Poet’s Prayer ~ Gweddi Awenydd

Honoured Goddess of Poetry
My inspiration is running dry
My words have flown away from me

Beautiful Goddess of Creativity
This Awenydd asks your blessing
Open my mind and heart to see

May my thoughts be quicksilver
And my tongue honey-dipped
May my words flow like water
And once I have sipped
From your cauldron of inspiration
And kissed Taliesin’s lips

Ink that flows as Afon Tywi is long
My cadence just like music
My rhymes just like song

Then your praises I will sing
For it is you blessed Goddess
Makes my words ring

© KeiB 17 August 2011
Tweaked for publication 26 April 2015

Cerridwen ~ Welsh Goddess of rebirth, transformation, and inspiration.

Cerridwen ~ Welsh Goddess of rebirth, transformation, and inspiration.

Sunday Photo Fiction ~ Elizabeth Again

Sunday Photo Fiction: October 19 2014

Here is a description of the challenge from the blog, Sunday Photo Fiction, hosted by Alastair Forbes:

“Every week on a Sunday, a new photo is used as a prompt for Flash Fiction challenge using around 200 words based on that image. Your story does not have to be exactly what the item in the photo is, you can make it anything you want, and enjoy what you write, and we will as well.”

Here is today’s photo challenge:

©A Mixed Bag 2014

©A Mixed Bag 2014

Elizabeth Again

Genre: Fictionalized History

Word Count: 199


I couldn’t contain my excitement, gazing for at least the tenth time through the lens trying to catch sight of the steamer.

After several years of hopes, prayers and endless disappointments; a ray of hope had come my way at a quilting bee last spring. The first of the “Home Children” would be looking for families here in Ontario. I couldn’t contain a little rush of tears when John and I received the letter confirming, a girl would be coming to us from Maerdy. My dearest John, how we’d looked forward to children in the early years! Alas, we were still childless and a home without the laughter and dreams of little ones seemed a bleak future.

Here at the docks of the St. Lawrence, we waited patiently for the steamer to come in. At least John was patient! One last peek through the glass…

I knew her immediately. Tall for her eight years, wavy auburn hair, cut short in the Institution’s fashion, white dress and pinafore over dark stockings that all the Home girls wore. It was her eyes that I knew. Deepest blue and finding mine through the lens, straight to a mother’s no longer lonely heart.

~ kei
19 October 2014

Note: My Great Gran is Elizabeth and one of Dr. Barnardo’s Children (British Home Child). She came to Canada with her older sister. There are many sad tales of this program but my Gran’s is one of the success stories. She obtained a degree from the Toronto Ladies University, returned to Wales to marry and begin her family, my Grandmother being one of those. The Thomas family later made their home in Ottawa, Canada, embracing their chosen country fully. Great Grandpa Thomas is honoured in the Book of Remebrance on Parliament Hill for his military service at Passchendaele in World War I. Gran was an involved pillar of the community and a huge part of my life in ways immeasurable.
Rwyf wrth fy modd i chi Gran.

Cináed I

(The King of the Picts, the King of the Celts and Me)

~ think of it as a rollicking tune to be accompanied by hard cider, clapping hands and the bodhrán ~

When I was young, wild and free
A beautiful man came to me…

Tall and dark, eyes like the sky
Ask me nary a question, I’ll tell nary a lie
He beckoned, I followed
Never thought to ask why

When I was young, wild and free
A beautiful man came to me…

He said, “Lovely One, please tell me your name”
I tried to discern, find the rules to his game
Then he stole a sweet kiss
And he touched off a flame

When I was young, wild and free
A beautiful man came to me…

We ran with the wind, the thunder, the night
With my wilde, black-haired lover, all was all right
Never minded the shackles
That bound my heart tight

When I was young, wild and free
A beautiful man came to me…

Didn’t care for his titles, his castles, or wealth
He won kingdoms by force, my heart with stealth
A touch of his hand,
And I found my true self

When I was young, wild and free
A beautiful man came to me…

As I tell you this now, I am old, Cináed too
But his eyes still reflect Gwendraeth blue
It’s been said Time’s not a friend
I tell you, that is untrue

When I was young, wild and free
A beautiful man came to me…

Friends of your youth, friends always be
One look in his eyes and still I see
Our wild, beautiful selves, together but free
The King of the Picts, the King of the Celts…
Cináed and Me!

(c) KeiB, 11 December 2010

Cináed I

~ English to Welsh translation ~


(Y Brenin y Pictiaid, Brenin y Celtiaid a Fi)

Pan oeddwn yn ifanc, gwyllt ac am ddim
Mae dyn hyfryd ddaeth i fi…

Tal a thywyll, llygaid fel yr awyr
Gofyn i mi nary gwestiwn, Salwch dweud celwydd yn nary
beckoned ef, yr wyf yn dilyn
Peidiwch byth â meddwl i ofyn pam

Pan oeddwn yn ifanc, gwyllt ac am ddim
Mae dyn hyfryd ddaeth i fi…

Dywedodd, “Beautiful One, ddweud wrthyf eich enw”
Ceisiais i ddirnad, dod o hyd i’r rheolau i ei gêm
Yna efe a dwyn melys cusan
Ac efe a gyffyrddodd oddi ar fflam

Pan oeddwn yn ifanc, gwyllt ac am ddim
Mae dyn hyfryd ddaeth i fi…

Rydym yn rhedeg gyda’r gwynt, y taranau, y nos
Gyda fy, cariad Wilde-gwallt du, pob oedd popeth yn iawn
Peidiwch byth â meddwl y shackles
Dyna fy nghalon rhwymo dynn

Pan oeddwn yn ifanc, gwyllt ac am ddim
Mae dyn hyfryd ddaeth i fi…

Peidiwch byth â gofalu am ei teitlau, ei gestyll, neu gyfoeth
Enillodd teyrnasoedd drwy rym, fy nghalon gyda stealth
Mae cyffwrdd ei law,
Ac yr wyf yn gweld fy hun yn wir

Pan oeddwn yn ifanc, gwyllt ac am ddim
Mae dyn hyfryd ddaeth i fi…

Wrth i mi ddweud wrthych hyn yn awr, yr wyf yn hen, rhy Cínaed
Ond mae ei lygaid yn dal Gwendraeth glas
Mae wedi bod yn dweud nad Mae amser ffrind
Yr wyf yn dweud wrthych, fod yn anghywir

Pan oeddwn yn ifanc, gwyllt ac am ddim
Mae dyn hyfryd ddaeth i fi…

Cyfeillion eich ieuenctid, ffrindiau bob amser yn
Fi jyst yn edrych yn ei lygaid, ac yn dal yr wyf yn gweld
Mae ein gwyllt, hunain hardd, at ei gilydd ond rhad ac am ddim
Y Brenin y Pictiaid, Brenin y Celtiaid …Cínaed a Fi!


What’s In A Name?

Magic. If that name is Avalon.

Avalon was first mentioned in the histories of King Arthur written by  Geoffrey of Monmouth around 1136. In old Welsh it translates loosely to “Island of Apple Trees”. According to Geoffrey’s writing it is where Arthur’s famous sword, Excalibur was forged and is where Arthur went to recover from battle wounds received during the Battle of Camlann.

My love of all things Wales and Welsh is a gift from my Mother’s family. My Nanny and her brothers, my Great Gran and her family were all a big part of my growing up. I discovered the tales of King Arthur at an early age and was captivated. Something about that time frame struck such a deep chord with me and being just a little fey, the imaginings came easily.

I first wrote about Avalon as I see it and the meaning it holds for me in my very early teens. Small fictions and poems, daydreams about what love might mean in time. It wasn’t so much an actual place, although I do see it as beautiful green fields, with pretty creeks and cerulean skies. It was as much a state of mind and being I wanted to be in. That magical place, Avalon.

I shared it long ago with a beautiful boy who made me see a little something magic in me at a time when my life felt like it was not worth living. He turned me around from a black place and helped me see there were other possibilities, ones I’d lost sight of. Avalon was in his soul, though I don’t think I really knew it then, only felt it as I penned that magical place-name in a letter to him at his university.

Avalon is still magic for me. It’s name evokes love, and hope; possibilities and happy endings. I can’t ever be sullied by lies or attacks. The magic in that name cannot be stolen from me. It has always been mine in this context and I keep it close to my heart just by hearing it whispered in my thoughts… Avalon.

~ kei
17 March 2014


For the Weekly Writing Challenge: Power of Names, 17 March 2014:

We blog for a million different reasons, but in the end we’re all storytellers. Writing Challenges help you push your writing boundaries and explore new ideas, subjects, and styles.

To participate, read the challenge instructions and write at least one post in response. Tag your post with DPchallenge and include a link to this post to generate a pingback. Make sure your post has been specifically published in response to this challenge. We might just highlight some of our favorites on Freshly Pressed on Fridays, or in our quarterly newsletter.

You can get out of a bargain with Rumpelstiltskin if you know his true name. Names can give you access that others don’t have. Literature and fairy tales are obsessed with the power names can have over people and objects. This week, we’re asking you to take a look at what names mean to you.