Moonbathing at the Sea of Tranquility

Late night moothbathing at the Sea of Tranquility,
Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy in my hands.
Looking out towards the third rock from the sun,
Where the ragged men and plastic women live.
Sharing stories through filters on black mirrors,
As normal is something everyone wants to be.

Education did not teach compassion and empathy,
Maths rules from dead Greek men not equality.
How to fit neatly like packages in boxes with labels,
Squeeze left, right, up and down one size fits all.
Wearing their dirty old glasses full of fingerprints,
Stigmatising those that had a red not yellow labels.

One year a virus held them captive in their homes,
As the world carried on without their tuneless songs.
A time for reflection came with depression and anxiety,
But the galaxy did not answer their fears with tears.
The lessons it taught Earth's citizens lasted a lifetime,
As they burnt their boxes and became free for a while.

© 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

Locked in

Outside windows birds sing so loudly and freely
Inside we are the ones trapped in a cage with no bars
Tunes sweeter than the Easter chocolate now gone
As the bitterness of lockdown continues to bite us

Cloudless blue skies taunt like playground bullies
Making our tears the only water drops that will fall
We caged the animals in zoos and circuses for fun
Now we have been given karma’s gift from Earth

Just how long it will our collective sentences be
With our white mountains now made of toilet rolls
Office pens replaced by bits of penne or fusilli
And the only alcohol left is in the hand sanitiser

Few metallic beasts still roam the empty streets
Counting shrieking ones with flashing blue lights
For we all silently chant “we’re in this together”
But none of us want to ride on that beast’s back

The black box sells us fear in the name of news
As we click off and onto the web no spider made
To a book of the many faces we have ever known
And hide behind a mask that no virus can attack

How can something so small cause so much hurt
Yet we do it too with our words and actions daily
A finger that points now covers our muted mouths
Silencing the hate as the panic grows inside us all

One day this will be just another footnote in history
A human war that waged across the whole world
When a cough becomes less of a threat once more
Will we learn the lessons of 2020 that engulfed us

© Fi S. J. Brown

To Me (for Valentine’s Day)

Do not feel this day is only for lovers,
Love yourself and forget the others.
Twist from left to right to form a hug,
Or fill tea or coffee in your prized mug.

Stop counting flaws in worried fear,
Self-love is something sing and cheer.
And for all the tears you have shed,
Forgive yourself in whisper to the head.

Flowers and chocolates are nice things,
But a temporary fix for the heart strings.
Embrace your talents and value yourself,
Do not leave them making dust on a shelf.

Know your worth cannot be bought or sold,
And do not follow the path of fool’s gold.
You are free flowing like an endless wave,
An unbound spirit that few grasp or crave.

Embrace not in a passionate lustful kiss,
And fill with inner compassionate bliss.
Your light is bright like the stars at night,
Shine on knowing everything is alright.

© 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

Santa’s Blues

‘Tis almost that time of year,
That I fly through the air.
Avoiding speeding tickets,
And those low flying UFOs

Last year Donner had the trots,
Blixen got herself pregnant,
Prancer and Dancer retired,
And Rudolph won Strictly.

Kids today want too much,
Who do they think Santa is?
Do I look like Amazon.com?
What happen to wooden toys?

The elves all want to quit,
Some have repetitive strain,
Others demand flexitime,
And not one works overtime.

All Mrs Claus does is moan,
Once I tried the Atkins diet,
But nobody told me no beans,
Oh that poor old Ozone Layer.

So I have decided to quit,
Moving somewhere hotter,
With the blonde from Tinder,
Merry Christmas Everyone.

© 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

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.

The spider and the fly

The sun shines brightly in the early morning air,
Gems of dew twinkling and ringing in her glare.
As a lonely spider spins a web with artful care,
Moving in a defined zigzag pattern over there.
Drawing with her silken thread in silent fanfare,
No pausing to wonder at what she will ensnare.

A fly passes by in the sunbeam’s warming dance,
Attracted to the silken pattern with one glance.
Hoping he flies on by far away from the tool shed,
Or will he become hypnotised by web’s the trance?
Slyly she watches ready to pounce like a warhead,
As he takes a step ever closer to his deathbed.

Beside the tool shed proudly sits an old oak tree,
Now waving in the breeze to warn the fly to flee.
Shedding three of its leaves in a sacrificial plea,
In warning to the spider not to be quite so greedy.
She does not care so bites his head off with glee,
And runs off manically laughing like a banshee.

© Fi S. J. Brown