Tuesday, 28 May 2013

Ode to a phone box


Your role is fixed, you give our voices wings,

the penny's dropped, a wired connection's made,

and when your digit's dialled, it whirs and sings

its tones, with rhythmic number once relayed

as if the current forced electrons through,

from kiosk number two on city's street, –

a beacon tall and red, yet small inside,

no Tardis dressed in blue.

No Doctor Who'd escape, evade, retreat

within such public space-- it's not that wide.

Saturday, 25 May 2013

The Farmer – an Englyn unodl union

To his crops, he's a husband-- constant man!
Midwife on the grassland;
harsh, eternal, to withstand
shifting seasons on the sand.

PS; this is an Englyn unodl union, which is a traditional poetry form from Wales / Cornwall. It is primarily syllabic and has several fixed rules regarding e.g., number and pattern of lines, syllables per line, and the rhyme scheme - it's pronounced 'en-glin un-all uhn-yion'. You can read about Englynion in Wikipedia.