Tag Archives: Welsh verse forms

A Meeting is no Substitute for Progress: a cywydd llosgyrnog

So much to do, and time so tight that one would think to do things right the first time might be thought wise; but it’s a finger pointing game, no one willing to take the blame. Things stay the same. … Continue reading

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

Eliot’s Month, Not Mine

cywydd deuair hyrion April is the cruelest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. — T.S. Eliot, from The Waste Land Again the winds are playing like knives, and … Continue reading

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

Night Rain: a cywydd deuair fyrion

Awake by chance, I watched a flicker in the dark clouds growing quicker. Drawn, I watched this fleeting wonder: the dull sound of distant thunder; the dreamlike build of slow suspense in too calm air still warm and dense; the … Continue reading

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

The Circling: a cyrch a chwta

The past is now dead and gone, its Doppler echo a song that fades and yet lingers on, palimpsest written upon then erased with each new dawn born as a wobbly legged faun yet grown each night to a stag … Continue reading

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

Easter by Telephone: a cyhydedd naw ban

In California after eating they called up to offer a greeting, their plates filled with beans and broccoli ours with roast beef and mashed potatoes. We passed the telephone back and forth, discussing children and work; of course, we spoke … Continue reading

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

The Garden Seat: a cyhydedd hir

A quiet place to sit, think what I see fit, and watch the birds flit around the yard. Not so much to seek (a crumb, so to speak) to make each work week that much less hard. And yet, through … Continue reading

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

A Change of Syllabus: a byr a thoddaid

There is no test today in class; it’s been called off, and you all pass. The lessons it addressed are tired and old, I’m told – no more required. But someday, classes might start up again; Then those who now … Continue reading

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