Author Archives: JRL

The Whole Point: englyn unodle crwca

What’s the point of anything?
Who knows what tomorrow brings?
Can anyone who sings such sad songs
not feel wrong when it’s spring? Continue reading

Posted in Lines | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Minute Waltz: englyn proest gadwynog

n just a minute’s brief span
the world is made and unmade.
Try as you may, no one can
restore colors once they fade,
nor take back a piece once played.
There is no time but right now;
all the rest is lost in shade,
turned underneath new farrows. Continue reading

Posted in Lines | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Mirror Moves: englyn proest dalgron

We never plan for the worst,
no matter how grim it gets.
The whole world may die of thirst
watching the dying sun set
and still, we think there is time.
We can’t imagine an end
or pit so deep we can’t climb
our way out. Continue reading

Posted in Lines | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The New Almost Normal

Almost, nearly, next to, practically, virtually, pretty much, just about, perfect. Or talented. Or holy. Compassionate, professional, persuasive, convincing, genius, helpful, useful, good enough, or just enough. And that’s on the plus side, Imagine yourself as the absolute antithesis: almost … Continue reading

Posted in Planes | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Mirror Moves: englyn lleddfbroest

How we treat the very least,
whether human or rough beast,
criminal, servant or priest,
from next door, far west or east,
speaks volumes on what we are.
It seems strange and most bizarre
to place one above the bar
and one below. Continue reading

Posted in Lines | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Share Alike: englyn cyrch

You’ve a chair there at the table;
food for all – that ancient fable
doesn’t take into account
that no amount, for some, is able
to fulfil their need for more.
Never mind others are poor
and just take up too much space;
their place is outside the door. Continue reading

Posted in Lines | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Left of How: English sonnet

The world evolves without suspense or trick;
it is and it becomes, with no delay,
both seed and flower’s dried husk, derelict
from newborn babe within each single day.

What seems to be so permanent and cast
in stone, begins to crumble at its birth;
mere nothingness is all that seems to last –
and we know just exactly what that’s worth. Continue reading

Posted in Lines | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment