Evan Llywelyn John. Previously a place for my ranting and amateur anti-fascist espionage, Now it's just amateur poetry
"an idiot blog" "commie/extremist"
"hypocrisy, thy name begins with N and ends with otanotherrant"
"umm, It's long"
We’re Labour, but only just,
The vague left-wing-
Socialists concussed.
We spend, not tax.
Our attitude to the city? Lax.
We build a brand new school,
Ten yards from a banker’s swimming pool.
Yes, we buoy the poor,
Yet feed the finance-furnace
Always demanding more.
New future, New Labour,
New commandment:
Love your rich neighbour.
Posted 1 day ago | 2 notes
5 March 1985-The men of Maerdy Colliery in the Rhondda marchback to work. Not one had broken the strike.
Posted 2 days ago | 2 notes
An austerity of terraced houses,
A town flecked with coal and red
Gathering dust and snow
I will remember my Moscow.
Posted 2 days ago | 2 notes
by Gemma Correll
Cats are lactose-intolerant anyway, so the ice-cream’s better left on the floor.
Reblogged from nothing is real.
Posted 4 days ago | 50 notes
When people say “not funny” after a bad joke(I understand why you’d say it after something offensive). You notice if people don’t find a joke funny, to point it out has no purpose other than making the person feel worse.
Posted 5 days ago | 0 notes
An accidental symphony,
A concrete lullaby,
A city’s celestial glow
Plays with the midnight sky.
Posted 6 days ago | 2 notes
A drainpipe of poetry,
An onslaught of emotions
Ordered into words,
and lines
And accessible thoughts,
Feelings transplanted from poet to paper
To a stranger’s heart.
Drainpipes block when they’re too full,
Brimming with ideas that never reach the page,
They grow moth-eaten in the mind.
But sometimes there is nothing there,
No pleasure or pain,
Only dry and derelict words.
Not writer’s block,
But an inspirational drought.
Posted 6 days ago | 2 notes
It’s like
My eyes blind me,
I’m
A shepherd that is lead
By the sheep,
I know
It’s wrong.
It’s as if these
Words
Are Instant “Coffee”
Quick, but only half of what
It should be.
It’s as if the ink doesn’t stick
As if the
Page
Is
Still
Blank.
(I’m using an old poem to reflect my current feelings- even thought I still enjoy writing poetry, it feels as if they’re not what they used to be, or what they could be. I won’t stop writing though (sorry!))
Posted 6 days ago | 1 note
“In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.”
—
from Invictus, by William Ernest Henley
Yes, the film Invictus gets its title from this. (Not sarcastic)
Posted 1 week ago | 5 notes
