Whittled Words – Hir A Thoddaid Poem

Posted by Brad Osborne on December 24, 2021 · 9 Comments 

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Welcome to the weekly series, Whittled Words. A series highlighting the innumerable types and styles of poetry to challenge any creative wordsmith. This week’s selection:

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HIR A THODDAID POEM

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Some of you may have already guessed simply by the name, but the Hir A Thoddaid is a Welsh form.

And this form is like other Welsh forms, but with a slight variation in line length and some complexity in the rhyme scheme. Here is the structure of this six-line form, both in syllabic length and rhyme scheme:

1-xxxxxxxxa
2-xxxxxxxxa
3-xxxxxxxxa
4-xxxxxxxxa
5-xxxxxxxbxx
6-xxbxxxxxa

So, line 5 is 10 syllables in length; the other 5 lines are 9 syllables. Also, the “b” rhyme is somewhere near the end of line 5 and somewhere in the first half of line 6–so those rhymes could move back and forth to suit your needs.

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Examples of Hir a Thoddaid Poems:

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ACE

By Robert Lee Brewer

This is the year I really need space
to figure myself out and save face
from those who are always on my case
about how I don’t know how to grace
a room without dominating the scene
while demonstrating my sense of place.

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MIDNIGHT ARMS

By Kathy Anderson

 

No clear thoughts to welcome nor gaily bid
The darkness of the night shined in moonlit grid
Through sentinal oak trees and starlit id
My psyche wanders wan, unuplifted.
Long does the heart stray, cliche swayed on wind
Within her dark arced arms raiment, she quids.

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WILD OUTBURSTS

By Gloria Carpenter

Such succulence runs madly down my chin
when bursts of shiny drupelets stain my skin
in rambling trails, to show where they have been,
meandering through thickets, thin between.
Piercing teeth releasing ample sacs, spill
widely-sprouting seeds, blackberry grin.

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DAILY BREAD

By Brad Osborne

 

How are you to know when it’s unsaid

The heart you once held, now all but dead

Love you promised, was I misled

When I thought of you as daily bread

For the meals have grown in the years meager

And the tears of hunger, all that’s shed

A pale porridge sprinkled with my fears

Little sustenance in what lies here

This my only feast, it would appear

No love in the pantry, nothing dear

No future has skinny heart fed by you

Someone new will have to cook it’s clear

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I hope you have enjoyed this entry to the series, Whittled Words. I look forward to your comments, and if you dare, maybe share your own Hir A Thoddaid poem. Thanks for reading!

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