Lighten Up - Steve Coel

Hapus Cwm

Steve Coel

Lighten Up

Steve Coel

Mystery man, shadow man

is what they used to call him.

Him a thin whistle at dusk,

the latest three day millionaire

returning from sea,

like his father,

to die again

over and over.

Shallower sea back then.

Better cut cloth

broader smiles.

Now, after too many 

rope marks and 

twisted bone on metal

life comes mixed 

with drink, sharp curses

and dark corners.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Stuff Outside - Steve Coel

Stryd Fawr / Stryd Uchel

Steve Coel

Stuff Outside

Steve Coel

Likes looking out through our window I does.

Looking out

I sometimes wonders to myself

what it must be like negotiating a way

through all the stuff on the sidewalk.

Bit of an adventure I suspects.

There's been all sorts of complaints.

Letters from council has stopped though.

Owner'll be pleased if I ever sees him.

Still; we never has customers,

so looking out the window

gives me something to do

while I waits to answer the phone

and pass on the message.

Doesn't really explain

why he always wants all the stuff

outside does it.

Can't help wondering

where it all comes from

to be honest.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Out West - Steve Coel

The Fingers Give Lace

Steve Coel

Out West

Steve Coel

This friction

between neighbourhoods

is ripping apart

fragments of friendship.

It is blundering

blind

as it folds

into a future

that shows little hope.

It is a

neighbourhood fringed

by a gin soaked

underbelly of human emotion

that is devouring

all surrounding borders.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Welcome Back [ Customs House ] - Steve Coel

Y Llywiwr

Steve Coel

Welcome Back [ Customs House ]

Steve Coel

Standing in the doorway

to the Custom House

you silently mouth

a plea for small change.

It's not a regular spot.

Not today.

Looks like a

recent close shave

is disappearing

and your shoes 

seem broken 

and too loose for comfort.

The waterside is busy.

You, are not.

Slowly..you are becoming invisible.

Eventually you will disappear

leaving only a shadow

in each doorway

of this street.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Dead Air into a Warm Harp - Steve Coel

Storm down Lavernock Point

Steve Coel

Dead Air into Warm Harp

Steve Coel

Since I bust my legs down The Works I's had

to spend all my mornings blowing dead air

into warm harp by the Central Library.

Bust my heart too, truth be known.

Lost everything now I has.

Still; once I's got enough coin I has a mild 

and Clark's pie down The Vulcan.

And; often or not, I ends up chatting to the old girls,

warming themselves up, before they goes to work

and shelters under the bridge by The Glastonbury.

Clink Hotel across the road gets noisy in the afternoon

so I wanders back into town for bit of a stretch

and goes cadge a cup of tea from Astey's before heading

back down Bute to the Sally for warm meal and early bunk.

Doesn't have time to feel sad really. Not me.

Trick, I finds, is to forget past and just stick

to what I knows.

Needs change of shoes though mind.

I'll have look for some in box by door

in the morning.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Half Stolen Buildings - Steve Coel

Stryd Fawr / Stryd Uchel

Steve Coel

Half Stolen Buildings [ v.6 ]

Steve Coel

In regulation daytime armour

cracked with coarse whispers

and yesterdays broken promise,

the young girl pushes 

her vape shadowed carrier

past misty lead pub windows.

Her world is the high street,

where each day

a bitter grey tide

shambles downhill

towards abandoned blue churches

and disappearing city light.

And it is here

that her plastic shoes

slap into one off needles

that litter fishless gutters

and where even on dry days,

the pavement is damp.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Owl Eyes Brown - Steve Coel

North Beach

[ Braslun ]

Steve Coel

Owl Eyes Brown

Steve Coel

1

With a stick on smile

all owl eyes brown,

she looks down

long avenues

of car metal

gutter full

with wish

and dream.

2

In hastily bought clothes

her tattered boyfriend

hustles shadow money

from grey figures

in barely lit parks.

This place,

a simple sample

empty

of mirth,

hope,

future.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

Severed Road - Steve Coel

Stryd Fawr / Stryd Uchel

Steve Coel

Severed Road

Steve Coel

The severed road 

blankets, the grey

undemanding hill

as it reluctantly

inclines towards 

the sea.

Regimented lines

of steel 

brown with rust

mark the roads passing,

and envelop the park

where lovers

argue and kiss,

and young men drink

as children play.

From the stormy water

comes the spell

of promises,

with stones rattling

on concrete

and flesh.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication

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

Rains on Me - Steve Coel

Y Llywiwr

Arbrofion gweledol / lliw

Steve Coel

Originally used on the De / City Tour,
back when.

Rains on Me

Steve Coel

Innocence doesn't exist here.

Not even for the young.

No; only dead eyes stare 

from photographs, 
taken by drunk uncles.

Here, memories of short 

goodbyes to forgotten lovers

are etched into shop fronts, dockside

and idle backyard gossip.

Steve Coel

An 11.59 Publication