John Munn

Born and bred in the industrial valleys of South eastern Wales. I lived early life in the shadows of the Six bells colliery, growing up within a close-knit community helped shape lifetime views on political issues.

 I worked for over a decade at the colliery and held office in the trade union lodge at a young age. My early influences include the welsh rugby team and the west indies cricket team.

I also delight in reading the wealth of unpublished poets, enjoying greatly poems and pints nights and now poetry nights online. Humour and punchlines get my thumbs up. I’m proud to be one of the four wordly worders.

And answers came there none

Black flesh stretched on bone
Hessian sacking wired at the hip
Looking at the hell on earth that is famine
A leather-bound bible 
In the dust by his feet
On occasion when bacteria filled puddles existed
The Tutsi fly and mosquito 
Were sucked up animal like from the earth
minimal nutrition was found in eating
parchment pages 
from geneses chapter 6

The torment of the empty page

Blank look
Furrowed brow
Pencil chewed like the mouthpiece Inserted 
before receiving the cat of nine tails
perhaps another coffee or a brisk walk
but the milks sour and its raining
Agh  the vintners release 
the Senakot of choice
 helping to loosen and extract constipation of thought 
 log jammed behind a cranial block. 
iotas of constructive conception
dribble from the widening cervix
with chains loosening in the lubrication  
each sip ,each glass ,offering fall off the tongue ideas
with one last heave of blood and piss
of tears and exhaustion 
and the poem falls naked onto the page

Captured moment

Faces in orange  light of flickering gas lamps
Dappled with evening  shade from 
pavement citrus trees
Two seater wrought iron sets of  red wine lovers
In Mediterranean back street bistros
Camel cigarette smoke drifts
Gentle on  Sirocco winds that loosens  minimum cotton clothes
In  acts of atmospheric seduction
Yellow mortared walls and green shuttered windows support
Shambles of Bougainvillea  where 
night-time  cicadas begin their ritual clicking 

As aromatic cheeses and water kissed grapes 
Are placed by the  French waitress wearing a
Black pencil skirt high heels and a red lipped smile 

More wine monsieur ?

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