Tales of Wales

The latest poetic theme is "Wales", presumably because Dylan Thomas will be the featured poet on the forthcoming "A Poetry Show" broadcast. Now, anyone knowing me might think I'd write a poem about whales, but even that is a bit too obvious for me. I had a number of thoughts in different areas, but they didn't always relate to each other that well. Accordingly, I decided upon three "tales of Wales" with a connecting rhyming narrative. So here it is.

Tales of Wales

The trio of tales I intend to present
are some aspects of Wales with a varied intent.
I’ll mention some names that you may recognise,
And later a tale with some overseas ties,
But first I will start with a short overview:
I doubt that from this you’ll learn anything new.

(1)
The Union flag on which Wales does not feature,
They’ve got the dragon, a mythical creature,
They’ve got the daffodil, they’ve got the leek,
They’ve got a language that few of them speak.
They’ve got a thing about singing in choirs
And rugby’s a sport that they love, it transpires.
They’ve got that town with a very long name
I won’t list it here, despite its acclaim.
They’ve got four sheep to each man in the land
I’m just talking numbers here, you understand.
Snowdon and mountains and Anglesey too.
Finally, it’s where they film Doctor Who.

As promised, here’s a second tale
That lists some Welsh celebrities, they’ll
Not be ones who practice sport
As in these poems, space is short;
And there’s enough of sport elsewhere,
So “arty”/“singy” types I’ll share.

(2)
The land of song and arts we see
The “Men of Harlech”, S4C.
They proved not to be Elvis clones:
Shakin’ Stevens and Tom Jones.
Charlotte Church and Shirley Bassey:
Famous ladies. Let’s be classy:
Tenors always have appeal:
Burrows, Terfel and O’Neill.
Kath’rine Jenkins has a style a
Diff’rent one to Bonnie Tyler.
Moving to the stage and screen
Burton, Hopkins may be seen
But there’s a rumour we should squelch:
Not from the valleys – Raquel Welch.

The next tale is a sideways view.
Before you ask, the Wales’ not blue;
I would not offer that cliché
Although I think it fair to say
This introduction might just tease:
The killer Wales from overseas…

(3)
Renegade soldiers on his farm,
Bluecoats there intending harm,
Killed his wife and killed his child:
No surprise that he went wild.
Vowed revenge though no-one heard;
Out he went and kept his word.
As an outlaw of renown
He was sought out and hunted down.
Misfits followed, tagged along,
With this man they could belong.
Lied to riders on their tails,
“He’s dead, the one called Josey Wales”

Right. That’s your lot: my Tales are done.
I’ve finished typing, had my fun.
I know there’s more to Wales … oh fine.
Creators of the “equals sign”.
It’s time for tea, I’ll have to go.
I think I’ll have Welsh rarebit, though.

Top Cat

Another poem on the theme of "Victory", but also on the theme of "cats". I do like cats - intriguing creatures - unless of course, they leave me presents on the lawn, I'm much more careful with the lawnmower these days. But I digress. This poem's called...

Top Cat

The fur widespread in tufts of white
Like stacks upon a farmer’s field
Left from the skirmish in the night:
My skill in battle thus revealed.

There will be peace the next few days;
A time for reappraisal then
I’ll watch as my opponent weighs
me up and thinks “I’ll try again.”

All gone the feigned indifference;
Forgotten all past minor wars.
He’ll drop the days spent in pretence,
He’ll come at me with unsheathed claws.

He will not win – he never does.
He always thinks he’ll come out best.
But soon, again, he will be puz-
-zl-ing why he’s the one who’s been outguessed.

I don’t know why there’s this bad blood:
To settle some imagined score?
No matter, ‘cause I’m feline good
And victory is mine once more.

Victory

Theme: Victory. That's about it, really.

Not an angry rabbit
after an accident

Victory

Beethoven’s Fifth with its da-da-da dah,
Churchill’s two fingers without the cigar,
Admiral Nelson: his ship was named this.
So were the lozenges – Ah, liquorice.
Funny how words can bring thoughts to one’s mind:
So many uses, if one is inclined.
This one can signify things large and small:
A nuclear blast, the kick of a ball.

Victory, victory, battle success.
Winning a war, winning at chess,
Winning at football, winning the vote,
Winning the lottery, winning the tote,
Winning a dial-in, beating the rest,
Winning a race this week being the best,
Winning the X-factor when you can’t sing,
Winning, in fact, almost ev-er-y-thing.

Sometimes in victory, people repress:
Blinkers from over-elation, I guess.
Spare a thought sometimes about those who failed:
Evidence left from the points we’ve detailed.
Not so much scratch cards thrown down on the floor,
Programmes abandoned because of the score.
Think of the conflicts, of all the widespread
chunks of Rubble, the injured, and ALL of the dead.

The Invitation

Okay. A theme of "pretentiousness". No one enjoys this attribute in other people, except when thinking of Frasier Crane, and we laugh with him, don't we? Right. With this in mind, my poem is from the viewpoint of someone who is invited to attend a soiree (!) with their brother-in-law and his condescending wife. Read on.



The Invitation

What’s that you’ve got there in the post?
No – don’t pretend to be engrossed.
It seems addressed to you and me:
An invitation? Let me see.
R.S.V.P.? So who’s it from?
Oh no, Melissa and your Tom
Or “Thomas” as he now prefers –
Unless the choice of name is hers.

All right. Your brother. Yes, I know,
But do we really have to go?
Snobbishness to such excess,
Continual pretentiousness.
When they explain, they condescend:
Advocating each new trend.
And so obscure: that’s so they may
reject all others as “passé.”

I really cannot comprehend
Why anyone would want to spend
Five minutes, let alone a full
five hours list’ning to such bull.
I mean, come on – you must admit
The way they carry on’s a bit
too much with all the names they drop.
Their bedroom’s like a knocking shop.

I see you laughing. You agreed.
They only follow what’s decreed
by Philip, their décor guru.
Abandoned taste, but then, what’s new?
The cloakroom with Egyptian tiles
Looks like a loo for paedophiles.
I don’t think Tom quite understood
my point of view – as if he would.

And have you seen Melissa when
She’s be-ing an air kisser, then
To “mwah” and “mwah” we all succumb;
Her lips: just like a baboon’s bum.
And that reminds me: they have been
to Africa, to sights unseen
by any on the planet earth…
That’s what they’ll say. For what it’s worth.

Have you forgotten New Year’s Eve?
(I thought that we would never leave)
Melissa’s latest weirdo views:
She made us all remove our shoes
And all because she said the ch’i
Would be affected adversely
if we did not, and so I said
“A panda? Watch out where you tread.”

The blindfolds that we wore last time
to watch their operatic mime,
The abstract art from chimpanzees,
The endless new philosophies.
The caterers providing food:
Some looked like it had been pre-chewed.
Cricket’s not a sport I like,
But on the plate? Get on your bike.

Alright, alright. I know that face.
We’re going. Yes, I know my place.
Don’t spare another thought for me
and send off that R.S.V.P.
The final word; I get the gist –
Urinal jokes are off the list.
I’ll try my best; I won’t be rude –
Unless they’re serving insect food.

Ladies and Gentlemen

A theme of sexism this week, so I cobbled this poem together earlier today.

Discrimination in all its forms is abhorrent, but sometimes I get the feeling that some people try and pervert the justified efforts of others towards their own means. Probably a human thing. 

Enough philosophising. Here's the poem.

Ladies and Gentlemen

Sexism checks is a male or a female a
Choice that is fair when all else is deemed square.
It’s clear when it’s not,
But what else have we got
When there’s nothing to go on except facial hair?

How does one choose if there aren’t any clues
To mark she above he or vice versa?
For some people fume
And they often assume
That lobbying might just coerce ya.

What, then is sexist-a-bout Miss or Mister
If terms such as these are not used to divide?
For your information
It’s discrimination
That should be denied. Don’t let common sense slide.

Refuse to excuse those who widen the term
As a means to force us on their own hobby-horse.
Many just hold a
Big chip on their shoulder
So let’s all calm down. Let them scream ‘til they’re hoarse.

All this hypocracy, so-called democracy:
“Certainly I am more equal than them.”
Let’s wish for an age
When we all reach the stage
When we look beyond genders and do not condemn.

Yearning for parity, looking for clarity,
Maybe we’re trying too hard to excel:
Ladies and gentlemen:
Equally mental an’
Equally prone to be sexist as well.

Our Time Together

I finished this poem in the early hours of this morning (24 May 2014) and it is on the theme of clocks. The first clock reference is to the same trusty LED clock I mentioned in my poem Associations. Credit where it's due...

Our Time Together

Silent and red-eyed I watch whilst he’s sleeping.
Blinking, I wait while the hours* bleed away.
Sometimes he reaches towards me, so keeping
Me quiet; no sound at the start of the day.

“Do we have time to do this?” he will ask –
And I will provide him the answers he needs:
Turning my hands to so many a task;
So many jobs -  and this he concedes.

Home entertainment is one such concern,
Checking his favourite* TV’s taped on cue.
Mealtimes I’m watching his food does not burn.
Checking appointments and when they are due.

Leaving the house, as on most days he’s prone,
I’m left by myself and I’m not even missed.
But I can take comfort that he’s not alone:
My cousin is there with a grip on his wrist.

Here in this house I have so many faces;
I’m there in the hall when his key’s in the lock.
I know he gains comfort here in this oasis;
I welcome him home: hear my tick, hear my tock.

* The word 'hours' should be read as one syllable, and 'favourite' as two, i.e. pronounced "fave-ret".

A Belittled Oratory

The theme - Charles Dickens. I wrote this on 3 December 2013 and thought I'd try a different approach, incorporating book titles (or alluding to them) within the text.

Belittled - Oratory

Last Christmas, Carol had a leak.   
A pipe had burst, the prospect bleak,
House getting wetter, time was late:
Her expectations were not great,   

Not knowing any Galahads
She picked quick from the paper’s ads.
How curious it is to shop  
When rushed.     Came Edwin on the hop.

“It’s costly – this job is – to sort.
It’s hell the sluice it is,     to thwart”
So Carol, the options thus laid
Upon her, begrudgingly paid.

How dumb. Behind some work – slapdash –
He stemmed the mains, left with the cash.
How can he sleep, that little rat,
Or live a twisted life like that?

He wouldn’t take a nicker less;
– Nick’ll be where he confess-
-es how he tried this latest con.
In these hard times it is not on.

For Carol and her mate are cops;
Their mutual friends pulled out the stops.
So Edwin rued that soggy day
A copper feeled his collar. Hey!

For completeness, the books are Christmas Carol, Bleak House, Great Expectations (switched, sorry), Pickwick [Papers], [The Old] Curiosity Shop, A Tale of Two Cities (at a stretch), Barnaby Rudge, Dombey and Son, Oliver Twist, Nicolas Nickleby, Hard Times, [Our] Mutual Friend, [The Mystery of] Edwin Drood, [David] Copperfield.