Indentured

Long years at this bench
Have I worked, under
The quick and critical eye
Of my master

Saint's days brought
No rest to me
While other 'prentice-lads
Whooped and frolicked
In the streets
I kept to my task

Each new skill was practised,
Honed, on off-cuts, waste,
Until I was deemed worthy
Of the prime material

My back is bent,
Shoulders drooped, eyes sore
From so much hunched labour

The grizzled master grows old;
His guild and trade will soon be mine;
I will be master in his place.


23/2/2010

Alternative history

Two heroes rode into the town
Greeted by cries of "Welcome home"
Their clothes strange and bright

One had been to a foreign war
Had killed and plundered
Won spoils, captured towns

The other had gone to court
Argued persuasively before the king
Was granted lands and titles

Their sister met them at the door
Kissed their cheeks and asked them in
As night drew on, their stories failed

"Well, sister, what have you been doing
While we have been making history?"
"Nothing much- just raising kids,

Growing crops, washing clothes ..."
She left the table, called
By a child's cry from the loft

A short history of Wales

As glaciers crept around Paviland Cave
We laid our first leader in his grave

We prised the Preseli bluestones free
Sent them to Stonehenge over the sea

The Roman soldier oiled his curls
Didn't bother with local girls

Arthur's veins ran with royal blood
Made a palace of sticks and mud

Rebecca's children have grown up wrong
Drunk on story, myth and song

The millennium dawns on Cardiff Bay
A nation reborn, or so they say