Poetry

Comment

Comment by gwyncy jones on September 19, 2009 at 12:13pm

what made the rhondda famous doesn#t mean much anymore......hands on plans to tear apart the life that went before..........

Comment by iain williams on June 4, 2009 at 9:20am

sorry i seem to have put this in the comments when it should be a posting senior moment lol

Comment by iain williams on June 4, 2009 at 9:18am

Love's thief

Swift these sickening words eight times I have travelled
to those forests, my course for nothing revealed
as a crazed one, many a while in the open air
I forgot the hearth of domesticity there.
But easier for me, before any hint of dawn ray
may I find her there in the woods, long to stay
lovingly for the sweet prize of a girl's touch...
walks the lover to his distant love in the wood.
I become disheartened, and the sun of the forest
once dripping sweetest cups of wine is not mine. Yet
ah despoil then! They view me from the village, fleet
of foot to the lovely girl in that land of hurting meets,
as caught in the nets of dispute my illicit tryst
that greyfaced commentary from the villagers makes me thief.
I do not shun the brighter face of the daytime now
not a cheap thief to take a man’s horse, his pony mine now,
only one who steals the girl's heart in the wooded place
no black stallion or ram of worth will I take.
I am thief only of her maiden's awaiting virtue there
not thief from the millers fold but thief of lady's hair;
not one who rips gold coins from the too possessive hands.
Keep your cattle your wealth to be will not be released and
this appellation I take fully into my definition then
that never stole I anything with hoofs rattling from honest men.
All it was that I took was but assignation of stolen part
that I took as I thieved only from a lady and my smarting heart.

Adapted from the medieval Welsh of Dafydd ap Gwilym in his poem
Lleidr Serch

Comment by Deborah Jo on January 17, 2009 at 1:40pm

Tom, I think your writing puts mine to shame. I am very amateur and bow to your skills.

Comment by Ceri Shaw on January 13, 2009 at 5:22pm

We hope all poets and prose writers in this group will consider entering the Left Coast Eisteddfod Poetry and Short Story competirions. There are Welsh and English language categories in both competitions and a $100 dollar prize for entries in all categories. The short story competition will be judged by Lloyd Jones. ( see this post) See front page for links to further submission details.

Comment by Tom Williams on January 13, 2009 at 4:13pm

I really like your 'Scattered' Poem, Deborah Jo!

A double sestina and regular sestina which I wrote:

***
Luck
***

Luck stands alone in the rain,
Clock ticking as time anxiously runs
White streaks through the precipitous dance.

Dance away, says luck,
White as ivory in the bone-dry rain,
Running his mind’s finger over the clock.

Clocks tick the tempo of the dance,
Running like tributaries into luck,
Rain permeating all but luck’s immaculate white

White face echoes the black-handed clock.
Rain falling in elusive dance,
Luck struggles to be free of time’s run.

Running into the white,
Luck smashes the clock,
Dancing out of time and rain.

Rain shrieks as he runs,
Dance shattered to white.
The clock will restart, with luck.

***
My Only Hill
***

I sit atop my only hill
Precarious on oaken limb
And gaze beyond the empty sky
Beneath the muted golden ring
Yet far above the heavy stone
Concealed beneath the hands of fall

I'm beckoned by the wind to fall
Onto the rocks below the hill
To make my grave within the stone
Unmarked except by canted limb
This bears a too pernicious ring
And so I stay within the sky

I tell my story to the sky
And let my last defense to fall
And let sustained my candor ring
In echoed passion from my hill
I raise unto the sky my limbs
That it might change my heart of stone

I turn my thoughts o'er like a stone
Beneath the grey and voiceless sky
A sky which noticed not my limbs
And lets its golden eye to fall
Below the zenith of my hill
Igniting flames within my ring

I feel the burden of my ring
The band which turned my heart to stone
And brought me to this lonesome hill
Beneath the span of blazing sky
The heaven's eyelid slowly falls
As still I sit upon my limb

I reach out once again my limb
Within my hand I hold the ring
With aim to let my burden fall
And make its grave within the stone
My only witness now the sky
Who never saw my lonely hill

My only hill accepts my limb
As from the sky I drop my ring
And to the stone my burdens fall

Comment by Deborah Jo on November 20, 2008 at 8:05pm

Here is my Newcastle induced poem of the evening...I love vacations and writing senseless words!!! Time for some movies....

Scattered

We are scattered amongst many lands
Seeking to find our common song
So we reach out hands to hands
Grasping at words that are so strong
They give the meaning to our past
From which some took flight and sailed away
To find new lands to raise our clans
Hoping to find a better day
Alas
Reach back across the seas
Bellowing the songs of yore
Calling back those lost families
To the sands of your distant shore
The past will become the present united
And then the scattered will be no more

Comment by Wild Canary on September 7, 2008 at 4:53pm

This is great!
Enjoyed it all, Tom, Deborah Jo...we roared at the bulldog,Tam.

Comment by Tom Williams on July 9, 2008 at 9:35pm

The Avenging Narwhal

Beneath the ocean's stormy waves,

The captain told his crew,

A creature, awesome and obscene

Finds sailors to pursue



A mighty narwhal, tough as nails

A scar deforms his fin

From long ago, when a harpoon

Cut through his toughened skin



And now the narwhal roams the seas

Attacking all he spies

Dragging sailors 'neath the waves

And silencing their cries



The captain smiled to himself

His tale was a success

Their eyes all wide, their mouths agape

The image of distress



That's it for me tonight, he sighed

The sailors slowly rose

Many of them stumbling off

To narwhal-plagued repose



When all of them were fast asleep

Old Oscar stayed awake

He took his turn in the crow's nest

But something made him quake



For in the waves beyond the bow

He spotted something white

He thought it was a narwhal horn

His face was pale with fright



Oscar, you fool, he said aloud

Your mind's playing a trick

You're frightened by the captain's tale

It's surely just a stick



But then to his complete despair

He heard a mighty roar

The ship was hit with such a force

He near fell to the floor



He gave a yell to wake the crew

All hands on deck! he cried

But then the boat was rocked again

And he fell off the side

This is no dream! the captain yelled

Our fates are surely sealed!

The great narwhal will bring us down!

Again the vessel reeled.

And then the narwhal charged again

The ship could take no more

It split in two and slowly sank

As sailors screamed and swore

So if you sail the seven seas
I pray this you'll recall
And keep a watchful eye out for
That treacherous narwhal

Comment by Tom Williams on July 9, 2008 at 9:35pm

The Tale of Sir Emrys

Tom Williams


While riding through a pleasant grove
One fair midsummer morn
Sir Emrys came upon a lad
His clothing ripped and torn

He lay upon a muddy knoll
And with each labored breath
There came a rattle, grim and foul
For he was nearing death

Sir Emrys leapt down from his steed
And knelt beside the youth
A mortal gash lay wide his chest
His time was short in truth

"What dreadful beast has wrought this ill?
No blade has caused this wound,"
The boy attempted to sit up
In pain he nearly swooned

"A mighty boar," the squire rasped
"The largest in the land-
Each of his bulging, crimson eyes
Was bigger than my hand!"

"I know my time on earth is short
I have but one request
Slay the baleful cur for me
Please, take this as your quest"

"As sure as Bryn-Ywen stands tall
Pledged Emrys to the boy
"I take this as my solemn vow
This boar I will destroy"

"But to what house do you belong,
That I might bear thee home?"
Alas, the boy could answer not,
His eyes fading to gloam.

Yet even as he drew his last
His hand slid to his throat
And drew, hidden beneath his shirt
A fine pendant of note

Upon the ruby pendant shone
A lion etched in gold
The emblem of the house of Rhys
A lineage of old

Sir Emrys mounted then his horse
He set the corpse in front
And sped off to the house of Rhys
Eager to start the hunt

Before three days had passed, the knight
Arrived and entered there
And to lord Rhys he sadly gave
The body of his heir.

Then to the skies rose up their wails
The sole scion was dead
"Please, stay not, avenge our son!"
The anguished father said

And so Sir Emrys left that place,
He searched each hill and dale;
Pursuing far and wide the hope
Of helpful clue or tale

O'er wooded hill and rocky crag
Through shrouded ghostly vale
Sir Emrys searched the Cymric lands
In full, to no avail

After three weary years had passed
It seemed all hope was gone
And Emrys reached once more the grove
He'd chanced that fateful dawn

He was dismounting from his horse
In hopes to have a lie
And as he glanced around the copse
Some creature caught his eye

He quickly leapt back on his steed
And took a second look
Just in time to see the great pig
Abscond across the brook.

There was no doubt it was the hog
The boy had told him of
The monstrous fiend was eight feet long
Each eye large as a glove

Sir Emrys gave a mighty yawp
And charged in with his lance
He closed in fast, his aim was true
But by some wicked chance

Before he reached the wretched cur
His horse tripped on a root
And launched his master threw the air
Right o'er the waiting brute

Sir Emrys stumbled to his feet
And in his horror turned-
The pig was readying to charge
The good knight's stomach churned

He leapt behind a fallen tree
In hopes to stop the charge
The pig's mobility was curbed
The boar being so large

But to Sir Emrys's dismay
The boar continued on
It smashed the timber like a twig
Before his sword was drawn

The knight was flung upon the ground
The giant tusks closed in
But Emrys slashed out with his dirk
And pierced the villain's skin

The boar let out a heinous shriek
And reared back in surprise
Sir Emrys quickly drew his sword
And stabbed out for his eyes

Again the demon reared in pain
Again the flash of steel
Sir Emrys stabbed again, again
Again the monster reeled

At last the boar let out a shriek
One final, dying squeal
Succumbing to its many wounds
And over it did keel

Sir Emrys slowly rose and looked
Upon his vanquished foe
With all his strength he raised his sword
And dealt a mighty blow

With one clean chop he severed off
The demon's mighty head
To bring back to the house of Rhys
To prove the monster dead

And so Sir Emrys brought about
Completion of his goal
And slayed the boar of Tyrchod-Lawnt
Upon that muddy knoll

• First
• Previous
• Next
• Last