Unfortunately the Poetry Club no longer meets but below are some poems that were written by club members whilst it was still running. Enjoy!
CARDIFF BY VIP
I hear Sospan Fach
As I eat chick peas and toe rag
With fresh cockles
The different colours and languages
As I watch the girls go by
I wander round Pontcanna Fields
Looking for a second magpie
Spent coal left Cardiff stranded
Fresh dragons dust the ashes into heaps
Ready for the new kindling
Born in Corfu and raised in Splott,
I’m a Greek leek that leaks a lot
with a love of this city,
its sounds and it’s smells.
Though my eyes went away,
All my memories stay.
Marments and Evan Roberts trade on and on
Roaring buses and their fumes, never gone
stifling my Tizer pop.
While peeping through the corner shop
Yet, the grass of Splott Park
Twists my nostrils into eyes
And I belong in a big, big picture
CITY scoring a winning goal
And the sight, the first sight
Of my first baby in the Heath Hospital.
But then a car crash
And broken eyes.
That made me sightless
That made me wise.
Spiro Sueref, Poem 1
Cardiff ain’t a town at all
It’s the people in my heart.
It’s love of all its sights and smells
It’s tastes, tempos and rhythms.
Following the Salvation Army band as a boy
Lost, and being smacked by dad when found
The Costa Rica Coffee Shop.
Aromatic as every memory in my head’s old town
Pulling the tail of my cat
And hearing him meow.
I’ll pat and smooth him back to health again
Pain, pain, pain
Girls in discos and snogging.
Ladies’ lipsticks and perfume.
The stinking salve of the Royal Infirmary
when I needed stitches.
School bells, church bells
bells and trains
I have always had trains in my head and my eyes
Along with those Football songs
and the songs of my children.
Spiro Sueref, Poem 2
I like Cardiff because it’s flat –
it’s easier for me.
I like Roath Park –
It’s soft and green and soothing.
I like the trees.
I like Cardiff’s faggots and peas!
Sitting and thinking of long-gone days when
Noises were much kinder then.
The peaceful tolling of the church bells
Now their tale is ‘tolled’ they’ve no more to tell
The rattle of the Cardiff trams
The chatter of housewives pushing their prams
The singing of the Arms Park crowd
Now everything is ten times more loud
Pop concerts deafen all ears
And friends can’t talk while drinking their beers
Clubs and pubs make so much row
I no longer go to town now
Walking up St Mary Street – what was that smell?
Was it beer-making or drains? T’was heard to tell
But venturing further up to the top
One came to the wonderful smell of the Costa Rica Shop
And many times after a gentle evening caper
The smell and taste of fish and chips eaten from the paper
But now everyone’s in such a hurry
And that gentle meal’s given way to curry
On wonderful days when the sun brightly shone
We went on Whitsun treats, alas non.
Leisurely rowing around Roath Park
Looking up and seeing stars after it got dark
Now cans and bottles decorate our streets
Together with bags which once held sweets
Kids stone buses and break windows of shops
Where are the parents? Where are the cops?
The city of culture? Or the city of vultures?
But if we can keep our garden club together
In spite of the most horrible weather
It can become the city of horticulture
So things aren’t so bad after all!