A Marvelous Mixture

A Marvelous Mixture

A woman’s worth is not her size or her girth.

It is not her position or face.

She is not a trophy to be boasted of,

Nor is she all froth and lace.

A woman is a human being,

A person in her own right.

She is not a piece of property

Nor a whore to screw at night.

A woman is a marvelous mixture

Of all a human can be,

And if it’s not too shocking to say it—

A woman is, well, me.

ã5 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Miscarriages

Miscarriages

Where have the children gone?

Where are their lovely faces?

Tender and naughty, curious and fun,

Why all these empty spaces?

My heart longs and aches to hold my lost babies

Even as I hold this precious one,

And I am a very diligent and grateful mom

As I teach my only son.

ã5 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

A Woman’s Time, A Mother’s Heart

A Woman’s Time, A Mother’s Heart

The time of my moon is a powerful time

When I feel my womanly strength

And feel a part of the cycle of life,

Traversing its breadth and length.

There is life in the blood, and it is strong

As I yearn for more life to grow—

All around me and inside me again,

Seeds of life to sow.

When it is time, may life come forth.

This is the desire of my heart,

And to those around me with each smile,

Each glance, a gift of life impart.

ã5 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Posted: You Must Show Positive Proof of Sanity Before Entering These Premises

Posted: You Must Show Positive Proof of Sanity Before Entering These Premises

I think if I ever get involved in another Indian gathering

That I’ll post a sign right at the gate to stop incessant blathering:

“Certain behaviors, attitudes, words and such are strictly not allowed—

Jerks, rednecks, wannabes, and groupies will be disemboweled.”

Signed: the Chairman of the Committee

ã4 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

I Come to You in Friendship

I Come to You in Friendship

I open my hand to you

With helpfulness and sharing it lends.

I open my heart to you

With love each word it sends.

I open my mind to you

With appreciation it comprehends.

I open my arms to you

With compassionate hugs it mends.

I open my ears to you

With deep caring always bends.

I open myself to you

With hopes that we’ll be friends.

ã4 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Corvid the Crow

Corvid the Crow

The winged bandit of sparkly things

Flies o’er the field of corn,

And he is a wise and ancient bird

Of heart’s desires borne.

Blackest feathers, orange-yellow beak,

He caws to give a warning,

Ever vigilant a guardian he,

Preferring gaiety to mourning.

Psychopomp and watcher he

And executor of law,

Teacher of the ways of life

Sometimes with humor raw.

A creative bird but not held down,

The crow can be relied on;

His mischief and his swarthy ways

Often get him lied on.

Ah, crow, crow, delightful bird

A family bird is here,

Crow will never fly quite straight…

But that’s what makes him dear.

ã2 June 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Brown Betty’s Brew

Brown Betty’s Brew

Where does this slightly astringent

Yet tantalizingly fruity sweet amber

Liquid warmth come from?

Like ambrosia and nectar,

A paradisical flavor

With milk and honey flowing…

Is this an emperor’s brew or

A pirate’s treasure?!

How satisfying to drink

This mug

Of Earl Grey.

ã14 April 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Tuscan Red

Tuscan Red

Vined ripeness, Tuscan red

Dripping, oozing into the clay

Fired to an inebriated blush

Of hunger, thirst, desire

For one perfect grape.

ã14 April 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

The Dog Sentry

The Dog Sentry

Attentively scouring the horizon of the yard

And the immediate vicinity,

She stands her watch,

Guarding her fort and troops

From rabbits, groundhogs, birds,

And especially cats…

Seeing an encroachment,

She silently stalks the intruder

Until she is in position…

Then pounce and chase,

Faster and faster,

Until the field is cleared once again.

Satisfied, she returns to her post

On the porch.

ã23 April 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Dandelion Yellow

Dandelion Yellow

A sunny-faced yellow smiling with

Basking, buttery, brilliance,

Dandelion’s daring defiance

Of human efforts to

Devastate

A generous herb.

ã14 April 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

A Late Autumn Afternoon

A Late Autumn Afternoon

Grayish-blue edge with lighter gray,

Whiffs of white,

Shadowed by purples and black,

The snow clouds pile on one another.

The bare, black barked trees silhouetted against the sky

Sway forming intricate, delicate designs in the air.

The brown fallen leaves no longer rustle or dance on the breeze.

All seems peaceful, so quiet,

As if this were the season to be silent.

ã22 November 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

A Late November Night

A Late November Night

A clear, sky on a cold late November night is breath taking.

The panorama of stars and moon are splendrous.

The stillness and the bone-chilling coldness

Seem to frame the sacred…

What great mysteries to behold, to cherish.

ã22 November 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Dawn

Dawn

The lightening rosy-orange against the bluish-purple eastern sky

 

Heralds the sun’s arising again today.

The birds sing to welcome the dawn

As the children of the night quiet down for sleep.

The morning star beckons expectantly just above the horizon

As all the stars except ours disappear from sight.

Then there he is, rolling up into position

For his westwardly daily trip.

Morning with its crisp, clean air,

Fresh and new…

The beauty of life given for one more day.

ã22 November 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Please Don’t Leave Me Here All Alone

Please Don’t Leave Me Here All Alone

Away you go on a trip of which I cannot join,

And I am afraid.

Afraid you’ll go never to return;

Afraid you’ll die;

Frightened I’ll never see you alive again;

Frightened I’ll be alone

Forever…

Left behind…

Forgotten and unloved…

Unclaimed.

Unwanted forever.

ã19 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Harsh Forgivings

Harsh Forgivings

Life is like the ocean…

Its vastness is fluidly changing

Second to second

Even when calm;

The harshness affords little mercy,

But the depths hide many sins.

ã14 April 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

The Sand Flea Funeral

The Sand Flea Funeral

Welcome to Parris Island,

Some news skills you will command.

That even the Devil left this place—

Said he needed a cooler space.

So let me tell you what’s the story.

You do what I say, you morning glory.

If I decide to say you stand,

Don’t you dare move a hand.

If a sand flea bites your face,

Soldier, don’t you me disgrace.

If you cannot let him pass—

Slap him, pansy, I’ll have your ass!

For that Sand Flea is a Marine Corps bug—

Kill it, and you’re just a slimy slug.

Full Marine Corps burial you will give.

So, I strongly advise you: Let the bug live.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.

All rights reserved.

Decoration Day

Decoration Day

The week before Decoration Day

To each veteran’s plot we’d go

To mow and clean up,

To plant flags to fly,

And sow some seeds to grow.

To be there.

To remember.

To honor.

The ancestors would somehow know.

So to each cemetery we’d go—

Woodland, The Bradshaw Cemetery,

Some on hilltops behind farmhouses,

Some in the woods or along

John’s Creek, Elkin’s Creek, and more…

Some easy access,

Some quite a climb.

Did the spirits see us there?

Were they comforted that the dead were not forgotten?

That their sacrifices were honored?

Then we’d go home.

Fly the flag.

Fix a family feast to be eaten after

The Parade…

The traditions are the same now

Even though they changed the name.

Memorial or Decoration…

The ancestors somehow would know.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.

All rights reserved.

“Macam Tiae Lembu!”

“Macam Tiae Lembu!”

(Malay for “Sounds Like a Cow Shitting!”)

For My Husband Avalon Ajang Ledong—

Royal Malaysian Army, Sarawak Rangers

Army training can be a chore;

In boot camp, abuse is piled on more.

You can train both days and nights

And don’t you worry about your rights…

For you have none.

Drill sergeant will bark if you are wrong.

Sometimes he’ll make you bark along.

You’ll not be left to be long idled.

You’ll find to what you’re entitled…

If you live long.

Marching here, marching there;

You’ll go marching everywhere.

You’ll go marching in the rain.

You’ll be marching while insane.

You’ll go marching up a hill.

Oh, you’ll like the marching drill.

When marching sergeant says you stop,

Don’t you let your feet ker-plop.

Just one POP he wants to hear

Or he’ll shout straight in your ear…

“Macam tiae lembu!”

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.

All rights reserved.

Hard Facts Harder Faced

Hard Facts Harder Faced

Who said our soldiers could not be psychos?

Who said we always are saints?

Where is it written we do the right thing

And never show evil or taint?

War is hell, lest we forget it,

And crimes of war even much more…

Can we train a human to kill, not to feel,

Without evil allowed in that door?

Rape is a tool and an agent of war.

So is massacre, torture, mayhem.

Even a good man can snap to a monster

And live only to slay ‘em.

None of us are guiltless, much to our pain,

But we are trapped in this way,

If ever we forget the humanity of victims

From Coshocton to Mai Lai.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.

All rights reserved.

And Still the Channel to Cross

And Still the Channel to Cross

Looking around,

Nerves stretched taut,

The winds and waters churning.

All are pale.

None will return.

Deep terror in us burning.

Normandy,

Damn those cliffs,

A beach changed to bloody swampland…

Though thousands die

To win that beach

From Hell’s elitist command.

© Copyright, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw, 2000.

All rights reserved.