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Eryri Sep 2018
Thank you for the memories,
The unexpected, sudden hits of nostalgia
Taking me back to carefree days
Of playing football after a summer rainstorm,
Of laughing in woodwork class,
Of my grandmother's awesome cakes.

Like time travel on the cheap,
You weather away the years,
And the strata of cynicism and regret,
Momentarily eroding my reality,
Revealing the manchild at my core,
Allowing him the briefest chance to once again explore.

But these are unpredictable reveries,
Three dimensional snatches of memories.
It's time they developed some kind of smell recorder,
Just like sights and sounds can be held for posterity.
But such technology would not compare to my physiological wonder;
Magically transforming scent into vivid memories.
Eryri Oct 2018
The idiocy,
Sheer insincerity
Of political apologies.

It WAS meant to offend.

You chose the words carefully.
A dog's-whistle in your mouthpiece.
Your career is your priority.

You are a glorified carnival barker,
With a reputation as an intellect,
But many do detect ******* in your overblown prose
(except those who are equally verbose).

Will your papa be disappointed
If you are never to be anointed?
Your education makes being PM a career choice,
So power for it's own sake should really be a piece of cake.

So how about it, Boris?
Will we hear more Horace?
How much do you want it?
Enough to blow your own Trumpette?
I really wanted to rhyme Bannon and Cannon after the last line.
4.9k · Sep 2018
The Medical Clarinettist
Eryri Sep 2018
Your shrill, yet oddly pleasant sound, echoes loudly down the long corridor.
I try to ignore you as the jaunty sound clashes with my melancholy mood,
Yet I find the notes and melodies cling to my mind like tissue stuck to a shoe,
Hanging on for it's own amusement,
Ignorant of my desire not to be teased nor humoured at this anxious time.

I feel I shouldn't like your racket,
My naïve ears and young years sense, not only an inappropriate comedy in your sound,
But also a daunting undertone,
Adding to my sense of having been plunged into deep icy waters.

Perhaps your music soothes those who are leaving,
Your high happy notes providing optimism and assurance of recovery,
Or of a restful sleep enveloping dear ones.
For me, however, at the point of no-return in my pilgrimage,
I hear only the low notes,
Out of time with my quickened pulse,
And lending a foreboding soundtrack to my slow deliberate steps.

But you play for no pay,
Busking in this hospital,
Doing good both night and day.
Yes, you are well known in this place,
Admired for the hours you commit to this space where lives can hang in the balance,
And where your instrument by day is a sharp sleek scalpel,
Invasive in its desire to alleviate suffering,
Your steady, practiced hand rehearsed and well versed in the methodically planned procedure of a surgical concerto.

But out of hours your instrument of choice lends you a voice,
Allowing flourishes and improvisations.
But were you aware that for visitors like me who visited repeatedly,
The clarinet would take on a significance beyond other instruments,
Taking me instantly back to bittersweet memories of visiting my family,
As, in turn, they aged and became unwell and recovered and became unwell again.

Now I am older and a little wiser,
I reflect and ruminate on this period;
My memories of family are more than just hospital visits,
And I wonder if I could ask one thing of you?
Why no Rhapsody in Blue?!
4.6k · Nov 2018
Frequently Used Emojis
Eryri Nov 2018
The one that winks,
The one in hysterics,
The beer,
The wine,
The OK sign.

The shocked one,
The facepalm one,
The angel baby,
The thumbs up,
And the one throwing up.

Life can't be bad:
My frequent emojis aren't sad.
3.6k · Dec 2018
Stress Residue
Eryri Dec 2018
A tragedy miles of time away,
The anguish almost forgotten:
But pain is a stubborn stain;
Counselling never washes it away,
New love never smothers it.

Like a stubborn ****
It is always there,
Rooted in composted memories,
Finding nourishment in the briefest recollections.
The slightest trigger allowing it to briefly blossom.
Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Eryri Aug 2018
We married not so young
After many years of fun:
That was the biggest
of my wife.

We doomed our partnership
In a Holy building
Cursed by a sunken ship
Weighed down by gold
Tossed in a storm
And battered by rock:
Marriage was
the biggest
of my wife.

I jest of course
- not of the ship,
that part is true -
The biggest
of my life
Was not marrying her sooner.
3.0k · Sep 2018
Exercising My Demon
Eryri Sep 2018
I was possessed by a demon so lazy,
He left the Priest feeling slightly hazy.
He wanted some ecclesiastical action,
But this Demon didn't give him no satisfaction.

My Priest said "you've got to stick it to him!"
So I took us both to the local gym.
I did some cardio and did some weights,
I stayed there until really very late.

Finally, when doing some cross-training,
My chest started straining,
And a voice (not mine) wailed like a Banshee,
"The power of exercise compels me!"

So that was how my Demon was exorcised;
Bloodless, sweaty Holy exercise.
Now I'm a major fitness fanatic
Thanks to forces oh so Satanic!
2.9k · Oct 2018
A Romantic Narrative Of War
Eryri Oct 2018
There was death and gore,

During the second world war.

Many people died in extreme violence,

Killed before they could call out to loved ones.

Young men were trained to ****,

Often against their morals and will.

So when I see your 1940s weekend -

Your 'war was fun and cosy' pretence,

Your clichéd polyester and fibre glass mockery,

Aiming to re-enact a mostly imagined happy-go-lucky camaraderie -

Forgive me for not joining in,

As I happen to feel it a cardinal sin,

To idealise and romanticise a decade,

Made up of austerity, rationing and air raids.

I've read a little social history,

The 1940s were not idyllic or crime-free,

Just as now, there were heroes and villains,

Among the soldiers and civilians.

Heroism abounded but so did black marketeering,

There were brave sacrifices but also racketeering.

City-wide black-outs were a gift,

To those who would rob and grift.

Your jolly nostalgic tribute is an annual celebration,

Celebrating your own fabrication,

Of a time when the machinations of war and a crazed ideology,

Saw the near extinction of an entire ethnic minority.

I do not wish to be a party pooper,

But don't just step into the fake shoes of a fictional trooper,

Please occasionally remove your rose-tinted glasses,

To remember that beyond your nostalgic narrative of the routines of the masses,

People lived with the daily fear,

Of the likely deaths of people they held dear.
A little bitter and exaggerated perhaps.
2.7k · Aug 2018
Not On The High Street
Eryri Aug 2018
Struggling for a gift again,
Every year a new idea needed.
What can I get an agnostic who has everything?

Another Tiffany charm
Won't do any harm.

A clay pigeon shooting experience couldn't possibly miss

How about Afternoon Tea...
With me?

Wait, an idea that's viable,
A personalised Bible
Where, rather than 'God',
Her name instead:
"In the beginning Doris-Ann created the Heavens and the Earth"
Right through to:
"I am the Alpha and the Omega, says the Lord Doris-Ann"

What a revelation,
A new gift to sweep the nation!
A personalised Bible
Whose sales will rival
The good book itself.

Such a gift might be great,
Until, at St Peter's gate,
Doris-Ann might have to explain
That she was once God on Earth
And that should be good enough
For an agnostic not to be rebuffed.
2.5k · Sep 2018
A Lady In The Launderette
Eryri Sep 2018
I never come here, you understand,
I'm of a higher social class,
But my washer dryer has broken down
And has left me without a single gown.

My dishwasher works fine and my wine rack is full,
But still, expensive washer dryers can breakdown
And make a lady frown.

I've got someone coming to fix it
(We have our washer dryer insured),
I should really get a new one but it's been really rather good...
It's always washed away the stains of fancy food.

Fellow launderer please understand -
as you look rather tough -
I won't judge you if you don't judge,
So let us wash our clothes in unspoken harmony
And make my inconvenience as unawkward as it can be.

But to my shame my snobbish mind assumes the worst;
That every rushing washer
Is thrusting clothes into the machines hurriedly,
Because they've all been on a killing spree.

Now the drying is almost done,
I can leave you with your dreary woes of working life and sleepless nights,
And go right home to dispose of that gun.
2.4k · Aug 2018
The Goldfish's Lament
Eryri Aug 2018
The Goldfish and his friend shared the one bed flat for what seemed to them a lifetime,
But was, in actual fact, just three months in human terms.
They knew each other well, like the back of their fins,
Having circled each other a million times.
Sure, they argued sometimes,
Always about the same thing
But neither could ever remember what that was.
Forgive and forget and forget ad infinitum,
That was the basis of their friendship.

So after his lifelong friend swam his last lap of their squat apartment,
The Goldfish mourned and tried to remember the good times they shared.
As he did, he forgot his bereavement and swam his next lap.
That was when he discovered the body of his lifelong friend,
Limp and halfway between sinking and floating.

So the Goldfish mourned and tried to remember the good times they shared.
As he did, he forgot his bereavement and swam his next lap.
That was when he discovered the body of his lifelong friend,
His former golden hue now gone.

So, the Goldfish mourned and tried to remember the good times they shared.
As he tried, he forgot his bereavement and swam his next lap.

That was when he discovered the body of his lifelong friend...
2.0k · Jan 2019
A Life's Contrail
Eryri Jan 2019
Your idealism burned your path
and led you there.
Your desire a burning scythe,
Scorching and hacking
anything you deemed pre-determined.

Only a few tried to stop you.
Only a few told you it was a foolish endeavour,
But you wouldn't hear of it.
Your ears filtered out contrary voices.
Your mind bias to your thoughts of absolute free-will
and its oxymoronic pursuit of a destiny.

And so you left.
Took off under your own power
Leaving a contrail in your wake
Stretching from an eternal West
to an eternal East.
A monochrome rainbow
Befittingly lacking in palette
as your tunnel vision
allowed for only one colour,
Not a mixture of hues and shades
That colour a normal youthful existence.

Although short and unfulfilled,
Your brief sojourn on this world
will be remembered.
Your life's contrail will hang in the sky:
A solitary mark on your life's canvas,
A testimony, not to your Quixotic mission,
But to the good that would have surely followed
the eventual demise of your romantic notions
of solving the world's problems.
1.8k · Dec 2018
The Elephant in the Head
Eryri Dec 2018
Acknowledge the knowledge:
Accept it is there.
Dissonance is ignorance:
Neither here nor there.
There it is, as plain as day:
It is not going away.
Demon drink
Taken you to the brink
But still you fail to grasp
That others aren't always to blame,
That circumstances don't conspire,
That fate doesn't deem it too late,
For if you can move to contemplation,
Then you could still resist temptation,
So, before your will is trampled,
Let's discuss the undiscussable:
The Elephant in your head.
1.7k · Sep 2018
Eryri Sep 2018
Which one hurts ya?
Born a ***** or raised a *****?
Take your pick.
Mother Nature can be sick,
But so can your mother and so can your father.
Look at yer brothers
Look at yer sisters
All of 'em idiots
None of 'em got jobs
What's your prospects?
A life of desk jobs?
Nah, dealing and stealing
Taking without feeling
That's what you'll do
No dreams of being well-to-do.
You were born poor,
Raised to be poor,
Cos you're forgotten by the government,
No votes to be gained from givin' you a helping hand.
Born poor, stay poor.
No cultural capital
To help cast off the metaphorical manacles
That shackle any sense of aspiration that might give you inspiration
To defy nature
To defy nurture.
I'll prove ya wrong!
I was born poor for sure,
Raised poor is right,
But my folks weren't sick,
They raised me not to be a *****
My bloodline shows no decline
Just not born with entitlement,
So don't judge,
That's just ******* lazy
Don't believe the argument:
Nature versus nurture
I am me, now,
So don't get frenetic about my genetics.
I have free-will
I will pay my bills,
Not be defficient,
But be self-sufficient.
And what about you?
Sat in your Ivory Tower
Indulging in your power to judge those you don't know,
Believing them to be a product line of people scrounging,
Needing hand downs from the Crown
Doing nothing but clowning around,
Smoking dope
Being without hope.
But I will be someone,
And prove you wrong,
So put your patronising way to bed
Coz I'm not lazing away until I'm dead.
A lame comment on political and class divide.
1.6k · Jan 2019
Snowdrops in a Graveyard
Eryri Jan 2019
You grow wild yet reverential
Your bowed white heads
Gathered in prayer groups
Dotting the well-kept lawn of the dead.

Do the residents tend to you?
Do their icy-white greenfingers
- reanimated by the winter moon -
Awaken you with a deathly touch?
1.6k · Feb 2019
Ba-Boom Ba-Boom
Eryri Feb 2019
To say you are a Junior Doctor
Would be an understatement.
To say you are fit to practice
Would be irresponsible.
Your bedside manner
Leaves a lot to be desired.
You break your Hippocratic oath
At the drop of a hat.
You hand out prescriptions for Calpol
Like it's going out of fashion.
You tell me to take some pills
For the slighest of chills.
You take my temperature
And tell me I'm fine
When the reading says just 29.
When you check out my heart
You say it goes:
Ba-Boom Ba-Boom Ba-Boom Ba-Boom.
But I'll cut you some slack,
You may seem like a Quack,
But if I insist on a free medical
Then I shouldn't expect expertise
From a Doctor aged but 3.
Eryri Sep 2018
Standing straight in the swirling straits,
A bridge - now outdated - whose chains bear great weight and history,
Bejewelled with diamond raindrops that glisten in the winter sun,
Lending the old bridge the look of a semi-submerged crown.

This bridge is a source of pride to the islanders,
Many stories are told of it,
Some are true and some are legend,
But one tale lies inbetween:
That of a giant King chased from the island.
Forced to leap across the boiling straits,
Barely making landfall,
Falling backwards as he did so,
Watching in horror as his crown tumbled to the ground,
Falling into the grey waters.

Many years went by,
And modern ways demanded a bridge.
As foundations were laid a discovery made!
Upon the shore, deep in ancient mud,
Poked out a colossal rusting iron crown,
News broke!
Everyone spoke!
The story was true!
A giant King had once ruled!
So, in honour of this ancient King,
The design was amended to honour this crown,
And that is why this bridge, in profile,
Resembles the ancient coronet,
Found on the shore of the waters that the Romans failed to cross.
Of course, naysayers claim there was no crown,
Merely publicity seekers who found an old iron fence,
And who contrived a tale with willing locals.
Whichever is true,
The bridge is part of a glorious view,
And stories abound of its construction,
Like the man who walked the length of the chain,
Stopping halfway to take in the view whilst making a shoe!
Or of the maiden who swore that all who crossed would suffer a loss,
As great as they could ever imagine.

This bridge, whose beauty is unsurpassed,
Is now part of a glorious past of truths, lies and legends.
But forever it will stand,
And many more stories it shall inspire,
For it no longer simply links lands,
But now links truth and myth...
Am byth.
"Am byth" Welsh, meaning "forever"
1.5k · Sep 2018
Sanity Mirror
Eryri Sep 2018
Mirror mirror on the wall,
Who's the sanest of them all?
They say I'm mad and egocentric,
But you and I know I'm just wonderfully eccentric.

You've reflected my soul for many a year,
We've seen me shed many a tear
For they all have it in for me
As my beauty lives in infamy.

I know I'm stunning and uncrazy,
But, some days do get a little hazy;
If I forget to take my mild prescription
Then my beauty really does defy description!
1.5k · Sep 2018
Easy Pie
Eryri Sep 2018
Frantic mornings can make me grumpy,
Got to get you both to nursery.
Get to the car we're gonna be late:
This is the time of day I really hate!
I'm seriously considering hypnotherapy,
To make these mornings a lot less hazy.
But - a saving grace - you are but three,
Which means you're often very funny!
And this morning is no exception,
As you always say something to break the tension!
And, as you are so young,
You often get the expressions wrong!
Like this morning in struggling to belt you in,
You looked to me with that lovely grin,
And declared so happily:
"Easy pie, daddy!"
1.5k · Aug 2018
Looked After
Eryri Aug 2018
You, the unlucky ones, not cared for in your early years,
Your resilience fails to blossom like the lucky ones
Who know little of your pains and fears
But ask what you would do if you had a magic wand
As if that will provide them with solutions to you, the problem.

 “Why us? Why no normal boring ****?”
The miraculous odds that you were conceived
Offset by the misfortune of love unfit,
A birth with much promise but ultimately deceived,
To fend for yourselves like moths and butterflies.

Trust takes time and is quid pro quo,
You need lessons in attachment and love,
But this is something that most adults don’t know.
Instead they humour you or treat you with kid gloves,
Meaning that your adolescence is a bitter surprise
When you’re no longer the person they can infantilise.
1.2k · Aug 2018
The Worst Heart
Eryri Aug 2018
"This is the worst heart"
That's what my nephew wrote on my card.
He'd tried so hard to draw a heart,
That it broke his own.
1.2k · Sep 2018
My Card Constantly Screams
Eryri Sep 2018
Plastic fantastic
Sits in my wallet
Waiting for flirtatious contactless action.

My personal details emanating constantly
From my ruminating flexible friend,
From my ruminating flexible foe.

Never ending debt
Leaves me a slave to a monetary master
Piling on the debt faster and faster.

Battered worn leather houses the card
That screams a constant binary plea,
Begging to be heard by an electric mate.

I need to silence this traitor
- This debt facilitator -
But I'm hooked on its fleeting ability to buy me that which I do not need.

My card constantly screams my personal data,
Broadcasting 1s and 0s endlessly,
Betraying and exploiting me through ruthless efficient binary.
1.2k · Dec 2018
Honey Badger
Eryri Dec 2018
Wild Honey Badger:
The Punk Rocker of the wild.
Fight for your right to party.

Wild Honey Badger:
The Chuck Norris of the wild.
Fear itself fears you.

Wild Honey Badger:
Comedically psychopathic,
Like Frank in Blue Velvet.

Respect the Honey Badgers
and they will, most likely,
Still not respect you.
1.1k · Jul 2019
You Dug
Eryri Jul 2019
You dug today
Some mud and clay
With two-year-old hands
And a giant *****.
You dug today
A new place to play
Filthy, muddy wonderlands;
Just the place for an escapade!
1.1k · Nov 2018
Sleeping Son
Eryri Nov 2018
Asleep in his cot.
Or so I thought.
I hear his restlessness
(No sleep for the rest of us)
I lie and wait for the inevitable,
His teething has been terrible.
He's about to start crying.
But the restlessness ends:

Silence is eerie when it is unexpected.

My tired brain seizes its chance,
Shutting my eyes on my behalf,
Forcing my body to relax,
Filing away my anxious thoughts,
But, no! Just as sleep takes hold,
My door creeps open.
There stands my son,
Or at least an approximation of him:

Doorway silhouettes are unnerving.

Then, a dragging realisation:
My son is just nine months old.
He cannot climb,
He cannot walk,
He cannot even stand.
The sleeping process reversing,
Adrenaline begins coursing,
The small figure approaching:

Staring and with spittle drooling.

I choose flight over fight,
Need to know my son is alright -
That he is not this thing of the night -
But the child-thing chooses fight,
Chases me, grabs me and bites.
It will not let go,
Its claws dig in,
Its breath stinking:

My son is my dying thought...
An attempt at something Stephen Kingy. Apologies to him.
1.0k · Nov 2018
Flowers On A Cliff
Eryri Nov 2018
I heard these words today,
I do not know their origins,
Nor what they truly represent.
They were said so flippantly,
That the beauty didn't strike me
Until I reached my place of work
Parked my car next to the old tree
Whose blossom reminded me:
"I'm a flower on a cliff"
Fragile beauty on a precipice.
Strong unseen anchoring roots.
Perfection is not a human quality.
Only Nature has perfected perfection
So it is a bold claim for a man
To boast of being a flower on a cliff.
1.0k · Dec 2018
A New Kind of World War
Eryri Dec 2018
As far as wars go
It's a bit of a bore,
But we are at war.
Trade war tariffs:
Monetary missiles,
Cyber attackers:
Heat-seeking hackers.
Yes, hot wars are so passé.
Cold wars,
So-called Star Wars:
All in the past.
Silent battlers
Not sabre rattlers.
Keyboard warriors
No F15s nor Harriers.
Masters of Sanctions
Not Masters of War.
Expelling diplomats
And ***-for-tats.
It's a new World War,
But it's a bore,
So pay attention,
Don't get complacent,
The war drones on.
989 · Sep 2018
Waiting (for Chinese Food)
Eryri Sep 2018
Sat on a leatherette sofa waiting for my order.

The kitchen looks to be in some disorder.

The staff are flirting,
The customers deserting.

Leaving me still sat on a leatherette sofa wondering,

Where in the hell is my order?!
968 · Oct 2018
Titanium Jaw
Eryri Oct 2018
When I was young I wanted nothing more than a titanium jaw.

I'd read that a titanium jaw cost just a few grand and was all above board.

But this need for a titanium jaw was simply machismo, bravado and little else more.

Plus, I'd no longer be seen as a bore! Girls would surely be impressed by my titanium jaw.

And if someone's hand were to break upon my titanium jaw, it would surely be self-defence in the eyes of the law.

I never did get my titanium jaw...never likely to either now that I'm forty-four.
Eryri Aug 2018
I fractured my wrist
When I took a risk
Saving point blank
A shot by a lad
Whose foot was like a traction engine.
Now I’m left with a plaster cast,
Yellow in colour,
Like the sun that beats down upon it,
Making my cracked wrist
Itch and sweat,
And sweat and itch.
905 · Aug 2018
No Moving Parts
Eryri Aug 2018
She cared for no one,
Stood tall and aloof like a single poppy,
Resisting the wind and rain
As she stood on the lawn of asphalt.

Around her she surveyed the weeds of the city,
The fake trees of the city,
The smoggy air of the concrete forest,
All choking and stifling her future.

Not for her this poisonous place
This ****** city,
This filthy forest of stone and metal.
Her kind need space and freedom.

For her kind are flowers that grow alone.
No one understands them.
They have no empathy.
They have no moving parts.
Eryri Feb 2019
My weekly downhill drive past your flat
And your static life in your static flat
Briefly synchronise courtesy of your mirror's angle,
Opening a brief view into your lonely life:
Your brown vintage sofa
With it's vintage orange cushions,
Your formica TV dinner table.
A retro combo,
Reminding me of the set of a 70s sitcom
Minus the laughs.
Yes, it's a terrible thing
That I can't help but gaze
At that speedy reflection
Of your Thursday nights
Above your anachronistic Everything shop;
The shop *** museum that you've curated
For forty years or more.
886 · Dec 2018
Eryri Dec 2018
The times they are a changin',
Algorithms are modern cupids
Generated and perfected by...
Matchmaking computer whizzkids.

Log-in details now the key to love,
Name, gender, age and location
Algorithmed and matched to...
A potential subject of affection.

But I met my wife on a drinking spree,
On the dancefloor and on a mission
Wine and music combining freely...
Generating the perfect alco-rhythm.
859 · Aug 2018
Sobriety Sucks
Eryri Aug 2018
"Gonna quit drinking at forty"
That's what I said aged thirty.
"Gonna quit drinking at fifty"
That's what I said aged forty

Never fulfilled these intentions;
Sobriety fills me with apprehension
For a life steeped in tension
Both avoiding and seeking attention.

Truth be told,
I don't want to grow old
As the green grey mold
That thrives in my home so cold.

Drinking is my hobby and my crutch,
Everyone knows as much,
And each drink I touch,
Takes me nearer Death's cold clutch.

But I love the *****,
I've got nothing left to lose,
So what the hell's the use
Of not lighting Death's fuse
With just one more flamin' Drambuie
Just for old time's saké?
831 · Dec 2018
Oyster Catcher
Eryri Dec 2018
Your sound,
(for it is a sound and not a song)
Rides aloft the salty air.
No bells ringing,
No choirs singing,
Only your contented call,
Your calming tuneful screech;
My favourite festive fugue,
A welcome call from familiar shores
To which I return each Christmas.
830 · Mar 2019
Who's Boring?
Eryri Mar 2019
I am boring,
I am boring.
Am I boring?
Are you boring?
Are we boring?
We are boring.
810 · Nov 2019
My ID Badge
Eryri Nov 2019
My ID badge has a photo of me in my prime...
15 years (or more) ago.
My ID badge shows me up all the time,
"When was that taken? You've filled out a bit!".

But the photo was just a snapshot of my life.
An obsessive runner at the time,
Having shed a lot of weight that had clung on for years...
Weight that had hindered my youth.

My ID badge is a badge of honour.
My ID badge is a hindrance.
My ID badge is a constant reminder that I've let myself go...again.
My ID badge cannot be updated due to bureaucracy!
792 · Nov 2018
The Fascinator
Eryri Nov 2018
As I stand,
With Pimms in hand,
Your perfume I do sense,
(It was always pretty intense).
I fall into a trance,
As you make your entrance,
And I stare in awe,
At your fascinator.
Such exquisite taste
- surely not bought in haste -
It certainly fascinates,
And is sure to spark debates:
"Too much", "just seeking attention",
"She thinks she's Kim Kardashian".
But I think it's ace:
It accentuates your face,
Really brings out your ears.
So ignore all the sneers
Have a good night
Under the disco's light,
And I'll see you later,
For a closer look at that fascinator.
Yes, I'm my wife's traitor,
As I hope later
To be unfastening the
fascinator's fascinating fascinator.
I just like the word 'fascinator'
Eryri Mar 2019
Happy non-Brexit day!
We were meant to leave EU today
But the government is a travesty,
The party politics a tragedy,
Leaving the electorate in
a total state of apathy.
Let's be clear (as May likes to say):
EU were never that bad,
Peace in my time is what I've had
So let me be clearer:
I don't want to break with EU
But it seems inevitable
So all I ask is:
Catch our falling star
And, whilst our politcians negotiate a long drawn out "**** it!",
Keep it in your pocket.
But, for now...
C'est la vie, mes amis.
689 · Nov 2018
Little Ugly Pond
Eryri Nov 2018
Little ugly pond
had its moment of beauty
in the glow of dusk.
Eryri Oct 2018
Ar ben y bryn,
There sits a paint-brush-thin monument,
A crooked rocky record built by many unwilling hands.
This cockeyed testimony announces a difficult man,
A man befriended by nature
Whose oakish form turned in opposition to his kin,
Took root on stony ground,
Prospered on infertile soil
And sheltered under nature's canopy.

Y bryn oedd ei gartref
And he lived and thrived there
To the annoyance of the conformists:
The chapel-goers, the gossipers, the rate-payers
Those who could not abide his ragged clothing,
Sweat-stewed, blood-patched remnants of cloth,
Hanging rags of garments and barely-there shoes.
Loneliness he embraced and so peace was his.

Ar y bryn fu farw.
A few feigned to mourn to satisfy their curiousity,
Wanting to view the corpse of the man on the hill,
A man who was and wasn't one of them.
And so a dissonance struck the town:
He was one of them but also one of wild nature.
He was miserably poor but enviably free.
And out of such confusion was his half-hearted monument raised.
'The Man On The Hill'
674 · Dec 2018
Eryri Dec 2018
Poems on pain,
Poems about strain,


Verses with puns,
Verses for fun.

Don't get me wrong,
I like the highly charged,
The deeply confessional.

Expression through art
Plays a huge part
In improving Wellbeing.

But should we also strive,
To derive
A little humour via the poems
So kindly shared here?
667 · Jan 2019
Not A Curious Person
Eryri Jan 2019
Such a people person,
Such a kind person,
Such a loving person,
Such a sociable person
A well loved person.
Yet, not a curious person.
No questions asked of others,
No intrigue as to world affairs,
No who, what, where or when
Of matters outside of family.
You nurtured me,
Protected me,
Literally saved me once,
Yet my curiosity has no bounds.
I waste time in tangents,
Learn a lot about nothing,
Shoe horn facts into conversation.
Yet you are always content,
Like a lioness watching her cubs.
Lionesses' weights can vary from 150kg to 250kg and may give birth to four cubs at a time.
637 · Oct 2018
Eryri Oct 2018
"Let us rock" said the man in a frock.

"Let us pray" said another man in a frock.

The congregation replied "**** YEAH!" and gesticulated like they did not care.

The other congregation bowed their heads to show their reverence and care.

"MOTHER *******!" was the first man in a frock's opening line.

"Our Father" was the other man in a frock's first whispered words.

The congregation went wild and they pogoed out of sheer joy.

The other congregation remained fixed in their seats, staring at feet.

Four hours passed until the man in the frock finished his slot.

The other man in the frock was done within the hour.

The man in the frock went backstage and partied with his flock.

The other man in the frock went home to **** his socks.

The man in the frock woke up the next afternoon no longer wearing his frock.

The other man in the frock had been up since six o'clock but had nowhere to go.

The man no longer wearing the frock picked up his phone and made a call.

The other man in the frock rushed to his phone for it rarely rang.

"Hello dad" said the man who had worn the frock.

"Hello son" said the man still wearing the frock.
Eryri Feb 2019
"I found it, the other day"
(she'd kept it out of the way)

"I don't recall putting it there"
(sadly, this is no longer rare)

"I thought you had it last"
(her memory is fading fast)

I asked where it was:
"With the pants, socks
And God knows what!"

She'd searched for it,
Forgotten about it,
Remembered it,
And searched for it.
A curse of old age:
So hard to bear
For those who Care.
594 · Feb 2019
Uni Verse
Eryri Feb 2019
There is no font size big enough
To reflect the energy of the
Rush of life-giving particles
Thirteen billion years ago.
There is no font size small enough
To reflect the miniscule size
Of the result of the big crush
One zeptosecond before oblivion.
There is no verse long enough
To ponder all that was in between
The BANG! and the CRUSH!
590 · Apr 2019
My Own Worst Critic
Eryri Apr 2019
I'm my own worst critic:
I think my 'work' is good.

Why do I stick to it?
Because I'm sure to think I'm good.
It's the best I can offer
All I have to proffer,

I know why I bother,
I quite enjoy my own poet's corner,
Which for me is a sanctuary;
In which to spend a stolen private moment
From a day tending to my children
And retaining gainful employment.
582 · Nov 2018
Clergy Parking Only
Eryri Nov 2018
Empty Church, free of worship.
Solemn words trapped in stone wall.
Echoes of song long since dissipated.
Redundant Reverends,
Disconnected Deans,
And Perished Priests.
Age has eroded the congregation.
Faith in a Power displaced by modern life.
No time nor inclination to pray:
Hymns have too many lyrics
They offer no repetitive melodies.
As belief in Him erodes,
Faith in the Establishment remains,
It's failing flock clinging to the rock,
Demonstrating their faith in His return
Through small hopelessly hopeful acts,
Such as a 'Clergy Parking Only' sign.
578 · Sep 2018
Wedding Forecast
Eryri Sep 2018
It rained on my wedding day:

A week of August sunshine ended!

"Typical!" I complained, "isn't it ironic?"

But, I guess it's the weather you get for being agnostic.
562 · Dec 2018
Dearest Sun, Do Not Set
Eryri Dec 2018
You rose gently this morning
As if wanting to ease me into the day.
I watched your slow-burn rise
Gifting me a kaleidoscope sky:
Reds, Greens, Yellows and Golds,
As befits a celestial Emperor
Whose power basks in its own brilliant light.

But you knew I was watching your daily coronation.
Was it your plan to make it so memorable?
Or was it a self-fulfilling prophecy?
Did I choose this day subconsciously
As the day of my life's blossoming...
Fruit overspilling,
Wine glass brimming.

Now, with our day underway
My joy is unabating.
Your radiance infectious warming my soul.
What will the rest of your tenure gift me?
I am where I want to be,
I am who I want to be,
Dearest Sun, please do not set on me.
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