On Being Welsh
On being Welsh in a land ruled by the English
Dydd Dewi Sant Hapus
I am the all-seeing eyes at the tip of Worm’s Head.
I am the teeth of the rocks at Rhossili.
I am the blackness in Pwll Ddu pool
when the sea-swells suck the stranger
in and out, sanding his bones.
Song pulled taut from a dark Welsh lung,
I am the memories of Silure and beast
mingled in a Gower Cave.
Tamer of aurox, hunter of deer,
caretaker of coracle,
fisher of salmon on the Abertawe tide,
I am the weaver of rhinoceros wool.
I am the minority,
persecuted for my faith, for my language,
for my sex, for the coal-dark of my thoughts.
I am the bard whose harp, strung like a bow,
will sing your death with music of arrows
unleashed from the wet Welsh woods.
I am the barb that sticks in your throat
from the dark worded ambush of my song.
Click here for Roger’s reading.
On Being Welsh
rogermoorepoet 
Fabulous reading! You are at your most animated when you let your Cymru shine!
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Thanks, Louise! Great to see you here. I hope all is well. Send me an e-mail – pretty please -!
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I love this! Such talent!
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Thanks, Ginger. The voice reading is always good. I can get worked up with this one. The stories I could tell.
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Back to On Being Welsh…well done, you! These are always among my favourites! Chuck
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Thank you, Chuck. You can take me out of Wales but you can’t take Cymru out of me.
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