Category: Englyn

Some days I decide a fire should be made.
The sticks arrayed, stacked, admired...
But the flame frays, the wood's tired.

– an englyn penfyr

Wholeness has no existence - the fragments
Spin and foment their silence
And roar hymns of transience

– an englyn penfyr

I sit here somewhat thoughtful, on the ferry,
waiting, wary, or hopeful,
or just staring, feeling dull.

– an englyn penfyr

With all these coughs and sneezes, I get tired
and uninspired... diseases
like this, health's antitheses.

– an englyn penfyr

The sea foam wasn't involved, nor the stone,
rather alone, she evolved,
emergent, blessèd, absolved.

– an englyn penfyr

Mitra the covenanter, his heart full,
chased the white bull to slaughter...
and what about his daughter?

– an englyn penfyr on a pseudo Mithraic theme

The data refused to show the meanings
instead leaning down below
truth's cool superficial flow

– an englyn penfyr

The self-reflective essay: a mirror
showing clearer how I say
I am than I am today.

– an englyn penfyr

Some trees have fewer leaves, now, than others.
They would rather wonder how...
or this winter disavow.

– an englyn penfyr

I go outside before dawn, taste the wind,
feeling chagrined by shapes drawn
vaguely, thoughts un-acted on.

– an englyn penfyr

There is a gray cormorant just sitting,
looking, waiting, head aslant,
on the dock's arch, like some plant.

– an englyn penfyr

Those hieroglyphs that are drawn by blinking,
a vague inkling, but then gone,
as my eyelids' world moves on.

– an englyn penfyr

The trucks on the expressway zoom along
tires sing their song on rock - gray
gravel kicked around all day

– an englyn penfyr

A chill drizzle touched my neck, a ghost's hand
prodding me, and sought to wreck
my work, reduced to a speck.

– an englyn penfyr

The morning's light disburses in fragments:
day's integuments, night's verses,
like introspective hearses.

– an englyn penfyr

The first frost of the season kissed the earth,
betraying mirth, fighting sun,
limning puddles one by one.

– an englyn penfyr

The slugs climb the gravel stairs, all fearless,
but confess to the bears
that pass with glowering stares
their sins and their weary cares

– an englyn in Robertson Davies’ style

Here, the sea is not just sea - rather, too,
Islands throughout feel free
To commingle, and to be
A green, fractious committee.

– an englyn in the style developed by Robertson Davies

ㅁ
From the sky, the clouds descend, fragmented,
sun absented, winds portend
rainy end.

– an englyn of some kind.

ㅁ
There at the end of the night were notions,
abstractions blooming in white,
waxing bright.

– an englyn of some kind.

ㅁ
Consciousness derails, off track it will fly...
I feel it, a kind of lack:
only black.

– an englyn of some kind.

(Poem #482 on new numbering scheme)

My two plants don't do that much - the table
  holds them, and their leaves just touch -
or somesuch.

This is an englyn cil-dwrn.
[daily log: walking, 7.5km]

(Poem #351 on new numbering scheme)

The two men fought in the wood.
Winter's breath made clouds. They stood
facing. The fight was no good.
A rose appeared in the snow.
Then another drop fell, slow -
from the wound his blood did flow.
He threw his knife to the ground
and wobbled, spinning around.
At last, he fell without a sound.

– three englyn milwr, telling a little story.

(Poem #350 on new numbering scheme)

On this map you see my dreams:
look here at the X, it seems
to mark my mind's random streams.

– an englyn milwr, i.e. “soldier’s englyn.”
[daily log: walking, 1km]

(Poem #206 on new numbering scheme)

One hundred and one poems
drawn from the sea's foamy rims
thrust into imagined homes
lost among time's felled columns.

– an englyn proest dalgron
My intention is that this is my last englyn. I’ll try to start something different for my daily short poems, soon.

(Poem #205 on new numbering scheme)

I got to heaven at last.
Prices were high. The cars, fast.
I looked around, aghast. Should I cry?
Then I knelt down, downcast.

– an englyn unodl crwca

(Poem #204 on new numbering scheme)

"Why do you write in your mind,
like some old bard?" asked my friend.
"I'm preparing for the end
of time, when the spaceships land."

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #203 on new numbering scheme)

Mostly I'm just drawing lines
across a landscape of bones
which rest beneath the dry rains
of ash, covering my sins.

– an englyn proest dalgron
[daily log: walking, 1.5km]

(Poem #202 on new numbering scheme)

A series of explosions
on philosophical moons
changes orbits and begins
to undo people's notions.

– an englyn proest dalgron

(Poem #201 on new numbering scheme)

My friend, who is my reader, celebrates
his birth date. He's older.
Some old snow lurks like litter,
here and there, on the corner.

– an englyn unodl union.

(Poem #199 on new numbering scheme)

I'm plummeting through life: down...
Voices on all sides: a din...
Days end; days begin: each dawn...
Without purpose - but not done.

– an englyn proest dalgron