#WelshWriters
How shall my animal Whose wizard shape I trace in the… Vessel of abscesses and exultation… Endure burial under the spelling w… The invoked, shrouding veil at the…
My hero bares his nerves along my… That rules form wrist to shoulder, Unpacks the head that, like a slee… Leans on my mortal ruler, The proud spine spurning turn and…
All all and all the dry worlds lev… Stage of the ice, the solid ocean, All from the oil, the pound of lav… City of spring, the governed flowe… Turns in the earth that turns the…
There are strange things done in t… By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secr… That would make your blood run col… The Northern Lights have seen que…
Over Sir John’s hill, The hawk on fire hangs still; In a hoisted cloud, at drop of dus… And gallows, up the rays of his ey… And the shrill child’s play
Unluckily for a death Waiting with phoenix under The pyre yet to be lighted of my s… And for the woman in shades Saint carved and sensual among the…
If I were tickled by the rub of l… A rooking girl who stole me for he… Broke through her straws, breaking… If the red tickle as the cattle ca… Still set to scratch a laughter fr…
Should lanterns shine, the holy fa… Caught in an octagon of unaccustom… Would wither up, and any boy of lo… Look twice before he fell from gra… The features in their private dark
'If my head hurt a hair’s foot Pack back the downed bone. If the… Bump on a spout let the bubbles ju… Sooner drop with the worm of the r… Than bully ill love in the clouted…
(for Llewelyn) This side of the truth, You may not see, my son, King of your blue eyes In the blinding country of youth,
A process in the weather of the he… Turns damp to dry; the golden shot Storms in the freezing tomb. A weather in the quarter of the ve… Turns night to day; blood in their…
When the morning was waking over t… He put on his clothes and stepped… The locks yawned loose and a blast… He dropped where he loved on the b… And the funeral grains of the slau…
A Letter To My Aunt Discussing… To you, my aunt, who would explore The literary Chankley Bore, The paths are hard, for you are no… A literary Hottentot
It’s my belief that every man Should do his share of work, And in our economic plan No citizen should shirk. That in return each one should get
The tombstone told when she died. Her two surnames stopped me still. A virgin married at rest. She married in this pouring place, That I struck one day by luck,