Welsh Journals

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THE SLUM-WORLD HERE he went guided through the governed squalor. The daffodil Canary sang, hanging in the doorway, and the cell-like Grey houses leaned not on some lump-footed bookie's back. Down his lane of lies drummed barrow and bawdy banana man, Down the navelled finger-nail of road, a crowded park, Webbed with a circus harness of frail chalk, with children's games Square and snail-shaped, breaking the rowdy curtain of gay gulls- But the birds were children, gull-voiced like the sinking sailor man. To that tilted bookie, the green-toothed bloodhound-lidded hag The baker boy the milk-white monumental plasterer Proffered their fancy for the poured brown breaker of greyhounds. The horn gramophone, the tumbling pigeons, two rosy blue-eyed Fish-heads pointed in a stinking kiss, and the solo road Rejoiced like a dance-dress down its tape of sunlight. Here he went through the governed squalor of his world. GLYN JONES. POEM IN steel white land far distant near snow shivers out bead sequins glare Violent torrents thread-like glass pierce needle air bounce and curse Screeching wind full flaying prey distorts the vision sweeps faith away Hideous, torturous, ice to Creation, this terror fight self protect hasten Or lonely stretched on blue-blade beds the green woad will hover weed out design But come stern Storm, hail "Wuthering Heights" do what you will. I need fear no more For my house is clothed in Scarlet. Scarlet my household, Scarlet my mind, spiced herbed and cherished, all alcoves wine Laughter in corners, winks on air chasing shadows on ceiling bruins in lair. Plush lacquered incense, open flowers on wall, frothed milk bread and honey to overcome falls So come myth children, no longer fear, the winter is impotent under my care For my house is clothed in Scarlet. LYNETTE ROBERTS.