Wednesday, June 8, 2011

Chinese Calligraphy

Chinese Calligraphy

    When I was a young girl, my mother had a friend who was well known as an expert knitter who could transpose any scenes, designs, and/or symbols she saw into beautiful sweaters. Her tastes were adventurous, so she also traveled quite a bit as well, sampling as wide a variety of foods, sights, and experiences as possible. She always had a good story to tell.
    One day she came for a visit and told my mother about the newly opened Chinese restaurant in a town nearby. Of course, we had to go try it out as soon as Mom could get us ready. I was excited because this would be my first time to visit a Chinese restaurant.
    Upon entering the place, I remember most of all the beautiful, big, red lanterns and the many dragons everywhere. I also remember the individual booths per table. A beautiful woman in a cheongsam waited on us while traditional Chinese music played in the background. It sounded like magical music to my young ears, which was appropriate to what was a magical place in my eyes.
    Next came some very unusual (for me at that time) but very fragile and wondrous serving dishes filled with foods that seemed to be artwork. Very tasty artwork, too! I had fallen in love with the sights, the sounds, the smells, and the tastes of Asia then and there. I decided that China specifically must be a magical place indeed.
    My mother's friend must have felt similarly because she copied down some Chinese designs and calligraphy from the menu and decor for a new sweater project. That sweater was completed in record time, as I recall. It was breath-taking in capturing the feel of the restaurant as I remembered it.
    Then one day, mom's friend wore her new sweater to a Chinese restaurant in the Chinatown of a large American city. While she was there, many Chinese businessmen gave her strange looks, winks, smiles, and chuckles that were not the sort of which she was accustomed. She could not understand why the men were behaving this was until later when an older Chinese women who owned the restaurant explained to her that it was because of her sweater.
    "Where did you get those Chinese calligraphy figures," she asked. "Do you know that they mean, 'This dish is cheap but good"?
    That was the last time we saw that beautiful sweater unfortunately.

Ó Copyright 2002, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

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

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.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

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 Christmas Shopper

A Baltimore Christmas Shopper

Gawd, I only have a week’s more shopping days
Until Christmas, and I’m at the mall, hon,
And the lights go out.
It’s a jungle in there, I tell ya.
Anyone could hurt me or steal
My Tickle-Me-Elmo doll, my purse,…
Maybe I could get out without paying…
Gawd, where are the lights?
A person could get hurt in here.
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.

Monday, June 6, 2011

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.