged with orange hue,

And knew this was the day’s defensive crux

When relentless night might again break through.

By creeks and coves and whiteboard harbor homes,

We crawled then spurted to impending shade

And halted briefly where no signal roams,

Saw lights expire and all ambitions fade.

 

At this small junction, did the engine send

Its silent signal of how careers end?

 

Poems of Place: Tonquin Bay, Tofino, British Columbia

08 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

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Poems of Place, Tofino

The track snakes downwards through fir and fern,

Cutting through the damp mist towards the smell of salt and sea.

The cove lies under a platform staircase the colour of rotting eggs:

A desolation boxed by rocks and cloud and nervous trees.

The waves, retreating now, leave sand wet and cold and shivering in the wind.

Ahead of me, a bastion of grey sits upon the water

Where two currents meet and fight, but both will soon lose out against the land,

Leaving behind the useless armour of Pacific Blues, the drowning Sea Stars

The random wrecks of Bull Kelp and me in fog,

Uncertain and unsure.

Then, in the mingle and mêlée of the waves, the cloud’s centre breaks,

Giving way to sky and sun, and the wind seeing advantage, blows and helps the rout,

Meanwhile from out of blues and greens, the islands come,

And with them, transforming heat that changes moods.

We watch as Sea Anemones energise the tidal pools,

While above our heads, an eagle flies,

And clarity, uncompromising yet absolute, arrives at last.

The Perfect G&T

01 Friday Aug 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

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Events, Poems of Place

An Epithalamion for Thom and Gilly

 

Thom was born in June, the son of enterprise,

Who spooked his mum because he thought, not talked,

Yet soon made up lost time, and won a prize

For all that banter and the talk well-walked.

 

Gill arrived with ice, and curlers brushed a course

To show a rare girl with a generous heart:

She likes wayward kids as much as tomato sauce,

For Gilly knows the way to calm them à la carte.

 

So in Korea, our children of the ice and sun did meet,

And with hearts soon fused, afterwards flew west,

In new joint venture for the world to greet,

In which they pledged to be each other’s zest.

 

Life’s best tonics keep ingredients real,

Like this blend of Walton spirit and of Lemon peel.

 

 

Poems of Place: An evening in the Wirral

29 Thursday May 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

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Jo Malone, Poems of Place

A drive of affluent gravel

Off a side road in Old Cheshire.

Evening: the sky trifled blue and grey.

The house, milk pebble-dashed and happy;

The smile, welcoming attentive.

Through a postern door we walk

Past a squad of trainers on parade and other sporting kit,

Past the bathroom (with Jo Malone in residence)

To the terrace and its un-manicured and lived on stones.

I contemplate the birdsong, and the ghosts of jets

Note the swimming pool’s ectoplasmic jelly

And beyond, the trees of darker greens and one of purple,

The colour of Malbec , the house-red

I sip in mindfulness.

Poems of Place: A Sunset at Warminster

18 Sunday May 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

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Poems of Place

 

 

The clouds became oppressive slate,

As the sun retreated beyond our view

In one fighting blaze.

Far off in the coll, the garrison lights

Lay scattered like jewels.

Our silence was broken as the long grass

Danced and the trees shuffled in the breeze

And all around us the voices of shadows,

The tenants of this land, the soldiers.

 

Warminster, July 1979

 

Poems of Place: Molineux

06 Tuesday May 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

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Poems of Place, Wolves

The clapping, tapping

Recitatives and zoots sound

Above the velour green chequerboard,

Full canopied by old gold and black.

This is a data-shed of shared memory

Of growing up

Or growing old,

Of breaking up or making up,

Of victory or defeat,

Of almost and nearly,

The boot and leather,

The nylon whoosh of air

The whistle and a roar,

A growing roar,

A crumpled roar,

A triumphant roar!

Champions now,

The hi-res jackets file out to witness the South Bank

And its noisy communion of sweet reward.

Replenished and recharged now,

The golden core glows bright once more.

Image

Poems of Place: Aix

30 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

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Poems of Place

Is Aix en Provence

Worth more than a glance?

Is effortless taste

Just cute cut and paste?

Poems of Place – Ealing W13

27 Thursday Feb 2014

Posted by Paul Christopher Walton in Poetry

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Poems of Place

Will You Be Long?

The edge of morning passed,

Awake, but scarcely,

I close the door on sleep

And you.

Words tip toe on your tongue

“Will you be long”?

The day’s rigours still arrayed,

Careless, yet besieged,

Through fibres stretched

We talk,

You send a signal clear and strong:

“Will you be long”?

Now night’s mid point breached

The conjugated I, you and we

Are six Autumns old

Or twelve,

My answer’s then both right and wrong

“Will you be long”?

“I always will belong”

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