Cymru/Wales: Bipolar Nation

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Saturday 10 February 2018

Anglo Welsh Verse


Anglo Welsh Verse




You're probably beginning to wonder by now if the Clown Bard of Bridgend is starting to lose his grip on reality (again)
You can't help noticing that he's penning some doggerel that should really be floating down the Seine because if I really did have some delusions of grandeur I'd be penning me poems in Paris and the Louevre
In a garret not in a turret of one of Edward I's Castles.
They start off bright and breezy but tail off rather sleazy.
"You're not hurting anybody that's true but you are making us rather blue churning out ode that should be forbode"
My aim is to find that Anglo Welsh verse which will make people reverse, park their cars and listen up to someone, previously considered perverse.
'A fo ben bid bont' say the words of the old chant.
'If you want to be a leader be a bridge'
that one's on a magnet on my fridge.
I'm one of those guys who is hoping not to be noticed in real life,
I don't want to end up with a trouble and strife who is with me because of my words.
It won't be my dress sense because I am really rather scruffy.
It won't be my bank balance but it could be my kindness because I'm still renowned as a soft touch.
Some people suspect I might be gay, but that really isn't for them to say.
They really shouldn't speculate as to over whom I ejaculate.
Physically and sexually with women but emotionally I relate to some men,
namely other bad poets and billy no mates.
I am not the strong and silent type.
They tend to kill themselves.
'Syrth y cryf ysgeulus, saif y gwan gofalus'
I think that I am more anxious and neurotic and withdraw from intimacy because of its simplicity.
Being with one person for the rest of your life is something that was a problem for Camus and his wife.
"If you want monogamy, marry a Swan" but I would imagine that those down at the Liberty would have something to say about this polyamory. 
I don't want another man's kids as my own although at my age the seeds are probably sown.
I could be Jaffa although it wont be shown because I practise my sex saffa.
I lost all my hair in 99, the chemotherapy was a symptom, not a sign.
Then to cap it all I lost my mind in 2005. What rhymes with that?
Oh yes Prison
I am a prisoner once again now because I am a carer although I can't see how shouting at the elderly out of frustration for £62.10 a week can be considered anything close to care,
but I am there because my conscience won't allow me to be elsewhere.
Who knew that this poem would end up autobiography but again it shows my homespun philosophy.
Tell em a little, give em a clue because anything I write has little value.
I'm not being modest or self effacing but if people rated it, they would be chasing, me with their cheque books and bank cards and demanding that I sign my books of so called poetry.
That is for another day because suffice to say
today is the North London Derby and Wales play England at Twickenham.

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How To Be Idle
Second Sight
Freud: The Key Ideas
The Yellow World
Intimacy: Trusting Oneself and the Other
Going Mad?: Understanding Mental Illness
Back To Sanity: Healing the Madness of Our Minds
Ham on Rye
Electroboy: A Memoir of Mania
Memories, Dreams, Reflections
Mavericks
Murder in Amsterdam: The Death of Theo van Gogh and the Limits of Tolerance
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
I Bought a Mountain
Hovel in the Hills: An Account of the Simple Life
Ring of Bright Water
The Thirty-Nine Steps
A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose
The Power of Now: A Guide to Spiritual Enlightenment
The Seat of the Soul


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