Promise is a Promise - Steve Coel

Stryd Fawr / Stryd Uchel

Steve Coel

Promise is a Promise

Steve Coel

today

doorway

long corridor

place used to be arcade

not now

shops are long gone

roof caved in

steel mesh windows

walls decorated

courtesy of local youth

no charge

nice touch that

so you could say

it's quiet 

round this way

now there's 

nothing left to nick

council say 

places like this

is going to be developed

we'll see

meantime

is where i comes

to spend my days

to finish jobs

i been doing

during the night

i'll have finished

in about 

six months 

anyways

do what the fuck

they wants then

all of them

and if they 

ever finds 

what i been hiding

round here

won't be

any comeback

promise is a promise

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Small Country - Steve Coel

Taith Araf

Steve Coel

Small Country

[ Extracts ]

Steve Coel

12 Months Ago.

Wave good bye to the good time...

...she noticed the writing on the wall 

as she quickly dropped from view. 

Her minder was still busy looking for her 

and she didn't fancy another beating, 

not so soon after the last one.

Evil man, evil temper, bad habits.

But even street minders don't come in here.

Not in this place.

Anyway, owner sees it all 

puts her drink on the table 

and goes outside for a quiet chat. 

Not good.

Tonight.

Small country...

...she once more looks out into the empty street 

and again at the writing on the wall, 

written in her own language.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Middle Lane Birds - Steve Coel

UnEven Street

Steve Coel

Middle Lane Birds

Steve Coel

Along the hidden 
grassed up middle lane
birds swoop as insects

skirt and skit...

Here, time is held in place 
by bells

distant with summer  
brown and crinkled blue.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Daytime Hideaways

Taith Araf

Steve Coel

Daytime Hideaways 

Steve Coel

In back spaces

unseen from roads

and rear view mirrors

between rubble

and broken glass,

shaking hands

are shaken.

Tracksuits

are worn 

to hide shape,

weapons,

sex.

Trade here 

is invisible,

unknown.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Kildas Song - Steve Coel

heb deitl

Steve Coel

Kildas Song

Steve Coel

Quarrels echo across

the yard

towards a large

watery gate.

Grey

figures turn

hiding their hands

and run,

as animals scatter

with the wind

that howls.

Down the hill,

women gather

and men glare

behind vast whiskers

in photographs

of heavy locks,

that fasten decisions

about the outside.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Shopping Trolley - Steve Coel

Fade to Grey

Steve Coel

Shopping Trolley

Steve Coel

Like a dream it was just now.
Watching you walk barefoot and unconcerned 
across the wet road, 
it being this early like and all.
You must have started evening with shoes I suppose, 
but there you go.
No CCTV to follow your every movement.
Not here.
Not yet.
But you's being watched my friend.
Trust me, you's being watched.

See it's quiet round this way.
Apart from splashing water 
and occasional heavy gun fire.
Odd that actually.
Guns usually start up later. 
At a more sociable time like.
No real point this time of the morning.
No-one to frighten see.
This time of day is just showing off.
Pricks.

So what the fuck you think you's doing round here
is beyond me.
But then I's not being paid to think or worry
about kids like you is I?

So better get on.
If I can get this knife bit further in
I can be on my way as well.

Shit, was that gunfire again?

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Robert Johnson - Steve Coel

Taith Araf

Steve Coel

Robert Johnson 

Steve Coel

Tempted by angels to play God

a crumpled young man sits,

12 fret on his knee.

Smoking, he begins performing

to an empty dance floor.

Returning curious stares

he slowly starts 

to weave his spell

singing songs of lost love,

slavery, and distant voices.

Finally, twisting long last notes

toward the wet earth

he finishes

and the faces turn away.

The young man returns to his thoughts

as, cigarette in hand,

he once more listens

to angels tempting him 
to play God.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Docks Museum [ v.2 ] - Steve Coel

Anwastad Strydoedd

Steve Coel

Dock Museum

Steve Coel

Today

dry docks glisten

with salty channel rain

as woollen old men

sit on one of their

favourite benches.

Each is smiling,

as together they remember

the songs and laughter

from when they were

young, hard welders.

Today

visitors will glance

at walls 

of dismal grey photographs.

Some show weary men

and their smiling girlfriends

waving small half empty

beer glasses

in the air.

Others are of

car empty streets

clogged with leather boots

being dragged

to early shifts.

And some

are of small boys playing

scrappy football

with tight balls

of Western and Echo

in muddy parks

bordered with adverts

for cheap beer and bread.

Tomorrow

old men will sit

and see it all again.

The departing visitors

will not see them.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Empty Corners [ v.6 ] - Steve Coel

ymadawiadau

Arbrofion gweledol / lliw

Steve Coel

Empty Corners

Steve Coel

Stepping away from the street

through a broken 

broad open two door,

you painfully walk

into a high congregation

of  brown paper

and leather.

Once inside

along each damp tired wall

you discover anointed paint

quietly peeling,

and unclean fragile carpet,

frayed by disappointment,

falling into 
gloomy empty corners 
stacked high with rotting chairs.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

The Proposal [ V.4 ] - Steve Coel

Y Llywiwr

Arbrofion gweledol / lliw

Steve Coel

The Proposal [ V.4 ]

Cut

into bitter wet stone

by masters of dead trades,

your life story.

Brief,

like you,

words torn from broken parents

target the elders

who created your passing.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication