Skip to content

Tag: Welsh verse forms

The Road to Find Out: cyhydedd hir

When do you find out
what life is about,
without any doubt
of its meaning?
How does it appear,
when you see it clear
and without your fear
intervening?

How do you just know?
Does a bright lamp glow,
or a fresh breeze blow,
giving you insight?
What do you do then,
in that moment when
you first awaken
into sunlight?

Who will you meet there,
out in that somewhere
beyond today’s cares
and your worry?
How will you know who
sees things like you do,
so clearly what’s true
and not blurry?

08 MAY 2025

Leave a Comment

How Long Have I Seen: clogyrnach

When did I start see it first-hand,
the sickness creeping on our land?
I can tell you when:
I was maybe ten;
you begin
to understand.

What my first thought, that time I knew
that no one out there had a clue?
It’s easy. A child
can sense the defiled
in the wild.
That is true.

How long have I been at this war,
a fight for something else, for more
than my own winning?
Since the beginning,
still spinning,
evermore.

Why do I bother keeping on?
Why fight the weeds that choke the lawn?
What good being still,
while evil acts kill,
and free will
soon is gone?

05 MAY 2025


Leave a Comment

Inside the Henhouse: byr a thoddaid

The danger isn’t always so clear;
sometimes, it can amplify our fear
in ways we do not recognize, or see,
subtly in disguise.

We seem easily surprised by this,
wishing it were all lies.
While we were sleeping, it crept in;
destroying our sweet might-have-been.

24 APR 2025

Leave a Comment

(Sub)urban Lawns: toddaid byr

The world is changed each day; each morning sun
undoes as it is born.
From yesterday it lets the seed we sow
grow into what it needs.
But what has come before is gone and past;
last summer’s fading lawn
becomes the mulch that feeds the fresh grass blades
that fade so soon from view.

07 JUL 2017

Leave a Comment

Plain Speaking: toddaid

“You must speak more plainly, sir,” he said,
“Most men ignore the complicated.
Their jaded minds and souls seek simple things:
weak drinks, brutal sports, the understated.”

“How much more sad that seems,” I made reply,
“to have no dreams than see them all fade.
A life made of no attribute but length.
I’d not have strength for such charade.”

“Aye,” he answered back, “’tis quite a showing:
all the time knowing there’s nothing more,
no real sense of self, nor point in being,
for years, seeing naught but shuttered doors.”

I spoke then, “What a statement on mankind:
that so few find a purpose beyond toil,
but slowly fade to nothing, spoiled and torn;
just born to return back to the soil.”

06 JUN 2017

Leave a Comment

The Ancient Lie: tawddgyrch cadwynog

An ancient lie
controls the world,
its flag unfurled
before the eye:

that might is right;
the mystery
of history
is that what light

the meagre flame
of truth reveals,
the winner steals
in a rigged game

won by a cheat,
claimed before birth,
so that true worth
seems like deceit.

06 MAY 2017

Leave a Comment