What happens when you cross the ancient Welsh poetic form, Cynghanedd, with the traditional Japanese poetic form, the Haiku? And what strange hybrid emerges if you then insolently disregard the strict rules of both? Something like this, maybe…
Keys. Money. Change. Baccy. Skins. Glasses. Pen. Notebook. Phone. Tissues. Swiss army knife. Clean pants in case I get run over. Right, I’m ready to go to the corner shop for a pint of milk. Summer thunder rumbles in the east.
Allweddi. Arian. Arian bach. Baco. Crwyn. Gwydrau. Ysgrifbin. Ffôn. Cadach. Cylell fyddin Swistir. Dillad isaf yn lân rhag ofn wi mewn damwain ffordd. O’r gorau, wi’n barod i fynd i siop am beint o laeth. Taranau haf yn tyrfo yn y dwyrain.
Wish I knew what you’re saying here, Dic. There again, maybe I’m just thick.
No Henrietta you’re not thick. It’s just a bit of throwaway nonsense to be ignored (although it’s not entirely without content – mini-impressions of both Cynghanedd and Haiku are in there somewhere, and I really do go through that laborious check-list before setting foot outside). No, I just wanted my 201st (!) blog to be instantaneous and spontaneous so as to build up a bit of momentum on the long haul to, well, 300 I suppose…