St Peters Church, Fairwater, Cardiff
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The St. Peters Creative Writing Group was formed just over a year ago.  Ten of us met in the hall and I am delighted to report that, apart from one person dropping out for health reasons, we remain the same happy band.

Apart from form filling and the rest, it has been many years since most of us have put pen to paper so we embarked, with some trepidation, on this new adventure.  At each meeting we, in turn, read to the group our efforts inspired by the discussions we had during the previous meeting.

Many of you will have purchased the book of stories we compiled and their sales helped to add to the redecoration fund for the church.  At Christmas we produced another little booklet entitled ‘Nativity’ a little Christmas gift and many of you will have read the weird and wonderful interpretations we wrote on that inspiring theme.

At every meeting we each pay a pound and I am pleased to tell you that to date we have raised £230 towards church funds.

This is not high level intellectual stuff but a lovely way to get us thinking and for a short time take our minds away from the day to day problems of life.  If anyone would like to join us you are as welcome as the flowers in May and we would be happy for you just to come along for a taster.  No writing required, just ‘sit in’ and find out what we do.



Jill Grey (Tel. 029 2019 3866) -


See some examples of our work below -
  DEDICATION.

    I dedicate myself to you
    says the groom to the bride,
    the bride to the groom
    as they stand at the altar.
 
    I dedicate myself to you,
    says the mother to the baby
    when she sees her face
    reflected in new-born eyes.

    I dedicate myself to you,
    says the teacher to
    upturned children’s faces.

    I dedicate myself to you.
    says the parish priest
    as he regards those faces
    young and old
    rich and poor
    believers and sceptics
    standing before him.   
     
    I dedicate myself to you 
    says the soldier
    as he gives his oath
    to Queen and country. 

    I dedicate myself to you,
    say lifeboat men, firemen,
    paramedics,  policemen,
    doctors,                                                
    carers,
    nurses . . .

    I dedicate my life to you,
    says Christ from the Cross.

  HIS GIFTS

It’s the sight of loved ones  
  when I open the door,   
It’s the sound of a bold brass band.
It’s the smell of roast chestnuts  
  at a friend’s fireside,
And the warmth of that friend’s hand.
It’s the touch of bluebells 
  as they trill through my fingers                         
And the feel of a handful of wheat.
It’s the taste of sea-salt on my lips
  on the breeze on a hot sunny day.
It’s the smile on my face 
  when I look in the glass    
And I see that it actually fits.
It says, 
“Thank-you, Lord, for these,  
     And all your gifts.”


TO IAN AND HIS GARDENERS

One man with a vision
And foresight to see
Passed brambles and thickets
To how land could be.

The hard slog that followed
Grew more day by day
With help from those young folk,
“great work!” We all say.

The lawns and the flowers
A joy to behold;
Butterflies, dragonflies
As precious as gold.

We look to the future
There’s much to be done,
Get soil on your fingers,
And join in the fun.


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