Welsh League of Arizona
Cynghrair Cymreig Arizona


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Last year our dear friend Ruth Leggin was tragically killed in an
accident on her way home from working at the Highland Games
festival.  As Welsh League celebrates its 10th Anniversary, we
remember the untimely passing of Ruth and others.

Dyma nhw:
from Bill Brazelton

As there was a shyness, on her place in our hearts is steady and proud.


Poem by John Good in memory of Ruth Leggin


Pwy sy wedi ein pasio? -
Ar 'sgidiau mor ysgafn aeth heibio?
Fel cyfnos clws ein cofio
Dyna gymres dan y gro.

Who passed us?
Light-footed went by?
As a pleasant twilight we remember,
A Welsh woman lies lost.


"Hiraeth Ruth"
by Tammy Ryan

The heavens are rejoicing
Receiving a dear friend
Her presence is a blessing
For her it is a longing
To sing the language of heaven

Mae'r wybrennau yn llawenhau
Yn croesawu annwyl cyfaill
Hithau gw^ydd yn fendith
Am hithau mae hi'n hiraeth
I ganu'r iaith y Nefoedd


Also related to the loss of a loved one is this elegy from Rona Laycock,
who lives in the UK and is currently working towards a PhD at Swansea University.

She writes, "My poem commemorates the day I took my mother's ashes to be buried
in the family cemetery overlooking the most beautiful place in the world.
It is a little sad but we celebrated her life, which she lived to the full."

The Mawddach Estuary

From up here I watch
as the tide attacks.
Sweeping round the curves,
grinding away at the shore,
harrowing the sandbanks.

It has no choice but to come,
a higher power wills it,
pulls it away from its bed
and drives it up the funnel
between the fields
where sheep still cry
for lost lambs.

I remember you telling me
that at Penmaenpool
its bullying ways cost lives,
barging a boat onto sturdy struts,
up-ending and shattering.
Frail and hardy alike
pitted their strength
against the moon,
becoming fragile flotsam.

In mourning I carried you
away from your unloved South
and brought you here.

This winter Tuesday,
above the Mawddach,
I have kept my promise.
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A Cywydd Llosgymog - Night Sky Over Wales
Dorris Douglass
Franklin, Tennessee
6 March 2005

The dome of a clear night calls me
To gaze at the heavenly sea.
High above me, way away,
Shining stars forever endure.
Men of the past felt the same lure.
John Jones for sure, felt the sway.

Born poor, a working man by day,
Counting tiles of slate, shipped away
Without delay, from Bangor.
But yet a genius of the night,
Built homemade telescopes to sight
Snow caps of white, on Mars' core.

Also to view the craters deep
With secrets of the moon to reap,
Ere he could sleep, our John Jones.
As long as there's a sky to see,
Astronomers will ever be,
And seeking me, the night drones

Welsh Miner
David Llewellyn Morgan
Baden Pennsylvania, USA
14 Jan 2005

He went down at six at the start of his shift
His face and lungs were black
He spoke no English for in his valley nothing but Welsh
As he sung an old hymn others joined in voices to God in song
A few more hours and home he would be back to his Brownwyn and
her good roastbeef
His children gathered around as he softly said a prayer
The Welsh Miner looked at them as a tear filled his eye
He didn't want them to live a miner's life
Nothing but sorrow and strife.

Welsh Sunday
David Llewellyn Morgan
Baden Pennsylvania, USA
14 Jan 2005  

After chapel singing as we walked home
Tea laid out on the table in a picturesque way
Good Caerphilly and cheddar cheese, homemade bread and butter
with gooseberry jam, beef on a platter with mash

Father sat in his chair savoring every puff of his cigar
Mam and gran drinking pots of good strong tea speaking in the native
Brother and I walking down street to sneak a fag perhaps getting
soaked in a down pour on the way back home.

Tidy up now before Uncle and Auntie arrive
More food and all in a good mood grand ole Welsh Sunday.

Pwy sy'n fel ni?
David Llewellyn Morgan
Baden, Pennsylvania, USA
14 Jan 2005  

"Pwy sy'n fel ni?" Said my dad to me as we sat in a pub looking out
towards the sea. "Neb" I said and "neb" said he as he ordered
another pint.

"Pwy sy'n fel ni?" No people on the earth who can sing like the Welsh,
Dad said to his son. The pub keeper nodded agreeing as did
Mr. Jenkins and Pugh. All agreed proud of their quaint little race.
Then the stories were told of the warriors from long ago. King Arthur
and Merlin and archers requested by Nations of the world.

Dylan Thomas and Sir Richard and our holy Dewi Sant,
All of the men asked. Nobody! we all replied. I remember that day with
Dad who is gone and took my son to the center of town. The Welsh
Flag flew as I held his little hand. "Pwy sy'n fel ni?" I asked and he
looked at the Dragon flying high, "Neb!"

Writer's note:
Pwy sy'n fel ni is Welsh for "Who is like us?"
Neb is Welsh for "Nobody."

Afon Gamlan
Lynn Watts
Tucson, AZ, USA
20 Oct 2004

In forest glade by streams at home
Spirits of air and water roam.
By wind through trees, by waterfalls,
Goddess of Life - to me she calls.

I shall go and see her there.
Sounds of cascades on the air.
Sometimes gentle, soft and mild;
Often is she fast and wild.

Here we speak in words unheard
Through water, wind and rising bird.
Grey-blue she soars and tells my soul
Today I, too, can be made whole.

Fire of sun and earth beneath,
Air and water - these four bequeath
The strength of all the Spirits fair.
I, too, can own it, if I dare.

The Mist of Cymru
Don Evans
Central Arizona, USA
17 Oct 2004

Lo, ye land of Merlin's myth,
where Draco dwells neath Arthur's monolith.

It bids thee welcome to the ancient spirits quest,
longing for the hour of it's final rest.

Where knights once searched for hidden treasure,
now, bard and yeomen seek thy pleasure.

Low green vale in the deepest glen,
they give rise to mighty Yr Wyddfa's den.

This land, that summons to it's host,
silently speaks through the raven's ghost.

Blood, running hot from a sea of mist,
timeless, Cymru, this place of legends tryst.

Breast aching, eyes yearning to see,
alas, no peace, always beckoning thee.

Hiraeth Green
Caitlyn Johnston
Tucson, AZ
copyright 18 Sept 2004

The greens of Lady Sonora
are pea-green and sage,
a wilted khaki olive
or anemic yellowish green.
Emerald appears only after rain.

Yet they tear out the desert
blossom by fuchsia blossom.
and the lady of the Sun withers.
Hair by Javelina hair
she blows away as
massive trucks rumble
like earth quakes
disturbing her rockbed bones.

I sit here in my blue chair
with a Brains I set my sails;
green is so much more appealing in Wales.

Caitlyn Johnston
copyright 8 Feb 2003

Horsie little girls grow up
to be Ladies of the Lake,
to whom others look up
when they start to wake.

Dispensing wisdom from the trees
Horsey Old Women
grin as they talk to the shadows,
exchanging secrets with the sea.

But you'd never know by looking --
they wear jeans, lipstick and jack boots.
These modern day Eponas
still teach the owlets to hoot.
Welcome to The Bard's Corner.  Here you will find prose and poetry,
both English and Welsh, contributed by our members.

First, some favorites from years past.


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