Love poem 1

My attempt at a love poem (as rarely write them or have any one to write one for/about).

I am sprinkling like a fairy,
Different kinds of flowers,
Every colour of the rainbow.

Here I come to give you songs,
Words to make your head spin,
And flowers to make you smile.

Music that will make you dance,
Oh, and another kind of flower,
To place forever upon your heart

From the city of an extinct volcano,
Sleepily watching over the citizens.
With a castle but no princess be.

I came to bring these just for you,
Carrying them over the seven hills,
And crossing the spiralling river.

Together they may have no worth,
But they are all I have to give,
From citizen FSJB of Planet Earth.

© Fi S. J. Brown

The Baldness Ballad

At dusk I cried on hearing the sound of falling hair from head,
By dawn I sobbed as counted the hairs sprinkled on my pillow.
Knowing like leaves in a forest at fall soon there would be none,
Without any send off, funeral, mass, or toast with an old glass.

The inevitable sequel was made but bombed on day of release,
And my immune system blocked any future remakes of its story.
Leaving the me exposed and naked to a judging planet of apes,
With the moon now on my head painted as an ogre in my mind.

For nearly twenty five years the self portrait remained unchanged,
Until I learnt to dance to a new beat and so painted myself afresh.
So the patchwork doll came to life on the canvas and into my mind,
Sitting like Buddhist priest in repose as only fitting for one so bald.

© Fi S. J. Brown

Summer Storms

The thunder with its rumbling tummy has finally been fed,
It is tired after playing catch with lightning across the sky.
Clattering over rooftops of houses and up lanes of towns,
Like a herd of invisible horses hooves trampling the clouds.
Bursting them open with a blinding light of purple haze,
That caused the rain to fall in muted teardrops like a clown.
Touching the hearts of windowpanes and soaking humans,
As curse the games up in the sky for leaving them so wet.
But a sick man from his hospital bed joins in the silent tears,
As his fevered brain calms again and counts his blessings.
In the woodlands trees stretch out their branches so wide,
Hoping to score points by catching the drops to its leaves.
Where as the deserts beg and plead for just one drop to fall,
Like a miracle prayer to someone who lives beyond the sky.
Cows out in fields turn their noses upward silently inhaling,
A perfume that comes after a storm that reassures all is well.
The farmer’s daughter shuts her curtains for the final call,
As the thunder goes to sleep and will play again another day.

© Fi S. J. Brown

The Sunshine

When the blood flows of innocents it has no colour, race, or religion,
Far away few hear their cries but at home it echoes throughout the land.
The sun is a spotlight to these hideous crimes with a ruby tainted glare,
Scarring those it touches with marks that will never be washed away.

Some sing songs of revenge with a bitterness as sharp as any sword,
As the hate boils inside them as it did those that struck the initial blow.
Never learning that violence is not an answer to this twisted circle,
For those that teach do not know the real question from spin and lies.

Dealers will always have the aces but never the joker in the pack,
Laughing and dancing to their old Machiavellian rhythm and beat.
Empathetic love would deafen them but few now know that path,
As follow distractions with false gods into darkness far from light.

On and on this tainted sun will shine on across this broken world,
Stranded in a desert wishing for but one drop of tearful rain to fall.
On and on this tainted sun will burn those that try for the moon,
In a dystopic reality that is far from a fantasy written by the stars.

© Fi S. J. Brown

The Oolong Poem

With every passing day
The spring sunshine
Is singing longer

On each blade of grass
A dozen bells ring
Awakening the sleeping

The voices of the birds
Are getting louder
Rejoicing winter is over

New lambs are born
Coming with hope
Everything will be okay

Along the twisted path
Passing mountains tall
Pink blossom confetti guides

Down in the village
Travellers are coming
But go as the wind changes

From my window sill
Flowers have returned
Friends old and new

With a pencil I write
Trusty tea at my side
Pondering life is beautiful

© Fi S. J. Brown
*Every time I drink oolong tea I feel relaxed and inspired to write poetry inspired by Southeast Asia.

 

A Surprise

Hey you, please stop for just five minutes of your time is all I need,
Gently sit yourself down on that chair of brown and olive green tweed.
Slowly closing your eyes on ten for your little journey is about to begin,
See that red door open it wide and step inside to explore therein.
What can you see, hear, feel, smell and touch but where are you?
Let every sense guide on this journey to a place you many once knew.

The green of the chair has dissolved into a forest where its life began,
A place to escape a world of grey to plastic women and lying madman.
To the left is an old oak tree with branches stretched in every direction,
He is the grandfather of this world and in charge of its protection.
In a hole around the centre sits an owl of white purer than any snow,
Singing songs and telling tales far older than any human would know.

Below your feet do not kick or pick the crowd of toadstools gathered,
They are gossips and liars so always leave their questions unanswered.
Wait what is that sound like fingers down the blackboard at school?
Oh it is a grey squirrel running down the oak’s bark acting the fool!
Follow in and out the trees until you can no longer see or hear him,
As a gentle breeze catches up with you and starts tickling every limb.

Walking on into the forest a clearing stands where a two rivers meet.
Take off your socks and shoes to let their waters calm your tired feet.
The sun starts to set with a sound like a church bell tolling for mass,
Day is now almost over and before nightfall you must whistle with grass.
It brings up the red door once more to return home away from here,
Close the door as you enter and open your eyes but never forget there.

© Fi S. J. Brown

 

Written for World Poetry Day and International Day of Forests.

Prisoner F

Sticks and stones they threw in words and laughter bruising my skin,
Painting all in shades of purple, blue and red that nobody could see.
Hurting feet with a blade to answer why as rivers fell from my eyes,
Feeling trapped like prisoner all in green on life sentence at row M.

Outcast as nobody dare make friendship with the one with my name,
Only a fool would try but soon learnt to toe the unwritten party line.
Writing SOS notes in Latin hoping someone would hear my cries,
But would never take a final bow as wouldn’t give that final pleasure.

As stage was set for the final act I was pushed out and shown my place,
Forever on the sidelines not upfront with those I journeyed long with.
About to be released into the world with freedom as served my time,
For a bespoke crime that had been created for me by my fellow inmates.

They say that time can heal the pain but can never heal my scars,
Forgiving and forgetting actions now memories only takes me so far.
But I have no place for hateful thoughts or plotting my revenge,
They are but footnotes in a journey that they’ll know or understand.

© Fi S. J. Brown

The Circle

Sat alone but deep in thought by an old open fire,
As my palms go red from the tickling of its heat.
Hypnotically watching timbers turn into embers,
Shredding my thoughts with a bright orange cackle.
One by one they burn until they are nothing but dust,
That floats up the chimney to meet the evening air.
Which whistles along through streets and lanes,
Merging with the dawn chorus that awakens me.
Thoughts and memories will now be written afresh,
Until evening comes again with me sat by the fire.

© Fi S. J. Brown

Endless

Standing at the edge of the trench,
Like a hound waiting for the hunt,
And the whistle that begins it all.

Stepping blind as go over the top,
Gunfire ringing from ear to ear,
As Armageddon calls the shots.

Turning the poppy fields to red,
With rivers of blood and tears,
All in freedom’s tasteless name.

Telling tales to remember today,
Of fallen soldiers from the past,
With most in their thankful praise.

Forgetting the traumatised ones,
Those returned forever changed,
Forever at war with their demons.

Learning answers but never learnt,
As history continues to repeat itself,
And the innocent lives lost continues.

Dreaming in the west wind of peace,
While the eastern embers burn on,
And a south just wants to be heard.

Imaging with the words of Lennon,
But know lamenting is no solution,
When hate and fear sing louder.

Pondering if there is another way,
Filled with colour, love and empathy,
And one day Planet Earth will smile.

© Fi S. J. Brown

If

If life feels like you are trapped in someone else’s maze,
Remove their blindfold from your eyes letting in the light.
If you find yourself among the ragged men and plastic women,
Keep your individuality without a surgeon’s knives or needles.
Do not follow the monotone sound of the pied piper’s pipe,
Keep to the rhythm of your heart with its multicoloured tune.

If you feel lost in a forest surrounded by endless trees,
Tackle the roots first don’t try cut them down at the middle.
If something looks or sounds far to good to ever be true,
Listen to that instinctive reaction to run and never return.
Do not look back with painful regret if bitten on the bum,
For that creature will only return to attack again and again.

If you have friends you can trust with secrets that do not tell,
Do not stab them in the back with the knife they gave you.
If you can stop to help others without wanting fame or gain,
As others post on Facebook or Instagram to look at them.
Jealousy is filled with a bitter green liquid that envy loves,
Which spreads from outside to inside until burns you alive.

If your dreams seems to have all turned to rust or in ruin,
Use their foundations to create something even better.
If the world around you rages with thunder and lightning,
Learn to dance in the rain and jump in every puddle.
Getting wet is a simply reminder that you are alive today,
Even if the water is tears that roll down from your eyes.

© Fi S. J. Brown