Best Englyn Poems
Music pumps the hearts in Wales
Choirs singing throughout the vales
Sending joy that never fails.
Penned 21 January 2017
Englyn Milwr form 3 lines / 7 syllables/ monorhymed
I hear you're learning to drive...
Straight Ahead, make No U-Turn!
Beware each Speed Bump Ahead.
Naught can Tow Away your dreams.
Do not lose focus - Stay Right.
Do not fear any Sharp Curve.
Do not Yield to impatience
(Do Not Enter that sad scene).
There's One Way - let wisdom guide,
Stop when your vision gets blurred.
Keep Clear of every Dead End,
Proceed With Caution, boldly!
Waterlilies brighten black
ripples, reeds, and rocks below.
An even flow, bane and blight
recedes to bare raven’s bones.
A grave of darkness blanches
In austere light on bloodless
banks, but blue eyes cannot flood
its once watery coffin.
Dew on the waterlilies
reflect these absurdities -
the woeful bones glistening
alone near floral beauty.
Written 5/23/20
N/A in
Genuine Englyns Contest
I won’t say I’ve always known
but always, something was wrong
defined by a chromosome
defined by what they put on
to be “me” is alien
that’s if they let “me” be me
they say I’m not who I am
they tell me what to believe
imagine not knowing “you”?
no clothes, these are just costumes
too scared to speak, I stay mute
for hatred has a voice too
---
(Englyn)
Genuine Englyns Poetry Contest
Contest Sponsored by: Beth Evans
June 9th 2020
Beard or bard? queried chief counsel, The Spit.
Bared wit: "alike drunkn greif".
Berkspeller loose in the fief!
Beware, none sings from his lIEf...
Pungent scent plays on the breeze ~ what a stink!
One I think, makes me sneeze
Gagging with each breath, I wheeze
Because of that moldy cheese!
Truant night wind sails--its moon without song
I long for rapt, minstrel's tune.
My angst wrapped in cocoon
Angel child ... gone in June.
A good wife is the best treasure to own~
Gemstone none can detest,
A light—darkness can't arrest,
Peace she brings none can contest.
At calm dawn I gave you my sunburst day,
heart’s bay shined with bright hue,
for love drizzled colors new
while in your silk sky I flew.
lose mind in the scuff that is underfoot
trust soot can be outrun
in dreams' cascade, burdens shun -
the art of wild abandon
If you pored over maps, could you find Wales?
“Details,” you say. Perhaps.
Or maybe such glaring gaps
in knowledge presage collapse.
Cherish her land, lovely boy!
Never let them come destroy!
Show the Welsh pride, lovely boy!
Sing aloud your heart and joy!
I met a Bard of ancient time
who sang to me in mystic rhyme
as we climbed the mountain road.
He told me tales from long ago
of hidden dragons far below
he bestowed in soulful ode.
Now I had heard the dragon tale
and said to him, let truth prevail
without ale tell me the lore.
With no drink to exaggerate
I want the legends of our fate
tell it straight I did implore.
Cherish her land, lovely boy!
Never let them come destroy!
Show the Welsh pride, lovely boy!
Sing aloud your heart and joy!
He sang of the hidden secret
Three mysteries that have been kept
ne'er forget this land is blessed.
While Bran remains in the White Hill
of London, foes or evil will
their blood spilled, shall not progress.
The bones that lie beside the sea,
Blessed Gwerthefyr, shall keep us free
liberty, for all of time.
And the dragons one red, one white,
buried in Eryri one night
by Ludd's might and magic rhyme.
Cherish her land, lovely boy!
Never let them come destroy!
Show the Welsh pride, lovely boy!
Sing aloud your heart and joy!
The dragons' war raged underground
Red against white, without a sound
'til unbound, from Earth they flew.
White against red, their battle fought,
supreme power, the prize they sought
as death brought red's triumph through.
The Welsh Dragon, so wise and red,
fair means and true your blessings said
fortune spread though all of Wales.
For those of foul heart and intent
a dragon's curse of detriment
that shall vent their lands with gales.
Cherish her land, lovely boy!
Never let them come destroy!
Show the Welsh pride, lovely boy!
Sing aloud your heart and joy!
Daffodil of your eye, hiraeth cried
Coracle of streamlines
Pili palas on your head
Twelve dwts cwtch buwch goch gota
Tempest of God's rumbling clouds
By lightning and floods, storm shrouds
Contrition saves hawns and bounds
Ecuador
I met a girl in Guayaquil it was night
We swam in the Pacific, the strand
Was white and had upturned boats
I wanted to give her something, but
Had nothing of importance, gave her
A bottle of after shave lotion
She gave me her address which I lost
And since the ship never came back
She became a scented memory.