I lost my Virginity aged only twelve
to a young blonde maid,
two years my senior…
in a field between the motorway
and Neath Abbey Ruins…
wearing a ‘Kiss Me Quick’ hat
I’d stolen from a stall at the Fair
… with a gang of other kids
sharing flagons of cider
and cheering us on from close by.
My eldest son was born a month
before my fifteenth birthday
to a pretty, raven-haired girl
a school year above me…
who all the older boys wanted.
I learnt the value of Kinship
… whilst fighting ‘Territory’
street battles in the Woodlands
as a very young lad…
whenever I heard a Battle-Cry
erupt from my mouth
upon seeing my Brother hurt
… or his angry face pelting
in my direction if I was faltering.
I’ve not shed a single tear as a man
except out of happiness or pride
… but ‘Disappointment’
upon my Mother’s stern face is
the only thing that brings me close
… which is one of the reasons why
I stay the fuck away from her, yeah.
I am Pagan through and through
… I feel the ‘Cords’ that connect
me to what’s Important…
the ‘Love’ I feel but rarely speak
is a Witchcraft I hold so very deep.
My ‘Memories’ are my photographs
… as I Travel and Explore…
Chartering my way through this Life.
* this poem is dedicated to my son Michael who was taken through the veil
Black September 2021… see ya when I get there, boy.
** Cymry Dewiniaeth & Paganiaeth is Welsh for ‘Welsh Witchcraft & Paganism’.