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.

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.