On holiday in Cyprus

a few years ago I was sunbathing by the pool and spotted a lovely looking little girl who was with a very elderly Cypriot lady who I think was her grandmother and also a couple who I presumed to be her parents.  The parents went away leaving the little girl to look out for the frail older lady.  At one point the little girl stood shyly watching some British kids play pool and table tennis and I felt so sorry for her as she obviously also wanted to play. I snapped a photo of her then from watching her this poem was born.

Lonely Old Child

She stands there, watching in the wings

Her limbs long and gangly like a new born colt

Eyes are dark and wide like those of a fawn

Clinging with one hand to the twigs of a bush

Hidden partly by the dense dark leaves

Head bowed watching and waiting

Almost willing the others to see her

Yet still wishing to remain hidden

Wanting to play ball with them

But too scared and shy to join in

Totally unaware that she is being watched

Silently wanting to be part of the group

The other children oblivious to their audience

Play noisily in the shade, splashing in the pool

Their chatter a stark contrast to this one

This young seemingly lost soul so sad and alone

Then, the harsh voice of the grandmother

Calls the girl to her side to do her bidding

The moment is gone, the child turns away

Sadness etched on her pretty gaunt face

No play, nor toys, games are not for her

Her life lies in caring for the old woman

Fetching and carrying, providing company

Being there to cater to her every need

Young caring for old, this lonely old child

as part of the writing course

We had to write a poem based on true history.  I chose the opening of the Forth Road Bridge.  The outcome of the research is this piece of work.

The Opening of

the Forth Road Bridge

With thirty one thousand miles of wire,

And thirty nine thousand tons of steel,

Seven workers’ lives which were stolen,

Never meant to be part of the deal.

A bridge, spanning two thousand metres,

Crosses over the Firth of the Forth

And takes us from, the Queensferry South,

To the Queensferry here, in the North.

The ferryboats needed no longer,

Over eight hundred years they have ran

Now traffic can cross over water,

On this wonder designed by a man.

People who worked on the ferry boats

Now collecting the money we pay

No longer for 18 pounds a week

But two pounds and 10 shillings per day

Constructing the bridge is completed

The painting of it just about done.

Those tons of metal are glistening

In the light of the September sun

Our queen and her husband are crossing

The bridge, while the crowd shouts, waves and cheers.

This moment people have waited for

Has arrived, after twenty one years.

Underneath in the river’s waters,

Naval ships wait to join in the fun,

From today there’s a brand new era,

To be marked by them firing a gun.

With their flags and their pretty dresses,

Little girls in the crowd curtsey down.

The boys in their suits, all smart and clean

Get told off for just acting the clown.

The main celebrations are over

This event went according to plan

All the people are travelling home

In most every transport they can

Memories are all that are left here,

Heavy traffic runs daily each way.

Children, now adults, are telling kids,

Of one very spectacular day.

Freda Brodie

November 2008

When a lovely man

who had parkinson's decided it was time to end his own life I was devastated.  He was a member of our writer's group and one of the gentlest people I have ever met.  A one time priest from Eire it must have been a difficult decision to take as suicide is against the teachings of the catholic church.  Anyway on his passing I wrote this for his memory.

The Quiet Irish Man

A gentle voice with soft Irish accent,

A bright sparkle in your lovely eyes.

You lived life to the fullest,

And saw good in most things under the skies

A quiet proud man who for years

Dedicated his life to his lord.

You travelled and worked across countries

Spreading your god’s holy word.

Then you met a person so wonderful

She became a huge part of your life.

You left your vocation in priesthood

So that you could make her your wife.

But years took their toll on your health

And illness, took your freedom away.

Things that you once took for granted

Became harder to do day by day.

Living became such a struggle

You couldn’t go out for a walk,

Writing your stories wasn’t an option,

It was difficult to just simply talk.

That’s when you made your decision,

The time, the place and the date

Wrote letters for those you were leaving

And went off to your heaven’s gate.

No more of your soft Irish accent

Those sparkling eyes are now dead

All that is left are our memories

Of a quiet, Irish, man - our friend, Ned.

Freda Brodie (May 2010)

I got really angry

when I heard a newsreader announce that a forest was going to be sold off to raise money.  It made me think that at this rate there would be no green areas for anyone.  This poem was born out of that anger.

What will we leave them

Our young, as they grow?

Where will there be

For them to go?

What about forests

Or meadows and trees

What about insects

Butterflies and bees?

Will they have lakes?

Or rivers and streams

Will these just be memories?

Things of their dreams

Will birds still be here?

In crystal blue skies

Or fish swim in water

Snapping at flies

What will there be

For them to admire?

Polluted waters

Thick like mire?

Concreted wastelands

Burned black hills

No flowers or green grass

The thought gives me chills

Don’t let this happen

Protect mother earth

Leave it for our children

This land of our birth

Cut down pollution

Not forest and trees

Cut out the chemicals

Those are killing the bees

Think of our children

As this land you rape

Leave the green belts

As a means for escape

A very old native

Was once heard to say

We don’t inherit from ancestors

This place where we play

He said everything

We see every morn

We only borrow

From those still to be born

Freda 2011

A visit to the Museum

when the slavery exhibition was there was what prompted this short poem.  I wrote it on the spot as I was horrified by some of the things I was seeing.

Why?

Because you looked different

Why?

Because you seemed strange

Why?

Because we didn’t understand you

Why?

Because you were black

Why?

Because we were superior

Why?

Because you were heathens

Why?

Because we were scared of you

Why?

Because you were black

We trapped, we killed we enslaved

Why?. 

Sometimes

I think I need to revisit my work and make changes but then I remember that I write things as I feel at that moment and in relation to the situations going round at the time.  Often my work offends and other times my choice of words aren't quite right, but it's my work and how I write.  Anyway for today we have a piece that came from a story about slavery in Liverpool.

Without me you are nothing

You sit in your big house

I stand chained to a wall

You are surrounded by family

My family are lost to me

You are clothed in great finery

I am in rags

You eat salmon and quail

My food is stale bread

You drink good wine and ale

I have stagnant water

You have skin which is clean and unblemished

My skin is scarred from whips and chains

You sleep lying in your great bed

I stand sleeping in a niche in the wall

You have warmth and light

For me only cold and darkness

You have great financial wealth

I have great poverty

You are deemed to be the better person

Yet without me you would have nothing

You are my master

I am your slave.

Freda Brodie (date unknown)

Started over a year ago

and found when I was looking out poetry to post on here.  I had a look at this amended and finished it.  I am sure many of my friends can relate to this particular poem.

SAD

Deep down are tears

They rise to the brink

Occasionally tumbling down my cheek

Forcing my eyes to blink

There s a nasty sick feeling deep down inside

A sadness I don’t understand

Hopelessness that festers and grows

Working it’s tricks, underhand

There’s no reason or rhyme to how I feel

How I suffer and hide it away

Why I need help and guidance and love

To make all of this go away

Some days these feelings are far too strong

Then all I want is some sleep

To pretend that the badness has all gone

To let happy in my head creep

I don't want this feeling to be in control

It's wrong and its bad

I can't let it go on the way that it has

This feeling I'm told is called SAD.

One day I am sure happy will be

The stronger of all my emotion

Then SAD will be gone from my head

Maybe somewhere there's a potion

Till then I will fight to keep up the power

To keep the bad feelings at bay

Let cheery thoughts inside my head

And become more happy each day.

Freda Jan 2014

Events of today

made me decide that this would be a good day to share this one.  People who know me will know most of the story behind this one.

Robert!

Did you know that you make all my skin crawl?

Did you know I do not like you at all?

Did you know that you make me feel so ill?

Did you know that I just want to kill?

Did you know that blood links aren’t enough?

Did you know that being kin can’t make me love?

Or giving birth won’t make you a mother?

Did you know my son hates being your brother?

Did you know how often, I have now cried?

Did you know that you are ugly inside?

Did you know that you are nasty and bad?

Did you know I think you’re just like your dad?

I know all of this and then so much more

Once you were a baby which I adored

You turned into the beast you are today

And spoilt all my love and turned it away.

Freda

Feb 2007

and after the handfasting

Came the legal wedding of the same couple.  I was asked to write something for them and I wrote this  Unfortunately last I heard they were no longer together but the poem lives on.

The Wedding

This couple, devoted, in love are together today

This couple, devoted, in love are together to stay

This couple, devoted, in love so close they have grown

This couple, devoted, in love are now joined as one.

This couple, devoted, in love a new journey they start

This couple, devoted, in love in their mind and their heart

This couple, devoted, in love here both starting anew

This couple, devoted, in love share this beginning with you

This couple, devoted, in love as they go hand in hand

This couple, devoted, in love have their new wedding bands

This couple, devoted, in love whose joy we all see

This couple, devoted, in love forever will be

This couple, devoted, in love

Freda Feb 2004

My first handfasting

The Handfasting

was when I went to a Scarborough moot for the first time.  This poem was written based on the events of that handfasting.  Was a beautiful ceremony.

The Handfasting

The man, the woman, together in love

Ask their Gods for blessings from up on above

The candles and incense, that wonderful scent

Burn on the altar to aid the event

The priestess calls corners, the witnesses aid

The candles all lit, a circle is made

Vows made to each other, to love from here on

The priestess asks blessings, their new life is born.

Their joining of hands, together they’re bound

By the priestess, who winds the scarf round and around.

The blessings are read, the couple now man and wife

We have food and drink and toast their new life

The elements here, have all played their part

To join these people, in mind and in heart

The spirits of Earth, Wind, Water and Fire

Have given this couple, their own hearts’ desire.

Freda Feb 2004

We haven't had it yet but it will come

I do love the snow when it is white and sparkling, I love the crunch under my feet, the cleanliness of it all.

A Snowy Day

Falling, silent and slowly

In soft large flakes like feathers.

Covering all around us,

Painting the world white and cold.

Pure, clean, blanket which lies down,

On trees, ground, buildings and cars.

Sparkling, like diamonds

Glittering in the suns rays.

Glowing underneath moonbeams

Creating a strange bright light.

Muffling every sound,

Chilling each breath that we take.

Children with delighted shrieks

Throwing snowballs in a fight

Building snowmen in gardens

Riding sledges down the hills

Enjoying the fun of snow

So white and crisp, while it lasts

Rain comes down, and the snow melts

Turns to slush, grey and dirty

Squelching underneath our feet.

Flowing down drains and gutters.

Soaking gardens and pavements.

Gone now till the next winter

Brings cold winds in icy blasts.

Freda  January 2012

hmm what to share today

Right how about this one another idyll describing the seasons as they turn throughout the year.  Some of it very appropriate given the way that nature is flexing her muscles just now.

Ode to Nature

Autumn Equinox has passed now,

Darkness hours grow more and more

Summer days have gone behind us

Winter’s knocking at our door

Trees that once were green and luscious

Lose their leaves all crisp and dry

Branches like skeleton fingers

Stretching up to cold, grey sky

Every day the sun grows weaker

Now it does not warm the air

As the winter fast approaches

Farmers’ fields are all laid bare

Strong cold winds that batter buildings

Destroys trees and garden fence

Heavy rain falls causing flooding

Damage which does not make sense.

Every year we see this battle

Nature versus humankind

Sometimes we must stop and wonder

Just what nature has in mind.

Then, when wintertime has gone by,

Nature shows her tender side

Green grass grows and flowers blossom

White clouds high above us glide

Perhaps nature shows her power

To help us open up our eyes

Just to give a perfect contrast

Make us see where beauty lies

Could we feel joy, if there’s no hurt?

Without dark, would we know light?

After winter, there comes spring time

I think nature has it right.

Freda October 2010

Today I give you

a poem I wrote at a very low place in my life, a place I hoped I'd never visit again but I seem to be quite close to it thanks to people who I though were my family and my life.

I Die

Here I am, but where am I?

I am with my friends, where are they?

I am alone.

Surrounded by darkness, during the day.

The sun shines, but it is dark.

I am afraid.

Take me home, I am home.

I need to feel wanted, I am not.

I hunger for love.

Fill my needs, I have few.

My thirst needs quenched,

I am drowning.

Alone, yet surrounded by people.

Afraid where I should be safe.

Unwanted when I need cared for.

Drowning in hurt and anger.

Needing calm and contentment.

Darkness overcomes me.

I sleep to take away the pain,

Dream to escape all.

Sleep forever, no pain, no hurt.

Death is the endless sleep,

It takes all anger away.

No feelings.

A new start

This poem was written about my reaction when I found out, 6 months after it happened, that my uncle who had abused me was dead.  I still live with the pain and mental anguish his abuse caused me but at least I know I'll never have to see him ever again and that his death was a painful one.

A New Start

All of my life I have lived with the pain.

You wouldn’t or couldn’t accept the blame.

Just a conspiracy is what you said

Some years later I was told you were dead

It’s over now was all they could say

But something important happened that day

The anger I had held throughout the years

Finally exploded from me in tears

I kicked and I shouted and punched and screamed,

About how really unfair it all seemed.

You had escaped without hearing from me,

The way you had caused my whole life to be.

When I calmed back down I realised that

You dying wasn’t the end but the start.

It was a beginning for me to see

My life the way I wanted it to be.

There’ll be no more anger, and no more pain,

No more will I see you time and again

You cause no more fear, that’s gone from my heart

Because your death gave me a brand new start.

Freda 2000