Welsh Poems

Welsh Winter : englyn

     weathering Wales in bleak winter is hard
 
though starred sheep remain sleek

taverns roaring fires a feat
 
making Celtic maidens sweet 

~~~~~~~

No More Welsh

I went to search for a used winch in stuff auction market:
found not bad yellow winch
his owner said am from Welsh,
do payment now no more welsh

The Hall of Cynddylan translation by Michael R Burch

“Stafell Gynddylan” (“The Hall of Cynddylan”) belongs to the cycle of Welsh englyn or englynion (three-line stanzas) traditionally called “Canu Heledd” (“The Song of Heledd”). 

The Welsh “dd” is pronounced “th.”
Cynddylan is pronounced KahN-THIHL-aeN.

Stafell Gynddylan (“The Hall of Cynddylan”)
Welsh englynion circa 1382-1410
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The hall of Cynddylan lies dark tonight.
Lacking fire and a

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Gwenith Ddu a Prose of Welsh Origin

Black Wheat

A flash ; and crash; booming
thundering of ear drums broken.

Burning feet ; enveloping heat ; 
winds of razors shredding skin.

Fields of scorch; distant fusion torch;
Ploughs melt bleached bones scatter.

Earth seared;  parts human appeared;
lasered ,vast hunger reigns.

A million Suns ; burning as one;
Steamed oceans vanish,  rivers to.

Lotts wife repeated; all food depleated;

 

Welsh Cat In the Hat

At times, I'd just like to slap that Seuss;
hendecasyllabic seems obtuse.
But Gwawdodyn's no use: three nines, a ten,
and internal rhymes to be set loose.


----

There! Now I can say I've tried a Gwawdodyn: a Welsh quatrain with an aaxa rhyme scheme, specific syllable counts (9/9/10/9), and internal rhyme requirements on line 3. Onward!

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100 Light Year Radius

Message sent by radio
years ago, still traveling.
Perhaps something has received,
perceived, but not answering.

North America was first
to burst voice into void.
All nations followed at last,
our broadcast signals deployed.

Next came pixel video,
movie show in black and white.
King George and Adolph Hitler,
bitter foes commence to fight.

Later we added color,
finely tuned for human eyes.
Now our signals form a sphere
of

Welsh Wonder With Words

Ingenious,humerous and proud
Born to write words to be read aloud;
'I saw eternity the other night..
like a great ring of pure & endless light'
Line ever remembered upon first sight.

Tribute to this Welsh master poet from days gone by Henry Vaughan

River Wye Weekend

You came in a beat up old blue Landie

with tales of sleeping giants on your lips.

It was your first night in the cottage

when the Wye was skipping over stones,

dividing the spiked water milfoil

with sacred Pumlumon Fawr sunk into the sunset.

 

We watched a heron draggle

in and out of the water crowfoot beds,

trusted we’d see muntjac

Puffinus Puffinus

Historical crooner, troll-like in burrows

your eerie cries are supernatural.

 

Lacking red, yellow and orange

but you shear the air to make up for it.

 

I walked a few steps around your island once. Got

so tired in a day with sandwiches and pop.

 

Marvelled at your fifty million mile journey

from Bardsey, (just down the road really) to

Lamb

born beneath a tangle of stars

cream cry Hamal

blood-warm straw

away in a manger

the whistle of distant collie

 

but all too soon

a frosty breeze chews the nostrils

the farmed proletariat

mass in trucks with fear

spindle limbs hacked, knife hung on a hook

 

dragging her chair across the carpet

mother mews the table herd

clatter, scrape – silver on bone china

manufactured in

Until Tomorrow

Walking at dusk through the old park,

the golden glow of forgiveness

hangs in the air long enough

for you to steal it with both hands

but you choose not to,

you choose, deliberately,

to let the sun set on that particular episode.

You walk the other way,

past the lake, past the flowerbeds

until you become traffic,

become a remnant,

for I will not open

Will

He never once mentioned the pressure of his blood
or his Mam
I found dead on the floor

his Dad’s cancer
or his younger brother
not once, during the best years of my life

he fixed cars
with a pipe slowly smoking

a magician with gauges and valves

he drank small amounts of beer
most nights
talked of governments,
jays, woodpeckers and herbs

and fishing

he once caught a

Pipe Dreams

…incongruous car

 

alien

 

shiny-red, carwash-clean

 

not the usual

sharp edges

 

not stolen, like glances

not abandoned, like puppies

not torched, like memories

not peeling, like marriage

not rusting, like opportunity

not dumped, like dreams

not burnt out, well…

 

his coat was left on a rock

overlooking the industrial estate

while drinkers and drivers

leave the Rose and Crown

past farms

and blissful sheep

 

his purple face

his bloated

Miners Dog

High home summer hill

Straining, sucking, sitting

Staring, stopped and stick-

A pit-prop tight and gripped.

The trees across the valley

Much higher than he can go now.

I pant to reassure him

In time with his withered eyes.

His tongue, tombed gritty green

He’s faithful, though he’s fading

Bones in death-grey jumper

Where will he lead me next?


from 'Layer Cake' 2009
http://amzn.to/vXCEFa

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