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Change of Pace
The world today moves far too fast,You can’t tell if you’re first or last.Everyone’s in a race to the end,But we all meet the same fate, my friend. So hear me out—let’s lower the pace,Life’s not meant to be a hare’s race.Remember the tale where the tortoise won?Slow and steady outpaced the run. It’s time to step back, let the roundabout slow,Life’s rushing by, just a chaotic flow.But when we breathe and take it slow,The blur clears up and starts to glow. We’re stuck in a rat race, losing our grace,We all need time—just a little more space.The world’s out of breath, it’s starting to fade,It’s time we slowed down,…
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Thirty-Eight Orbits
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April’s Cruelty
Spring has come, soft and bright,Daffodils dance in golden light. The world awakens, fresh and new,But joy feels hollow without you. The sun still shines, the sky still gleams,Yet all is not as it once seemed. For in the warmth, a shadow grows,A whispered fate, a life let go. We held you close, we fought, we prayed,Yet cancer stole, the light betrayed. One last breath, one final rest,A heavy weight upon my chest. They say to move, to step ahead,That summer waits where spring has led. So out come shorts, the patio chairs—As if the world could still compare. But black now drapes my weary soul,A chasm deep, a gaping…
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Betty – A Leading Light
She walked beside him, steady and true,A black-furred guide through skies so blue.Betty, his first, his trusted friend,A bond unbroken, without end. Through bustling streets and quiet lanes,She led with love, she bore no chains.A guiding light, a beacon bright,Turning darkness into sight. But time’s cruel hand began to steal,The light she gave, the steps once real.Her leader’s sight began to fade,A twist of fate so cruelly made. Now, led by the one she once had shown,Through Birchwood paths they both had known.A cane in hand, but still she stayed,A loyal heart that never strayed. Then Reena came—a torch anew,To guide, to love, to see him through.And Betty, though her…
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Voice
What is a voice if it can’t be heard?A whisper lost, a silent word.Heard where? At home, on stage, in halls?Or nowhere—bouncing off the walls? We hear so many voices near—Parents, siblings, those we hold dear.Grandparents’ wisdom, friends who care,But what of those in power there? Teachers, medics, those in blue—Do we listen? Do we valueWhat they say, or turn away,Ignoring words they speak each day? And what of leaders, those on high—Councillors, ministers, spinning lies?They preach of cuts, they talk of debt,Yet do they hear our voices yet? When does a voice stop being true?When words are staged, rehearsed anew.Debates, old lines, the same refrain,We’ve heard it all and…
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Llais
Beth yw llais os na chaiff ei glywed?Sibrwd coll, gair a beidiodd.Ei glywed ble? Gartref, ar lwyfan, yn y dorf?Neu unman—yn adleisio’n gorff? Clywn lawer llais o’n hamgylch ni—Rhieni, brodyr, teulu’n cri.Doethineb neiniau, ffrindiau’n rhydd,Ond beth am leisiau sydd â grym? Athrawon, meddygon, a’r heddlu glas—A ydym yn gwrando? Neu’n troi’n mas?A ydym yn gweld eu geiriau’n glir,Neu’n gadael iddynt fynd i’r gwynt yn rhydd? A beth am arweinwyr, uchel eu gradd—Cynghorwyr, gweinidogion, llawn rhagrith a thrach?Siarad am doriadau, cwyno am wlad,Ond a glywant ein lleisiau ni o gwbl erioed? Pryd mae llais yn peidio â bod?Pan fo’n sgript, yn syniad ffôl.Dadleuon gwag, yr un hen stori,Yr un hen sain,…
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Thirty-Eight Orbits
They said I’d never walk alone, That wheels would carve my path in stone. Yet fate had plans they couldn’t see,A fire inside was guiding me. In Year 10, with steady stride, By Jackie’s side, I walked with pride. Llyn Brenig stretched so vast, so wide—Eight miles, then nine, defying tides. For all my days, through joy and strife, I only sought to honour life, To make them proud—my blood, my kin— A legacy that glows within. At Henshaws, where my dreams took flight, I found my heart, my guiding light. Natalie’s love, so pure, so true, Through trials fierce, we forged anew. Yet shadows fell, dark whispers came, At…
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Change of Pace
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Robin Hood in Reverse?
A councillor spoke, bold and brash, “Rob Peter for Paul, take more in cash!” But take from the poor to give to the rich? Seems like he’s lost the plot—a real bait-and-switch. Our roads are crumbling, streets unsafe, Toilets shut or vandal’s waif. Schools left begging for staff and supplies, While doctors and dentists wave their goodbyes. A glasshouse rises, all shiny and grand, Yet shops sit empty across the land.Colwyn Bay’s lost its heart and soul, Taxed out of business—an empty shell whole. So here’s my plea, if you truly care, Give back your allowance—show us you’re fair.Meet your people, hear their cries, See the world through struggling eyes. But don’t raise tax—we’re stretched too thin, Austerity’s…
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A Bone to Pick
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Storm in a Teacup
Have you heard of the phrase, so often said? A storm in a teacup—spinning in your head. A tempest confined, yet raging inside, Twisting, shouting, no place to hide. It starts so small, just a ripple, a wave, A thought, a worry, a mind to save. And though a teacup is easy to drain, What if the storm just fills it again? Pour and pour—too much to contain, The weight of the world, the whisper of pain. And when it spills, shatters on the floor, You scramble to gather what was yours before. But hear me now—you’re not alone, The tempest will pass, the winds have flown. Discard the storm, let the echoes cease, Put the cup down,…
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Voice
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Daffodil
From the earth, each spring they rise, Golden flames beneath wide skies. A nation’s bloom, both bold and bright, A symbol of strength, of hope, of light. Wales has claimed this flower fair, Yellow as laughter, warm as care. Green as the grass of home so dear, Sung by Tom with voice sincere. Its pointed tips—like Eryri’s height, A crown of gold, a nation’s might. A bloom of rebirth, of pride anew, A land resilient, strong and true. Yet beyond the hills and valleys wide, The daffodil stands for those who guide. A beacon of hope, a gentle grace, A hand to hold in life’s last place. Marie Curie’s emblem bright, Through darkest days, a guiding light. Not…
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Llanfair PG
“Oh, you speak Welsh?”—here comes the refrain, The same bloody question yet once again. “Can you say the long funny place name?” As if that’s the height of my nation’s fame. Half of you here, born and bred, Would trip on the words, turn speech to dread. Yet somehow, it lingers, a tongue-twisting dare, A Victorian gimmick—a tourist’s snare. A name so long, a name so grand, Yet what does it offer but sea and sand? Rhosllannerchrugog, once proud and tall, Knocked from the top—no crown at all. John Morris-Jones and his tailoring mate, Sealed poor Rhos’s unlucky fate. And so we are left with a name that’s absurd, And…
