A Centenary to Never Forget

An autumn breeze gently blows over Flanders Field
Poppies stand to attention in red
An autumn breeze gently blows over Flanders Field
One hundred years since they fell

All silent now from their guns and youthful screams
Poppies stand to attention in red
All silent now from their guns and youthful screams
One hundred years since they fell

Some returned only to experience daily repeats in mind
Poppies stand to attention in red
Some returned only to experience daily repeats in mind
One hundred years since they fell

And innocent nameless bystanders now but whispers
Poppies stand to attention in red
And innocent nameless bystanders now but whispers
One hundred years since they fell

That lead to a bloody pointless and unnecessary sequel
Poppies stand to attention in red
That lead to a bloody pointless and unnecessary sequel
One hundred years since they fell

And a dark song can be heard on across the world
Poppies stand to attention in red
And a dark song can be heard on across the world
One hundred years since they fell

But imagining peace’s white bells tolling with light
Poppies stand to attention in red
But imagining peace’s white bells tolling with light
One hundred years since they fell

Finally learning the lessons that time keeps repeating
Poppies stand to attention in red
Finally learning the lessons that time keeps repeating
One hundred years since they fell

© 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

Wabi Sabi Woman

I am a Wabi Sabi woman. I am far from perfect but what or who is? We all have quirks and idiosyncratic ways that give our personalities colour. We are all also fighting to bring down walls and barriers other people put in our way. They also may try to box us in or put walls up but together we can break them. Nobody is abnormal, failure or a freak, how we experience and live this life is different for us all. Pause to reflect the journey so far but not dwell on it and let the roots from that show who we are today. Equally, remembering what and who we are today form the roots of the future, if we’re putting off that choice or decision – do it. Finally, be gentle with ourselves and others, be a light in the darkness not one that switches off the torch.
© Fi S. J. Brown 

 

The Gift – Bullying

I caught a bit of the BBC 1 program “The Gift” tonight about a bully wanting to appologise to the boy he bullied at school many years ago, so of course I’ve been crying but it did make me think of my own experiences of being bullied. I was bullied at primary school by the girls and then moved schools to a girls only school but the bullying continued. Did I tell teachers and family – yes: My father’s comments at the time were his hands were tied, only to tell me when back in touch fifteen years later he wished he’d known I was; my mother’s attitude was girls will be girls, something that does not help when every day is a misery with it all and hoping each day it will change for the better but it never does.

I will admit by the age of 14 the idea of suicide was never far from my thoughts, I wanted to self harm but knew that would only cause more attention from them, which I did not want. Indeed eczema on my arms from the stress of it, which led to had quips on if I had been taking drugs! Losing my hair fully when young to being laughed at for being stupid, and taking all my school books for the day in one bag (as my mother wouldn’t let me use a locker like normal people encase I forgot something), looking back at times I think it is no wonder I was bullied for being different. However, being different is not a fault of any sort, in fact my school year was abnormally small so I stood out in our very fetching bottle green uniform.

To those of you that were at school with me, you know who I have grown into but not necessarily the journey it has taken me to put it all behind me. I would not want to meet some of those that bullied me then as for me it is in the past and has added to the colour of the person I am. I do not wish anyone else I care about to experience the pain and misery I felt in those years, so do what I can for my closest friends. I am a stronger, compassionate and loving person for the experiences. I was told by two different people it was said “nobody is friends with Fiona” to any new pupil starting; I won’t appologise for being your friend, as I appreciate you for what you bring to my life. They may have won battles, but I won the war.

© Fi S. J. Brown

The song of war

On this the 11th day of the 11th month I think of those that have given their lives physically and mentally in the name of war. Generations old and young lost in rivers of blood that flowed through Flanders Field and continue to this day. It is not only the fallen to think of but those that returned and replay the events in their minds unable to comprehend how and why.

The picture shows many crosses: I wrote one for Mr Glasgow, a childhood neighbour and prisoner in Japan that could not tell me of the horror he saw and heard; I also wrote one for my great uncle George that documented Africa through the lens of his camera with images of sadness and happiness; and finally I wrote one for the innocent bystanders that are nameless but not forgotten that war’s name has taken from their families.

A dreamer and ponderer I may be but I do not want to hear war’s red song, singing it as though it was glorious feels quite wrong. However, I thank those men, women, children and animals the song has called their name, those that returned only to be haunted by it, and those right now live in fear of his song. I hope one day you and I may sing the white song of peace.

© Fi S. J. Brown

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A poppy, a teardrop, a memory

On the 11th day of the 11th month at the 11th hour each year we remember those who gave their lives in times of war with a two minute silence. The closest Sunday to this the UK traditionally marks to remember all those who have given their lives for the peace and freedom by wearing a red poppy. These are almost our blood stained teardrops as we think of innocent lives lost in the senselessness of war. However, we should also shed a tear for those that did return home but are forever scarred by the sights and sounds they witnessed.

This year is extra poignant as marks a 100 years since the start of what is known as World War One, which those that fought would be the biggest war of all time but sadly it was not to be. Even as we pause in remembrance, many globally have their every day marked by seeing seas of red and hearing the battle drum get louder and louder, as the songs of war continue to be heard louder than ever as the words of peace and understanding become almost footnotes of history themselves.

Will we ever learn that the rivers are not meant to be red, but to run clear, free from the red, let it flow with love and understanding?

© Fi S. J. Brown

poppy

The rivers of war

Out from London Tower a river of red blood falls,
In memory of the fallen in wars now history books.
Each poppy is to mark a life taken far too soon,
A Sacrifice in freedom’s name for each one of us.

If we look the poppies are not just red of blood,
There are hidden colours that need to be seen.
Stems of green showing the jealousy and envy.
And black of the darkness and fear war brings.

Across the world there are many hidden rivers,
Filled with tears of pain, anger and depression.
And turned red with the blood spilt in revenge,
But where is the white of love, peace and hope?

© Fi S. J. Brown

Day of peace

As today is International Day of Peace, I took five minutes out of my day, shutting my eyes to think what it means to me.

Minute one – I thought of those that bring me comfort when sad, the people that make me smile and laugh, the way they look, the sounds of their voices and what they individually mean to me.
Minute two – I thought of the differences I have to the people above in my life, their little quirks and indocracies that I see as being very them, and the acceptance we have for each other.
Minute three – I thought of what life would be like without them in my life, how different it would be to it is now, and how I would react to someone or something hurting them in any way.
Minute four – I thought of those elsewhere in the world that have no one to love or trust in, live in continual threat of war, and where being different is stigmatised with fear of death.
Minute five – I thought of hope, to send to those that are in war zones, some have never known peace, how we magnify difference and not accept, and that one day that there will be peace.

© Fi S. J. Brown

Remembering and never forgetting

Today marks 100 years since the start of one war that humanity will never forget. I shut my eyes to try to imagine what these people did in the name of freedom for their countries: I immediately become deafened by the gunfire, falling over the lifeless bodies of sacrifice to an almost undeserving god, a loss of innocence on all sides, and memories no one that survived the battles would ever forget as scarred in their minds forever. A century on, the red rain continues to pour in every corner of the world. There is no way to shelter from it for once it starts, as is like monsoon season. Tears fall in fear, empathy, and sadness from all over the world as we do not know how to help. Sadly, many do not want to know now as too depressing, preferring their scripted soap operas or reality TV, which are exaggerations of every day life and an escapism from the real world.

Twenty years ago I wondered after the first Gulf War and the breakdown of Yugoslavia if there would ever be peace in my lifetime. Instinctively I knew there would not be as saw people bully me for the silliest of things day in and out, multiplying that up at a country level I sensed only more pain to come. Today I am not a dreamer, I am a realist, accepting what I could sense then. I cannot dream of a peaceful world when I see people everyday not accepting difference in another from gender, race, religion, sexuality and ability. Is it human nature to do so or do we let an arbitrary box dictate how to treat another person? As children we accept someone for who they are, maybe this is another thing we need to learn from them to keep us grounded in what matters.

© Fi S. J. Brown