I was extremely flattered when Rhys Madoc, son of the late actor, Philip Madoc, asked if he could reproduce my poem, Philip’s Funeral, in the Order of Service booklet at his father’s memorial. I was so inspired by the London/Welsh male-choir that day, I dedicated a poem to them:
How to define a Welsh male-voice choir?
Hewn from deep underground,
the sound paints us a picture,
suggests valleys and mountains,
pit wheels and people,
the pathos of hardship and loss.
Like flocks, out on an estuary,
rising and falling,
swooping and morphing,
innumerable wings beating as one.
Or, deft, like quick-silvered shoals,
in sun-splintered oceans
pursued by dolphin.
a low hum,
touching our hearts,
filling the void,
teasing the neck hairs,
then, bursting with joy.