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Feed the Hungry They wait patiently in line to later dine, so they stand. Tuesday morning in my town means brown paper bags with canned foods and local farmer's fare, caring turns a helping hand. ~~Judi Van Gorder Notes: ▼

Explore the Craft of Writing Poetry Welsh Verse Features of the Welsh Meters Welsh Codified Divisions Awdl gywydd owdl gów-wid (rhymed cywcdd)the 9th codified Official Welsh Meter, a Cywydd, was rarely used by the chief poets or house bards who preferred Cywydd deuair hirion, but it continued to be employed by the lesser order of poets of the 14th century and has been revived by modern Welsh poets. As with all ancient Welsh forms, cynghanedd, (harmony of sound - attained through liberal use of alliteration, consonance, assonance, repetition and surprise internal rhyme) applies. The elements of the Awdl gywydd are: stanzaic, written in any number of couplets, it is often written in pairs as a quatrain. syllabic, 7 syllable lines. rhymed, the end syllable of L1 is repeated as rhyme at the pause in the early part (2nd, 3rd, or 4th syllable) of L2. The end syllable of L2 is a linking rhyme from couplet to couplet. x x x x x x A x x A x x x B (A could shift position slightly) x x x x x x C x x C x x x B (C could shift position slightly) Gorchest Beirdd or Poet's Bravado I'ch llys iach llawn, wiw Rys, yr awn a gwys a gawn, agos ged; a'th fudd, with fael, o gudd I'w gael, aur rhudd, wr hael, rhwydd y rhed. --- Madog Dwgraig 15th century This cywydd uses cynghanedd to the point of almost creating a nonsense poem. Ancient Welshman Magician or sorcerer, known conjurer, king's advocate. Poet priest, leader of men, Merlin's pen predicts one's fate. ~~Judi Van Gorder Feed the Hungry Tuesday morning in my town means brown paper bags with canned foods and local farmer's fare, caring turns a helping hand. They wait patiently in line to later dine, so they stand. ~~Judi Van Gorder The Río Grande by Stephen Arndt I saw from El Paso's bridge The high ridge of Cristo Rey, With its cross against the sky, And asked why things stood this way. On this side the rooted rich Hold their niche of luxury; On that side the migrant poor Find no cure for poverty. Below the bridge (as I live!) The Great River had run dry, Whose deep streams had once split us Apart, plus our common tie. Could the Río Grande's dirt Now alert both Brown and White That it need no more divide Our two sides but can unite?