This page of the gypsy poet is dedicated to my wife Brenda Wills and her poetry and interests.

   Brenda is an American by birth who emigrated to England five years ago.

Her hobbies include horse riding( she was a horse whisperer in Kentucky).

Amongst  Brenda many skills she is skilled /adept at sewing

.

Brenda is adept and skilled at designing clothes with first class references.

If your looking for someone to make a dress to your requirements or any alteratons Brenda can be contacted via

Tel 01202253991raysgirl57@hotmail.com

THE GYPSY POET

http://www.thegypsypoet.co.uk/contact.html

 Brenda writes poetry and belongs to the Poole poetry group.

  Brenda has a great eye for taking photographs especially of the purbecks in Dorset.

    BYE-GONE LULLABIES

A morning of dew drops

Pounding the floor

Of fauna and land of time before

Jingles of light breaking through the trees

As fairies and moonbeams gather near streams

How is the reflection of life come to you

By listening to stories of old times a few

Singing the lullabies written by dreamers

Of long winter nights and Christmas streamers

Oh for the days when children did sing

Mystical rhymes of loving dreams

Days of the past that's what they become

Lost in the moments of government funds

FAR OFF IN THE EAST

My heart aches for kind words and laughter

Tight rubber bands and old songs for ever

Cold winter nights as we lay and decide

If reasons for living have been pushed far aside

Where is the kindness the endless soft tease

As wind and cold fingers begin to freeze

The laughter has vanished

As the lights shimmer at dusk

Our family's cry out for forgiveness

In our daily trust

Oh for the lampshades

Of glitter and gold

As winter creeps closer

Our windows do close

Locked forever the blinds drawn tight

Never to see the day of light

The bridges have all burnt far off in the east

Now we have learned there can be no peace..

 The Warbler Sings"

Tuesday morning

The sun is waiting to shine on you

As the birds sing us a melody or two

When morning rushes in to stay

To watch the sky of further days

For its to come that summer breeze

Amongst the budding willow trees

The warbler sings his high pitch song

For the hen bird all day long.

 " When A Poet Becomes Stagnant"

When a poet becomes stagnant

They brush away their cares

Hiding behind childhood and tiny wares

When a poet becomes stagnant

He does not want to know

If you or I exist or if we want to go

When a poet becomes stagnant

She wants to understand

But the buttons on her coat

Are all tangled in her hand

When a poet becomes stagnant

Its called insanity

Driven by humanity and dieing and not free

Only a true poet of the cosmos

Can hear her song begin

It usually happens in her favorite time of year

Somewhere in mid spring.

"Live Life As If It is a Gift"

Someone else has written this

Its a poem of myths and twists

It rings of memories of mine

But I don't remember at the time

You seem so childlike in this story

Your face is thin and filled with glory

You speak of land that is filled with pain

I look in your eyes but all in vain

Small you were and growing fast

You see a landscape from your past

The picture paints a shade or two

Of yellow white green and blue

The easel picks a color then

You whisk your brush small lines begin

Not a seen from down within

Its beautifully made someone grin

Now you have captured them

Its a portrait of a young man

He holds his head very high

You must remember this tall guy

He has just started life's journey through

But then his life is ended too soon

Burning embers light the sky

Smiling under a small boys eyes

Now the eyes are wet with tears

As she realizes the suppress years

Of pain held inside so deep it rides

She crys in silence to keep her pride

Nineteen years have come and gone

The painted picture still takes it tole

On a family that was changed that day

With the loss of a boy who just wanted to play.

The frock

Its Thursday morning and the sun just got up

Sleep was tough for Sparky and Brenda

 The night crept in and tugged at us

So we went and laid down our little heads

Sparky heard that spring is coming

Decided to make a new fairy frock

She was up until the others slept

With shears and needles and a piece of rock

The silk is gone from the cupboard in the corner

Where I keep the scraps from bygone orders

The color is blue and sparkly and gold

If I remember if it be told

So watch the gardens as the day grows thin

Cause that little fairy is gone off to sleep

Tonight she will glitter in that new silk thing

I hope you catch her peeping in!

FAIRY'S AND FANTASY 

http://www.poetrypoem.com/fancynfree/