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Poem for the Day - Dydd Gwyl Dewi Hapus I (Happy St David's Day)

Posted: 1 March 2014

Ar lan y môr mae rhosys chochion
Ar lan y môr mae lilis gwynion
Ar lan y môr mae 'nghariad inne
Yn cysgu'r nos a chodi'r bore.

Ar lan y môr mae carreg wastad
Lle bum yn siarad gair â'm cariad
O amgylch hon fe dyf y lili
Ac ambell gangen o rosmari.

Ar lan y môr mae cerrig gleision,
Ar lan y môr mae blodau'r meibion,
Ar lan y môr mae pob rhinweddau,
Ar lan y môr mae nghariad innau.

On the seashore there are red roses
On the seashore there are white lilies
On the seashore is my darling
Who sleeps at night and wakes by morning.

On the seashore there is a flat stone
Where I exchanged a word with my sweetheart
From around there grew the lily
And an occasional sprig of rosemary.

On the seashore there are blue stones,
On the seashore there is the flower of youth,
On the seashore there are all virtues,
On the seashore there is my own sweetheart.

Ar lan y môr
Traditional

Poem for the Day

Posted: 28 February 2014

We have come to be danced
Not the pretty dance
Not the pretty pretty, pick me, pick me dance
But the claw our way back into the belly
Of the sacred, sensual animal dance
The unhinged, unplugged, cat is out of its box dance
The holding the precious moment in the palms
Of our hands and feet dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the jiffy booby, shake your booty for him dance
But the wring the sadness from our skin dance
The blow the chip off our shoulder dance.
The slap the apology from our posture dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the monkey see, monkey do dance
One two dance like you
One two three, dance like me dance
but the grave robber, tomb stalker
Tearing scabs and scars open dance
The rub the rhythm raw against our soul dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the nice, invisible, self-conscious shuffle
But the matted hair flying, voodoo mama
Shaman shakin’ ancient bones dance
The strip us from our casings, return our wings
Sharpen our claws and tongues dance
The shed dead cells and slip into
The luminous skin of love dance.

We have come to be danced
Not the hold our breath and wallow in the shallow end of the floor dance
But the meeting of the trinity, the body breath and beat dance
The shout hallelujah from the top of our thighs dance
The mother may I?
Yes you may take 10 giant leaps dance
The olly olly oxen free free free dance
The everyone can come to our heaven dance.

We have come to be danced
Where the kingdom’s collide
In the cathedral of flesh
To burn back into the light
To unravel, to play, to fly, to pray
To root in skin sanctuary
We have come to be danced

We Have Come To Be Danced
Jewel Mathieson

Poem for the Day

Posted: 27 February 2014

Capital Punishment, a perverse way
To execute one’s moral beliefs.
It runs counter to those who pray,
Who espouse forgiveness relief.

“An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth”
A concept ill-used to avenge.
Killing is murder, and that’s a raw truth,
So why this need for revenge?

It sinks to the criminal level
A depth morality eschews.
The death penalty, more attuned for the devil,
No moral society should choose.

Capital Punishment
Stanley Cooper

Poem for the Day

Posted: 26 February 2014

To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour.

A Robin Red breast in a Cage
Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
A dove house fill'd with doves & Pigeons
Shudders Hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his Master's Gate
Predicts the ruin of the State.
A Horse misus'd upon the Road
Calls to Heaven for Human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted Hare
A fibre from the Brain does tear.
A Skylark wounded in the wing,
A Cherubim does cease to sing.

The Whore and Gambler, by the State
Licenc'd, build that Nation's Fate.
The Harlot's cry from Street to Street
Shall weave Old England's winding Sheet.
The Winner's Shout, the Loser's Curse,
Dance before dead England's Hearse.
Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Morn and every Night
Some are Born to sweet Delight.
Some are Born to sweet Delight,
Some are born to Endless Night.
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro' the Eye.

from Auguries of Innocence
William Blake

Poem for the Day

Posted: 25 February 2014

Oh would I could subdue the flesh
Which sadly troubles me!
And then perhaps could view the flesh
As though I never knew the flesh
And merry misery.

To see the golden hiking girl
With wind about her hair,
The tennis-playing, biking girl,
The wholly-to-my-liking girl,
To see and not to care.

At sundown on my tricycle
I tour the Boroughs edge,
And icy as an icicle
See bicycle by bicycle
Stacked waiting in the hedge.

Get down from me! I thunder there,
You spaniels! Shut your jaws!
Your teeth are stuffed with underwear,
Suspenders torn asunder there
And buttocks in your paws!

Oh whip the dogs away my Lord,
They make me ill with lust.
Bend bare knees down to pray, my Lord,
Teach sulky lips to say, my Lord,
That flaxen hair is dust.

Senex
John Betjeman

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