Escape from Lockdown

Sitting out on a sunny day
The blue sky the warm sunshine
Looking out over the Pentland Hills
To the lands of freedom so far away
Not far from these hills a pandemic lingers
An invisible grey cloud
Once in a while we would forget

The days we escaped to the beaches
And left our rubbish to the wind
The days we dreamed we could be free
Riding the waves of liberty
Meeting one more of our friends
And no homeschooling for our kids
Feeling the warm sun on our faces
And no coughing from our mouths

So we headed for dunes with suntan lotion
Made it thought the motorway queues
To the waves at Bournemouth
Coughs and fevers swapped for sand and ice cream
Not far from these hills a pandemic lingers
An invisible grey cloud
Once in a while we would forget

The days we escaped to the beaches
And left our rubbish to the wind
The day that we dreamed we could be free
Riding the waves of liberty
Meeting one more of our friends
And no homeschooling for our kids
Feeling the warm sun on our faces
And no coughing from our mouths

So we made our way
Through the Dartford Tunnel
To the southern coast of England
Through the sun and crowds
While the second wave waited on

The days we escaped to the beaches
And left our rubbish to the wind
The day that we dreamed we could be free
Riding the waves of liberty
Meeting one more of our friends
And no homeschooling for our kids
Feeling the warm sun on our faces
And no coughing from our mouths

© Fi S. J. Brown

 

T’s Song

Inspired by a friend’s experiences with autism, mental health and divorce during the coronavirus lockdown.

These four walls are not my home
I’m sat afraid and crying all alone
Trapped in a cage with no bars
There’s no freedom from here for me
Looking through the eyes of change
Shining like the evening sky’s stars
And a cold that makes me shiver
There’s no freedom from here for me

But through the darkness whispers
A light in the forest breaks
Gentle birdsong calls out my name
Singing out across the land
So high up into the heavens
There’s no freedom from here for me

I was blinded by your foolish love
Wandered from across the country
To be in the arms I thought understood
There’s no freedom from here for me
And the diagnosis nobody understands
The meltdowns as cope with uncertainty
A desert that grows barren by the day
There’s no freedom from here for me.

But through the darkness whispers
A light in the forest breaks
Gentle birdsong calls out my name
Singing out across the land
So high up in the heavens
There’s no freedom from here for me

Knowing this is where my story may end
Poor in wealth, body, mind and soul
Standing too close to the edge of the cliff
There’s no freedom from here for me
Burned out like days old cigarette butts
Awaiting fate’s final twisting tale
Defrauded of every love and need
There’s no freedom from here for me

But through the darkness whispers
A light in the forest breaks
Gentle birdsong calls out my name
Singing out across the land
So high up in the heavens
There’s no freedom from here for me

© Fi S. J. Brown

Rat in a cage

Rat in a cage
Rat in a wheel
Rat in a race
Like a rat in a cage
Treat me like a criminal
Treat me like a puppet
Treat me like a number
Treat me like a failure
Use me like a tool
Drain me till I’m empty
Leave me out in the rain
Watch me turn to rust
Treat me like an experiment
Just another rat in a cage
Like a rat in a cage
Treat me like I’m prisoner
Leave me until I confess
Blind me til I’m lost
Freeze me until I’m cold
Beat me till I bleed
Grind me until I’m dust
Push me til I break
Wire me until I conform
Treat me like an experiment
Just a rat in a cage
Another rat in a cage
Another rat in a cage
Another rat in a cage
Rat in a cage
© Fi S. J. Brown

Song of my senses

I see a road
that runs rings round an extinct volcano
and metallic beasts travelling fast
taking part in a race built for rats
trapped in a maze without borders
Others walk with their heads down
holding a spectre of a black mirror
and blowing kisses to the reflection
like Narcissus did long before them
sleep walking through their lives

I hear a voice
manipulated on a machine to sing
and not one that flies in the sky
all colour is reduced to white noise
and marketed like the Emperor’s clothes
Tweeting not for joy but on Boris and Hunt
their road leads to number ten in London
and tell lies but their noses never grow
choices yet seem unknown to the sheep
but the ripples will be felt for decades

I touch the stars
trying to catch the falling ones in my hands
like lost souls they need empathy not hate
troubled from traumas from a painful past
now only whispers that fear to speak aloud
As the moon sends others into a madness
too much worshipping the sun not her beauty
as false gods entrance into hypnotic obedience
with the truth lies within below the painted flesh
and wear masks to fit in boxes they do not belong

I taste the freedom
swallowing not the red that continues the lie
taking the blue awakens the brave new world
like the onion with many layers the lies go on
creating false tears as slice through to truths
Travelling a journey that never goes straight
looking back is best at with a passing glance
distractions to the left and right only entrap me
forwards one step at a time dancing to my beat
and singing songs in multicolour not white noise

© Fi S. J. Brown

Trick or Treat

Trick or treat
(Halloween is calling your name)
Trick or treat
(Autumn leaves falling fast)
Let us see the night stars
Ringing out across the universe

Get on your broomstick – we’re gonna fly tonight
Your eyes like ashes from the bonfires
I wanna paint the sky – with moonlight brushes
Gonna leave the tears behind
Getting out of this rat-race

Trick or treat
(Halloween is calling your name)
Trick or treat
(Autumn leaves falling fast)
Let us see the night stars
Ringing out across the universe

Grab your pumpkin lantern
We’re gonna fly tonight
We got liars to the right – we got apologists to the left
Sometimes I get so low – all I have are dreams
I wanna paint the sky
With moonlight brushes

Trick or treat
(Halloween is calling your name)
Trick or treat
(Autumn leaves falling fast)
Let us see the night stars
Ringing out across the universe

© Fi S. J. Brown

The Girl That Said No

Standing on the edge of the forest
Like my ancestors once did
And the leaves are changing colour
No more flowers and animals will sleep
Whispers in the air tell the tales
Of the year almost gone
Fearful hate, apathy awakened
What a mess we make, will we ever learn

Watching from the black mirror in hand
For the latest craze to begin
Celebrities instagraming their hashtags
With their lies for mass consumption

I will not follow the unwritten rules
I will not be placed in their boxes
I will not Photoshop or filter my life
Or worship the gods of stage and screen
Independence and individuality
Thinking aloud with no thought police
Burning the spin and lies with every step
I am the girl that said no

Standing in the middle of the town
Ignoring the autotuned grey noise
Hoping for some colourful miracle
To breakout out with the sword of truth
Whispers in the air tell the tales
Of the year almost gone
Fearful hate, apathy awakened
What a mess we make, will we ever learn

An emperor wearing his new clothes
Praised by the sheep baaing masses
Fakeness has become the new norm
Blurred lines until we all become one

I will not follow the unwritten rules
I will not be placed in their boxes
I will not Photoshop or filter my life
Or worship the gods of stage and screen
Independence and individuality
Thinking aloud with no thought police
Burning the spin and lies with every step
I am the girl that said no

I will not follow the unwritten rules
I will not be placed in their boxes
I will not Photoshop or filter my life
Or worship the gods of stage and screen
Independence and individuality
Thinking aloud with no thought police
Burning the spin and lies with every step
I am the girl that said no

© Fi S. J. Brown

Tori’s lyrics

10 years ago the lyrics of this song and many others by Tori Amos haunted my ears and tears would fall from my eyes when I heard her sing as each one felt like I could have written them myself. Lines such as “I got the anti-Christ in the kitchen yellin’ at me again” made me think of my mother who I then called ‘she who must be obeyed’, as I was frightened of her, nothing I did was right if did do not do things her way but now know she is a narcissist and need to carry on being me regardless; “I hear my voice and it’s been here, silent all these years” as I  started having counselling to try make some semblance of why I felt my life was painted in monochrome and saw myself more like Princess Fiona the ogre from Shrek than the princess, through a journey that was just as rocky as any shore with no lighthouse in sight, not realising I am the lighthouse; and “So you found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts, what’s so amazing about really deep thoughts” not realising how powerful they are and what a gift they can be to inspire others. Now life I see as multicoloured and multi-sensory, grateful for the special people that make me laugh and smile for being in it and the importance of living mindfully. Today is Tori’s birthday, so a timely reminder to myself of all I have overcome and remind others not to give up, making that first stepping stone today is possible as things do change for the better.

© Fi S. J. Brown

 

 

Some days

Some days I wish I could fly up high like a bluebird
Everything flowing freely without any tainted word.
No mouldy air or stagnant water to hold me back,
And let me finally follow that old yellow brick track.
 
Some days I am drowning in a sea of forest green,
Attacked by the branches of the woodland queen.
Cannot see the wood from the hundreds of trees,
Needing an axe clear my view and unlock the keys.
 
Some days I feel like an actor that forgot their lines,
Missing subtle prompts and ignoring warning signs.
Trashing and trivialising any of my achievements,
But count my failures like individual bereavements.
 
Some days I wake up to find a smile upon my face,
As realise that it is okay to be a tortoise in the race.
Bursting the balloons of self doubt and losing fears,
Listening to the wise birds with their comforting ears.
 
Some days I sing with the dawn chorus for being alive,
And feel refreshed in the morning dew as I take a dive
Ready a new to take on the world whatever it will bring,
Tying up any problems or puzzles with some old string.
 
© Fi S. J. Brown

B.I.A.

I’m like the pieces of a broken glass vase,
So many shards that there is no glue to fix.
I’m dizzy from all the circles walked,
And the games from the amphitheatre,
Not able to escape.

I feel like all the paths ahead are blocked,
Filled with more false starts and wrong turns.
In the forest of my mind,
I’ve been looking for an axe,
To find where I belong.

Tired of jumping hoops and skipping beats,
As I try to play life by the rules,
Bitten by bugs growing in number at my feet,
And strangled by words in tears.
But believe it again echoes on.

I’m just the outsider watching the world,
And it seems like I’m forever to be sat in the wings.
I never wanted to be a leading lady,
But at least wanted to be on the script.

How many would walk a mile for a day in my shoes,
With a ball and chain that interrupts the rhythm.
Feeling like a bird who wants to fly,
But there is nobody to set her free.

Tired of jumping hoops and skipping beats,
Looking for a break but not in sanity.
Drained so that my battery is always red,
Why can it not be green like in nature,
With birds echoing believe it again.

Tired of jumping hoops and skipping beats,
Time to skip with hoops and jump to beats.
Rising like the phoenix one more time,
Burn down the trees and find that path,
Whilst singing believe it again.

© Fi S. J. Brown

The autumnal opera

The autumnal opera opens with the air biting like a bitter lemon on dry lips and the air smelling of decaying leaves and wood smoke. A prima donna sings an aria that touches almost every leaf, painting them every shade of red, yellow and orange; each colour matching the notes of her song. This is then echoed by a chorus throughout the land, turning forests to fire with colour. At the same the daily rhythm goes from legato to staccato, as the day length gets shorter, which in turn makes the leaves fall like ghost notes as few hear the sound of them falling. The crunch underfoot as walk through them is like listening a plucked cello playing, which is at times drowned out by the violins mimicking the sounds of human traffic. Then as the final note is sung, trees stand bare, and the theatre empties till all is silent. Well at least until Jack Frost sings his melancholy blues next season.

© Fi S. J. Brown