Ydych Chi’n Credu Mewn Hanes?
Rydych chi’n gweld, dydw i ddim yn siŵr am hanes.
Pwy sydd i ddweud beth yw un gair yn erbyn un arall?
Pwy sydd i ddweud bod y person hwnnw hyd yn oed yn bodoli?
Ni allai fod. Gallai arbed llawer o drafferth!
Tag Archives: poem
Blank Verse Dream
I played sat on a chair bearing no back,
a tune, a jig, a dance for goose and man.
They stomped their feet in time, around they spun.
Round hole I’d cut, let light inside, showed you,
I caught a glimpse of you outside this door.
The Greek Wasp
Fifty times more large and powerful
than the one’s we saw at home,
a hornet wasp, had entered our holiday chalet.
The clashing together of fear and marvel
dragged us individually by both hands,
down the path toward a mild sense of panic
Old Mother Time
Where’d the time all go?
Yesterday, I had it here!
Today, it’s all gone.
The Butterfly
Hi there, butterfly!
One, two, three and four and five.
Eye, eye, eye, eye, eye.
Photo credit to Erik Karits on Unsplash
Every Shopkeeper Has Their Day
Another creative writing work project, using a photographic prompt produced by Johan Walter Bantz http://www.flickr.com/photos/johannwalterbantz/
Loosely based on the rhyme pattern and meter of the classic poetry verse from Jack the Giant Killer (Jack and the Beanstalk):
Fee-fi-fo-fum,
I smell the blood of an Englishman,
Be he alive, or be he dead
I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.
Start
Of
Day
Seen
Right there in front
Of the till machine
Laughs out loud
H’gives me a fright
Asks if he caught me “Ain’t that right?”
Dog, Fish?
Allow me to partially introduce these two good friends x and y. They meet regularly and are often to be seen wandering around the community museum for art and antiquity in their local city. They share deep conversations, mainly caused by invasive thoughts, covering a wide range of different topics.
Look, I can hear them! See! Here they are now, slowly padding along the wooden floor approaching the exit for the gallery of 19th century European Western art. It could be argued by anyone who gives a toss that both look deeply pensive. A springboard for creative chit-chat, possibly?
It’s getting on to lunch time, but they’re three floors up from the basement café. Let’s listen-in on the conversation, I sense that it is about to start now.
x: Grape or grain, but never the twain.
y: Beer before wine, you’ll feel fine. Whereas, wine before beer and you’ll feel rather queer.
Continue reading “Dog, Fish?”Do Not Disturb
Who the fuck is that knocking on my door?
It’s Sunday morning.
I am in bed.
My head hurts.
And now this fool has pressed the door bell,
releasing a bright and happy fairground tune inside.
I listen.
I am still.
Gone away, yet?
Why I’m Searching
I’ve been searching
Through a black and pink coloured cave
Trying to see my way ahead
Trying hard to be brave
But now I’ve reached some
Big old dusty dead end
and I realised way too late
Just how to be good friends
Men Should be Forced to Shave Their Legs
The first man to shave his legs out of habit,
Sits before me in a deckchair on the seafront promenade,
Lifting at the hem of his sky-blue linen trousers,
Aiming an unnecessarily surreptitious wink my way.
Old now, greyed and wrinkled, the stare of a rabbit,
He explains how this came to be.
“It was all a misunderstanding, see,
Entirely on my part, naturally.
For when ‘the shortages’ kicked-in and trousers went to shorts,
I’d thought,
We must all now shave our legs,
Same as the wimmin do.”
Brinkinfield 