V762 Cas [tanka]

Three millennia,
Sixteen billion miles each day,
To fall upon my eye.
The vain queen bestows her gift
From her celestial throne.

I felt a wee bit sorry for the star V762 Cas. She held* the remarkable record of being the furthest star we could see from Earth with the naked eye but yet she got very little love, so I decided to write her a nice romantic tanka.

– Cenydd.

* I say “held”, past tense, as in 2007 they observed V762 Cas’ parallax (a figure used to calculate the distance) had become larger and therefore her distance was calculated as being much closer. She is no longer seen as being the furthest visible star. I still love her though.

The Cardinal [haiku]

Watching her take flight,
Ruby wings in evening light.
Dreaming of soaring.

I love a bit of haiku action! They are short enough to churn one out per day on the commute to work and they’re great for keeping the creative juices flowing when you haven’t got the time to sit down and write something meatier.

I really was not happy with The Cardinal when I first wrote it, but it has grown on me. Perhaps I’ve made peace with the allegory behind the poem perhaps it was just a grower, who knows?

Also, before some cleverclogs brings it up, I know – the pronoun used in The Cardinal is feminine whilst the description is of “ruby wings” and generally only male cardinals are red… lets just call it poetic licence shall we. 😉

– Cenydd.

N.B. Haiku by me but photo credited to a talented chap called R. Hammitt.

A Remoaner’s Lament

 A question without context put to the nation,
No other purpose than saving Pig Fucker’s station.
A bandwagon jumped on with egotistical glee
By Farage, BoJo & Gove, an abhorrent three.
They promised the world to those who had nought, 
Vote Brexit, kick Europe and all of their sort!
There’ll be money for healthcare, great jobs for all
And the best thing about it, no foreign rule!
Rule! Rule Britannia! God save the Queen!
We’ll get the empire back (wherever it’s been)!
Also, I know we’re not racist but this will be aces, 
We’ll stop immigration - less foreign faces!
That was the Brexiteers, not brilliant debate,
No facts just slogans none could elaborate;
Whilst shifting the blame for our lack of prosperity
On Brussels, not years of Tory austerity.
But what of The Left, what did we do in this battle?
Assured of the result, we did… nothing at all.
The votes were counted, we stood in silent horror 
The Brexiteers has done it the dream was over.
Kübler-Ross famously gave five stages of grief
Before the vote we already did disbelief.
Then came the anger aimed at those voting leave.
And with insults and bile the country did cleave.

Note to reader: Whilst I am partial to a spot of poetry I have to admit I am not a fan of the rhyming couplet; that being said I did enjoy cobbling this together. It was written in style-matching reply to my BFF’s Dad’s poem Brexit or Bust just for a bit of fun really. A Remoaner’s Lament remains a work in progress, I’m not sure whether I care enough to finish it off.

…An unfinished mess, quite apt for a poem about Brexit.

– Cenydd.