Shorts

Noticed that there are rather too many iambics on this blog. Just a couple of little glib things to redress the imbalance: an attempt at the tricky little ‘englyn’ form, and a seven line seven syllable thingy I am going to all a Heptain, because I can. They’re short, like me, and we’re not at all compensating for that by using big words like ‘Heptarchy’.

Englynd

Gave mere graft, myrrh,
more roads, grist and rage.

Grey moats the sky, greets
migrants. Mist goads
glared mirth. Myths and graves.
Moors; the sleet mints groats.

God grant us meet minds,
manner grief. Give. Save.

The Dark Ages (revised thoughts)

The Heptarchy has widely
been discredited, it seems
- justly sent to Coventry.
This must come as some relief
to several minor chiefs
who have found their remains
in the wrong category.

: 09 Mar 2007 18:20 |  Tags: Poetry |  Comments (1) |  Report a problem