cliff bevan


I have been writing poetry for many years. I belong to the poetry society and read at the poetry cafe. I have been on several courses with Creative Future.

Too Late

It’s a four minute warningThe bomb will be dropped,It’s too late to talk nowIt cannot be stopped,Do we go to the cellar?Amass in the quad?Or rush to the churchesTo try and find God? It’s a four minute warning,Maybe that long to live,Now how do we fill it?What last fling can life give?Can we go in orgasm?Make a telephone call,Or immerse in best brandyTo obliterate all? It’s a four minute warning,Now, someone’s to blameAnd before it’s the finishWe could find out his name,We could all point the fingerAnd wipe out our guilt,Let him be engulfed in the riverOf the blood to be spilt. It’s …Read more

The Scooter

On the plinth a scooterStood a long ,long time,Relic of the sixties,Warriors in their prime. Brought back the youth in sixties,Escaping from the past,In many ways rebelling,A new, exciting blast. There were many icons,Beatles finding fame,Peace adorning the love child,London bore the name. Yet the mods were angry,Fought the rocker gangs,As Wilson ruled the country,In Brighton showed their fangs. The Who wrote QuadropheniaThey tapped the youthful ways,In  this time of passionTo fight  the music plays. In sixty four they descendedFrom far afield to the sea,The mods upon their scooters,As flashy as can be. The years would pass by quickly,The mods would park their bikes,A job within …Read more

Left Alone

I remember years agoYou were born in SwanseaAnd I watched how you would growFrom toddler into Teenager. I was proud of things you didYou played for Wales at rugby,All the muscles were not hid,You ruled the pitch Triumphant. In exams you went so farMany ‘A’s you gathered,You  weren’t forever at the bar,You studied , went to lectures. All the girls found you so sweet,Blue eyed, made for passion.In your clothes so bright and neat,You made them want to know you. I will miss you while away,Overland and ocean,No-one here to laugh and playIn the manner you did. Harvard now is your great aim,College there is …Read more

Welsh Roots

Since Owen Glendower was rampantAnd ravaged English linesSo Edward built some castlesWhose Strength portrayed designs. The language spoke some beautyTo match the empty hillsThe coast was rough and roaring,The mountains visions fills. When Carnarvon crowned Prince RupertTo be the Prince of WalesAnd poets ruled eistedfords,And miners dug the vales. The orators like BevanAnd Lloyd-George fired the mindPut all their flair in rugbyAnd beauty of that kind. There is a church in OgmoreWith graves that spell my past,My father’s lines were chiselledAn uncle’s faith will last.


Sidney sat and sipped a sherrySolemnly staring, starry eyedDreaming of his obituaryConjuring up just how he’d died. Ghoulishly garrotted in the graveyard,Gored and ground by giant bullHe envied them this great departure,Such death was living to the full. Hung on high for heinous highjack,Hero hit by hard, hired gunThis was the happiness he longed for,The way eternal life was won. Brightly burning on a bonfire,Branded bomber, brigand, thiefOh the chance to be a martyr,A glowing symbol of belief. Devilish death in darkest dungeon,Drowned or dashed by desolate sprayBut sitting softly in the shadowsThe force of life just slipped away.

The Pills

Blueberry-dooberry over the hillSomeone just gave me a funny green pill,Now I can see castles that float in the air,Rainbows, pianos that cannot be there. Blueberry-dooberry all out of rhymeI think that I swallowed a mauve one this time,Sky has turned orange, sun is bright green,I can see colours that you’ve never seen. Blueberry-dooberry strange in the headThis time for certain I’ve gone for the red,I can pick up great oak trees and give them a flingI can fly, I can float, I can do anything. Blueberry-dooberry reality’s bustThis time I tell you the yellow’s a must,Elephants do ballet and crocodiles kiss,The gazelle …Read more

Oysters Away

Do you not know what you are doingDo you not know the sun when it shinesHave you never at night been a-wooingAnd sat with the owl as he dines?Have you never discovered chapatisQuaffed wine with a bowl of chow meinOr sang with a frog in the bathroomBecause he’s afraid of the rain?Is there nothing that gives you real pleasureCan nothing stir you to danceAnd throw off your clothes in the highstreetAnd swear that you thought it was France?Can you not suck up soup through a hosepipeOr balance the bowl on your chin?Then it’s time that you started to studyPray close …Read more

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