My Late November Wind

My Late November Wind

I heard you rushing through the dried leaves on the tallest trees on the ridge

Long before I felt you caress my face and run your icy tapered fingers through my hair.

Then away you went to rattle the limbs on the maple

And the gutters on the house

Before you continued your prancing through the woods.

Your song is of irregular beat and volume

   As you dance into the night,

Painting a picture of frost and chills,

   Of darkening days and snow-filled nights.

Of a time when life stands still.

You tell of cozy fires and

   Of stories shared by loved ones,

Drawing us near for warmth.

But your breath tingles my skin and excites my blood.

I want to waltz with you through the swaying trees on the ridge,

To frolic and romp,

To paint everything lacy white,

To smile with delight at you,

My late November wind.

ã22 November 1993,  Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw. All rights reserved.

The Crusades Cycle

The Crusades Cycle

Incendiary planes captive missiles
Revengeful hate's bloody epistles,
Received betrayals, exploitative lies,
Perceived redemption in bitter guise...

The innocent get to pay;
The innocent get to cry;
The innocent, who had no say,
Are the first to get to die.

Holy lands, holy wars,
Fundamentalist ignores
All is sacred--all not part,
A living being--each beating heart.

The innocent get to pay;
The innocent get to cry;
The innocent, who had no say,
Are the first to get to die.

How many Crusades to get on top?
The murderer's game will not stop
Until the world is fully dead--
Then the silence rules instead...

The innocent get to pay;
The innocent get to cry;
The innocent, who had no say,
Are the first to get to die.

The blood cries out
From the grounds where spent...
Now silent shout
To loved ones sent....

The innocent made to pay;
The innocent made to cry;
The innocent, who had no say,
Were the first who got to die.

Copyright 2001, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw. All rights reserved.

Nalla

A parking lot,

Christmas rush,

Coldest temps and

Coal black slush,

She’s left alone.

Baby kitten,

Eyes still shut,

Boys want to use

Her little butt

And let her moan.

Found in time

By a loving soul

Who knew a place

To make her whole

And so rescued her.

She has grown,

And she has healed.

A whole family’s

Hearts appealed

To hear her purr.

© 2005, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw. All rights reserved.

On the Galapagos Isles

On the Galapagos Isles

(Sung to the tune of  “Under the Mango Tree”)

Under the frozen maple tree
An iguana longs for heat...
Under the spreading maple tree
An iguana has frozen feet.

Peanuts, and pumpkin, and pecan pie,
Apples, and walnuts, and cherry pie,
When I get warmer then I will tell...
If they are as good as they smell.

Under the frozen maple tree
A lonely iguana cries,
Under the frozen maple tree
Tears turn to frosty eyes.

Feathers, blue feet, and shiny beak,
A blue footed booby, can she speak?
"Come to the Isles where the wind is warm--
Much better temp for your form!"

Under the frozen maple tree
The iguana's heart is hot...
Under the frozen maple tree
A friend's love warms the spot.

(C) January 09, 2003, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

*written for Anita Cooper (the blue-footed boobie) as a part of our playful banter over going to the Galapagos together… I am the Iguana 

**I am in Frostburg, MD during a very cold and snowy winter. Anita is in St. David, Arizona teasing me about he much warmer climate.

Captain Cat Sails the Chesapeake Bay

Captain Cat Sails the Chesapeake Bay

A cat went to sea
With his family

Upon the Chesapeake Bay.

His family of six

And he did mix

On that bright and sunny day.

“Let’s sail! Let’s sail!”

His meows did hail

As he strutted onto the boat.

He wasn’t as glad

When dear old Dad

Put a life jacket over his coat.

Then he started to purr

And at least concur—

It’s better safe than drowned.

“Now hoist those sails

And to the rails,”

His meows did start to sound.

Imagine a cat

In a captain’s hat

On deck of a beautiful sailboat.

Well, Sparky had dreams

He was more than he seems

Was all that his smile did denote.

The waters were pourin’

All that glorious mornin’

Past the boat at a leisurely clip.

The breeze then a gull

Had Sparky in thrall

While purrs from his throat did slip.

It was about noon

Which came very soon

When his tummy had started to growl.

“I’m hungry!” he cried

When Hemingway’s was spied.

“Dock at their pier!” was all he’d allow.

“Hemingway’s!” the kids cried,

For they too had spied

The restaurant accessible by Bay.

Turn in, the dad

With his hunger too glad

To see what the depth reading would say.

The tide was still out

Captain Cat thought with a pout

As the boat ran aground on the sand.

“Bring me some fish!”

His tail said with a swish,

“This cat walks only on land!”

Wading to shore

More fun they did pour

On poor Dad as the children did laugh.

“We can eat here with pride

Right on the shore side

Just after our fresh water bath.”

Awaiting the tide

Captain Cat purred with some pride

And dreamed of seagulls and fish.

One day to his glory

Would be told the story

Of Captain Cat and his Hemingway wish.

© 2005, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw. All rights reserved.

Memories of Our Belagan Wedding

Memories of Our Belagan Wedding

A net of beads, trade seeds lore,
Some wood made cloth, rice wine pours,
Banana leaf plates, bamboo bowls,
Memories linger 'round the longhouse poles.

Up the Rajang, that perilous river,
Our express boat loudly whirls,
The rapid waters through jungle cut,
Deep and dark it churls...

Longhouse people seem to stand midstream
On what, we cannot see...
Or jump aboard from a longboat's tip...
They seem to beckon me.

Some sequins, feather, beads, and mat
Covered with cloth, so colorful that
It dances at night, when the farming's done
And the longhouse meal and talk's begun.

Sit on the gong, pass food and drink,
Along with money, beads, and brass--
A parang, a shield, a hat, a dance
Will make the wedding evening pass.

The mosquito's song, a lullaby,
The moon and stars a lamp...
Sit or sleep there on the floor...
The whole family around encamped.
Ó Copyright 2002, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Notes for understanding:
    *Belaga-- home to my husband, found in the interior of Sarawak, Malaysia
(on the western side of Borneo)
    *longhouse--a type of linked house on stilts in Sarawak
    *Rajang--river in Sarawak
    *parang--the long knife...heavier than a machete

The Fae Friendship Dream Boat

Come sail along with the fae and me
On the bonnie treasure ship and sea...
Of wandering dreams and starry eyes
Filled with hopes and wishes that comprise
Our friendship...

Sail the thoughts of better times
Past or future, differing climes,
Our dreams will carry us there again
As together we're the best that's ever been
In friendship.

Ó Copyright 2002, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

If I Could Wrinkle Time

If I Could Wrinkle Time

If I could wrinkle time,
And step between this space to you,
Where you could know as well as see
Then that is what I'd do.

I'd walk upon the winds of change
And dance upon starlight,
To let you feel the love for you
Doesn't fade with the moonlight.

Yet to you I bring this word
Upon the wings of fae
That you may know by my presence here,
That love has come to stay.
Ó Copyright 2002, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Maple Syrup

Maple Syrup

A dappled touch beneath the maples,

The flickering light caress brings

Sweet coursing through the erect trunk

As the beaming touches up and down

The standing member…

The glorious fulfillment with

Sigh of pleasure

Come.

The hardness only shelters

The soft, sugary liquid love within…

Opening…then insert…

Open more…

It pours out in spurts into the

Rounder catcher of nature’s love juice.

Then drips.

Light and heat boiling down to

Essential syrupy goodness.

ã1 September 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Nimue, the Faery-Enchantress

Nimue, the Faery-Enchantress

Quietly supportive, brooding love

She waits, presence everywhere

In shadows wafting

Aroma filling the air

He breathes… the Merlin

Seeing her there…

Enchanted, entrapped…

Unfulfilled love pair

May meet ‘neath the wings

Of the crow heir

To her love…

The cave now a lair,

The love once entombed

Now brought to bear…

As she grows

Into Nimue the fair.

ã29 July 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

The F-4, Frostburg, MD

The F-4, Frostburg, MD

A tension unexplained runs through me,

As I watch the animals and birds skittering about

In a way rarely seen.

Even my dog seems to feel it…

She shakes and stays nearby.

I scan the horizon…

Towering clouds still of whites and ecrus,

But that could change in moments…

There is a calm in the air that is not calm.

I shudder.

I know what I feel…

I have lived through these storms before,

But these are the mountains,

And supposedly it doesn’t happen here.

My instincts and the dog’s say differently.

I go to prepare supplies…

Where are my loved ones?

I worry…timing is going to be close…

I check the sky again and continue to prepare.

Oh, please return home, I pray for my men.

Just as the storm begins, they return…

Quickly take these things, and let’s go to the basement—

NOW!!!

Rain is light, then it stops…

A stillness beyond still…

“Whatever is going to happen will happen now.

I love you,” I tell the guys and the dog.

The whirling, horizontal rain-wind comes

Up the hill just to one side of us…

So close…feet away…

The noise so loud,

The wind fierce and chill,

It seems forever in a few moments…

Then it’s over.

The moon comes out.

Animals begin to make noises again.

The neighbors flash lights at us, and we respond.

We are alive…alive…

Now to help all of us recover, rebuild,

And go on…

Humbler and grateful.

Now it’s a year later

And the scars of that evening linger

In our community and around us,

But we’re alive…

And still grateful…

And watching the skies.

ã2 June 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

An Article in The Baltimore Sun

An Article in The Baltimore Sun

The Christmas beat and bingo,

An electrical blackout in Baltimore!

Giddily…act professional now…

All sides of the story, hear…

Remember the homeless make people uncomfortable,

And this is Christmas…

So be even-handed,

Show no priorities of morals…

That doesn’t sell papers.

ã28 December 1996, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

A Baltimore Med Student

A Baltimore Med Student

Countless cups of coffee, a few pep pills, no sleep…

A few more hours and boards behind me,

I can sleep before my internship duties start again.

My sacrificed health for short-term memory

Is a good deal to be a god or demi-god, at least.

Then some bozo lights a fire in some trash,

And the electricity goes out…

WAH! Now I have to wait a few hours

To take that shit test,

And I may forget all I crammed for—

Or sleep through the whole damn thing.

I paid my dues. I did all that was asked of me.

This is the reward I get.

Great. Instead of becoming a demi-god,

I may flunk med school…

And I even have a great bedside manner, too.

ã28 December 1996, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

A Homeless Man in Baltimore

A Homeless Man in Baltimore

I used to have a home, a wife, some kids,

A job, even the occasional friend.

Then I was downsized—

A fancy word for canned…now I live from cans—

   To eat, to sleep, and tonight to stay warm.

It’s so cold in this city this winter.

God, I’m numbed out of my mind.

All I want to do is stay alive.

ã28 December 1996, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

This Patriarchal Scheme

This Patriarchal Scheme

If one person’s rights are threatened,

Then no one’s rights are safe.

The weaker ones are the first to go—

The poor, the despised, the waif…

The few will rule the many

When the Masculine rules supreme,

It is our good earth’s trauma—

This patriarchal scheme.

The spoil and ruin of treasures,

Both human and of earth,

As the unbridled, unbalanced greed and lust

Desecrate real things of worth.

ã3 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Scandal Mongers

Scandal Mongers

Off on a tangent, as though knowing all,

The reality of facts ne’er from their lips fall.

The heartbreak of scandal on innocent heads

Embarrassed beyond all shades of reds…

Speculation’s a game that has many risks.

Judgment’s a call of many tsk, tsk, tsks.

I told you so goes up the cry

Even if the truth be there to deny.

ã4 May 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Love’s Crumbs

Love’s Crumbs

She runs as if from danger,

Running with no time to spare.

She’s running as from a stranger fate than she has found there

In her isolated little room

Where her phone is her only source

Of life ouside her lonely tomb…

Draining of life force…

She’s too sad to sit and weep;

She’s too numb to feel;

She’d prefer to eat and sleep…

Upon her lips a seal—

You don’t miss what you’ve never had, do you?

She wonders.

She’s not had much share of joy…

She sighs, thinks she’s bad…
Her eyes are sad yet full

Of life…

She’d give her all for a crumb of love

And swear it’s the best she’d ever had…

She walks through life not knowing

Her own beauty or her power

Has a lovely way of showing

Her as a rare and beautiful flower.

ã12 November 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

First Varsity Goal for Lerong Ajang

First Varsity Goal for Lerong Ajang

Dark hair gleaming in the sunshine,

Sweat dropping from the brow,

He dribbles around four defenders

To tap the ball just behind the goalie—

A corner pocket,

A sweet goal for Beall.

All the players know him by sight and by name,

“Lee,” they cry as they scramble

To mark him to no avail,

For such is his skill.

ã29 August 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Jorge Campos

Jorge Campos

Wickedly mischievous smile, then a laugh,

The white teeth against his dark tan skin

Gleam with a knowing prank

To be played on the strikers

Approaching his goal…

He waits…flies…

Then blocks the seemingly

Sure goal.

ã20 April 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Double Joy

Double Joy

In your eyes I see projected fierceness,

I see fire, and I see pain.

Behind that I see a little girl afraid and full of shame.

Who could have hurt you so deeply to leave such nasty wounds?

   My heart cries out to you—

   I’ve been there, too.

   I’ve known trauma, terror, and shame.

But I’ve also learned that in sharing another’s sorrows

Out of friendship and with true heart

Halves the pain and begins the circle of healing.

   So, may I come alongside you

   As a friend and a trusted sister,

   As one wounded, too?

One day we’ll share great joy,

And I’ve found shared joy doubles the joy.

So, for the joy set before us,

May we walk the sacred path together.

ã15 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.