Brenda has been writing creatively for about ten years. As well as Cwrtnewydd Scribblers she is a member of the Lampeter Writers Workshop and Teifi Writers. Cwrtnewydd Scribblers being the one nearest home. Brenda says
'When Kathy Miles of L.W.W. asked me if I would read some of my poems at the Lampeter Festival I had only been a member of the group for less than 2 years and it was a moment I will never forget. I felt that I was now a recognised poet. But I still have a lot to learn.'
Her other interests include making home made wine, spinning and peg looming. She learnt to spin about 15 years ago and now spins every day. She used to live on a smallholding with her husband and the five bottle lambs that she was given grew into 42 sheep. It was the eldest of my her daughters who suggested that she might like to learn to spin. The idea of making her own wool appealed. It took a weekend to learn the craft and after 15 years she is still, hopefully, perfecting it.
Now she lives in a small cottage that really is not big enough to swing a cat in.
As well as two daughters and their partners, she has two grandsons.
She has been published in two Lampeter Women's Workshop and one Poets and Peasants Anthologies. Her first volume of poetry Late Blackberries is available now either from Amazon or http://www.freewebs/lapwingpoetry or a signed copy from Brenda using the contact page.
A Selection of Brenda’s poems
Four Women
Remembered sweets
From their childhood.
Chloroform lozenges
Sold in paper screws,
That made one sleepy
On chilly afternoons.
Twigs of Spanish wood
Chewed until stringy.
Tiger nuts, cough candy,
Sherbert powder sipped
Through a liquorice straw,
What about the bright yellow
Lemonade crystals
Loaded with sugar
And we still added more?
Asked Sue and Carol said,
Jelly babies, ju-jubes,
Smarties in cardboard tubes,
Do you remember them?
I used to use the red ones for lipstick.
I joined in
Now it's candy sticks
instead of sweet cigarettes. Sue said,
They’re the same thing
But without red tips.
Anne cried,
What about Space Dust?
You put some on your tongue.
When it exploded
On the roof of your mouth
It blew your head off.
Gobstoppers, bulls’ eyes,
And aniseed balls.
We remembered them all.
Echoes of spring
On an autumn evening.
***
The Wedding Gift
Row after row
she watched it grow
from a single loop
into a rainbow.
Stitch after stitch
of continuous thread
a coverlet
for their marriage bed.
He thought it beautiful
and it stays there still,
though he is gone
and she sleeps alone
in a narrow bed.
Beneath blankets
and a quilt that holds
no memory of him.
***
Summer Deception
Tempted by colour
from the window box.
It sips nectar
from the achimenes.
Sated, tried to leave
the cluttered room,
brushes its wings
on the clear glass.
Leaves a dust of colour,
I trace with my fingers.
A whir of wings,
A thump against the pane.
Boxed blooms wave in the wake.
Feathers and flowers fall.
Minutes later it lifts itself.
Flutters unsteadily
through the open door.
Spreads its wings.
***
Orchestral
Music borne on the breeze
the players one cannot see.
Grasses ripple, rustling leaves,
Bring notes to the symphony.
Insects, bees, bring harmony.
Mavis sings the melody.
***
Why Don’t You Follow The Directions?
I must have said it a hundred times.
He would obey his instinct, whether
it was a new route we were taking,
or a kit form piece of furniture
that had to be put together.
He’d always do it his way.
Until, ‘Read this for me,
Tell me what I’ve got to do.’
Or, ‘What’s the number of the road we are on?
Here’s the map, Where are we now?’
He’s made his last journey,
driven by someone else.
I followed behind, wishing
That he was still doing things
his way. Still following his instincts.
Still needing me.
©copyrightBrendaOld2009
Follow the link below to Brenda's blog.