It Circles Round

It Circles Round

Vague coursing
Snaking inwardly
Back and over and under
Up and around
Then back down again—
Unknowingly knowingly unknown
Shifting, sifting, lifting
A restless, rootless
Wildness…
Refusing continuance
Bound and chained
To a life not my own.

(C) 11 October 1994, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Issues. Everybody’s Got Issues.

Issues. Everybody’s Got Issues.

Identity crisis would be just fine
Had someone not just smashed mine.
“I found myself.” “I lost myself.”
Everywhere: self, self, self.

Hello and how do I do?
I’m very sorry, have I met you?
Yes, I met me the day I’s born;
Then I left me all forlorn.

Oh, you poor and silly me.
How could you possibly not know me?
All my life I’ve felt so dizzy.
Gosh, finding me has kept me busy!

(C) 22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

P.T.S.D. Begins

P.T.S.D. Begins

Pinch me. Am I alive?
Yes, but I do not feel it.
Isn’t it strange to be alive yet feel dead,
Such deep wounds and never reveal it?

Nobody knows. Nobody sees.
Nobody knows except me?
Everyone knows. Everyone sees.
Everyone knows except me?

Constant turmoil. Constant calm.
Brightest clouds. Darkest sun.
Scorching rain. Pouring heat.
Standing still on the run.

Hiding in the open field;
Cowering in the hidden den;
Am I really so innocent
Drowning in the deepest sin?

(C) 22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

A Wound for a Heart

A Wound for a Heart

Bubbling, boiling, heatedly churning,
Frothing and foaming, emotions are burning
Into my heart, my stomach, my head,
Violently reeling alone on my bed.

I cannot stop thinking. The memories come…
Upheavals, eruptions, but just feeling numb.
My stomach is knotted; memories play in my mind.
Tormenting and mocking, my life in a bind.

Furiously hating, bitter rancor,
Anger, hurt, fear: my grudging anchor
Holds me in place, frozen in time—
Will I ever be free from their despicable crime?

Sapping my energy, draining my life,
The past cuts right through me like a well-sharpened knife.
Will I ever be freed from my past?
Will I ever find peace in my heart that will last?

The chains are too heavy, too tight and too much,
Tangled, intertwined with my soul in the clutch
Of their cold, evil fingers, tearing me apart—
Big, gaping wounds in the place of my heart.

(C) 17 January 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

That Old Nameless, Faceless Fear Again

That Old Nameless, Faceless Fear Again

I have known the terror
Of never being sure
Just when the next trauma
Would engulf my little world,
Of living out a nightmare
Yet appearing very good…
For whom?

I have known the terror
Of never feeling safe,
Of being ever vigilant,
Of pretending to be sedate…
How docile and passive—
Like an electric barbed wire!
But who cared?

I have known the terror
Of sleepless nights and sleep-filled days,
Of feeling lost and wandering
Through a mine-filled maze,
Of always looking back and forth,
Of never being sure…
Of whom?

(C) 23 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

My Eyes Have Told My Story All Along

My Eyes Have Told My Story All Along

I looked at some pictures the other day,
And, boy, what a big surprise!
I wasn’t as ugly as I was led to believe,
Regardless of my age or my size.

It was a stranger looking at me,
Yet I recognized my big sad eyes.
My story told a story amazingly clear.
They saw through a life of lies.

Fixed eyes and focused, sad and alone,
Waiting for the unseen…
Eyes filled with a purpose yet gentle and kind,
Fiery and strikingly keen.

Sweet eyes yet haunting,
Knowing yet stilled,
Ready to pounce,
Yet sealed.
Scares eyes and timid,
Searching for love,
Questioning without answers…
Hawk with eyes of dove.

Mysterious yet open,
Guarded but real,
Penetrating,
Much to reveal,

My eyes told my story
There all along,
But no one saw it before?
Clearly something’s wrong.

Yet my eyes covered it up,
Hiding inside,
Remaining undetected—
My life relied.

Yes, I looked at some pictures the other day,
And, boy, what a big surprise!
Seeing myself for the very first time
In my quietly beckoning eyes.

(C) 30 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Determined

Determined
In the heart of my heart is a door
Long locked and barred.
Aching. Yearning.
Deep desire.
What passion ruled me there?

I want to be loved, respected, admired.
I want to be an artist, serene.
I want to be saintly, earthy, risqué.
I want to be alive in all ways.
I want to be graceful, wise, fun, and deep.
I want to dance, sing, and run.

A secret compartment deep in my heart,
Buried yet ever with me.
Blocking. Preventing.
But not anymore.
Because I am determined to be me.

(C) 31 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Who Are You? Me!!

Who Are You? Me!!
Dark, deep swirling in the river of my soul,
Sucking whirlpool and crashing wave.
How I’ve longed to trace you and
The devilish pain you gave,
But I never could quite discover
Even who you were, you knave.

Struggle, strive, stretch, searching,
Desperate to find relief,
In every nook and cranny,
Turning over each stone and leaf;
I hounded you to dispatch you—
To rest finally was my belief.

Who are you, my constant companion,
Who I fear, hate, yet long to see?
You outwit me, and you mock me,
Yet you fit me to a tee.
I hate you now I love you.
How dare you be me!

(C) 5 January 1991, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Personally Balanced

Personally Balanced

If I were sweeter water still
And not some brackish brine,
If I were only whippoorwill
And not a herd of swine,
If I were only oak and ash
And never knotty pine,
If I were only lakes and trees
And not a deep coal mine,

Then I would lack the bass-er notes
That swell the symphony,
And I would even lack the pain
And tears of sympathy;
My life would only be so flat—
No room for empathy,
And I would—perfectly dull—
Not have much company!

(C) 5 January 1991, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Love’s Crumbs

Love’s Crumbs

She runs as if from danger,

Running with no time to spare.

She’s running as from a stranger fate than she has found there

In her isolated little room

Where her phone is her only source

Of life ouside her lonely tomb…

Draining of life force…

She’s too sad to sit and weep;

She’s too numb to feel;

She’d prefer to eat and sleep…

Upon her lips a seal—

You don’t miss what you’ve never had, do you?

She wonders.

She’s not had much share of joy…

She sighs, thinks she’s bad…
Her eyes are sad yet full

Of life…

She’d give her all for a crumb of love

And swear it’s the best she’d ever had…

She walks through life not knowing

Her own beauty or her power

Has a lovely way of showing

Her as a rare and beautiful flower.

ã12 November 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Scandal Mongers

Scandal Mongers

Off on a tangent, as though knowing all,

The reality of facts ne’er from their lips fall.

The heartbreak of scandal on innocent heads

Embarrassed beyond all shades of reds…

Speculation’s a game that has many risks.

Judgment’s a call of many tsk, tsk, tsks.

I told you so goes up the cry

Even if the truth be there to deny.

ã4 May 1999, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Harsh Forgivings

Harsh Forgivings

Life is like the ocean…

Its vastness is fluidly changing

Second to second

Even when calm;

The harshness affords little mercy,

But the depths hide many sins.

ã14 April 1998, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Please Don’t Leave Me Here All Alone

Please Don’t Leave Me Here All Alone

Away you go on a trip of which I cannot join,

And I am afraid.

Afraid you’ll go never to return;

Afraid you’ll die;

Frightened I’ll never see you alive again;

Frightened I’ll be alone

Forever…

Left behind…

Forgotten and unloved…

Unclaimed.

Unwanted forever.

ã19 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Instinctively Led

Instinctively Led

With hope as the anchor for my soul

As I feel so tossed and torn,

With steady course before me set,

I walk though weak and worn.

Others tread similar paths

Even though I feel alone.

I know my anchor will continue to hold

Even though I feel cut to the bone.

Confused and clear, numb and pained,

Trauma upon trauma relived,

Agonized hauntings my memories come

To make my whole life sieved.

Yet deep in my heart I hear the voice

Of God speaking to my spirit,

Telling me exactly which way I should go,

And, thankfully, my spirit can hear it.

ã22 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

OK, But Don’t Tell Me I’m Going to Like It!

OK, But Don’t Tell Me I’m Going to Like It!

What do you do when you’re all alone

And it strikes?

You cannot scream loud enough,

Or get numb enough,

Or run fast enough,

Or sleep deep enough

To escape again.

And you know escape is not even the answer.

But how do you welcome torment,

Embrace agony,

Beckon to torture,

Entreat misery,

Cohabit with trauma,

Flirt with devastation?

And damn it all! That’s the only way out.

ã31 October 1992, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

Recovery

Recovery

Pain, how I hate you,

You excruciating fiend,

Who causes me to cry out with the agony

Of a tortured mind and heart

That tears and ruins my body

And destroys my very soul.

You’ve made my life as miserable

As you possibly could…

But, you failed.

I live. I cry.

I breathe. I sigh.

I think. I try.

I love. Oh, my!

Pain, you gave all you could,

And you still try to wear me down,

But you might as well give up

Because I will banish you one day to hell…

You cannot ruin my spirit—

I will overcome!

I am a survivor, and I will fight you…

And the battle’s just begun!

ã17 January 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

A New Awakening to an Old Knowing

A New Awakening to an Old Knowing

God, I thought I knew you.

I thought I really did,

But when I really needed you,

Your face from me you hid.

As I searched for you and struggled

In the death roll of great pain,

What I thought I knew and had known before

Went racing through my brain.

Shattered, broken, shaken…

Something held me from long before,

Planted deep within my spirit—

Some supposed forgotten lore.

A deep voice sang in my ears again—

My heartbeat—the drum beat same,

“Look up, my child, and see the stars,

And know from whence you came.”

ã3 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

The Reclaiming of Me

The Reclaiming of Me

Why does it matter what you think of me?

Why should I be bothered by what you say or see?

Why does it upset me if you think I’m bad?

And why does it scare me if I think you’re mad?

Why do I not see myself as a person of great worth?

Why do I not see myself as valuable to Mother Earth?

Why must I torture myself, tear myself apart?

Why must I never heal the great sorrow of my heart?

Why can’t I see myself as a beautiful, strong woman?

Why can’t I just be me, under the thumb of no one?

Why do I hesitate to take up this warrioress’ fight? 

Why do I not trust myself to my vision and my sight?

Now I see it more clearly—the gynecidal plot

That tried to keep me trapped within something that I am not.

Arise, my soul, be strong against your foe,

For everything you really need inside your heart you know.

ã4 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

To Be Fully Aware

To Be Fully Aware

Pensively searching, questioning within,

Analyzing, sifting, scanning without stop

The whole of my life—and not just what appears

On the surface…

The eyes of my heart,

The heart of my soul,

My very essence,

My spirit…

Watches,

Searches,

Seeks,

And knows

Far more than I dare accept now,

But if I opened myself to all my perceptions

And lived by my real convictions,

Would I be happier, wholer?

Or would I be more threatening, threatened?

ã19 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.

The Real Within

Protection that is only without

Cannot protect the within,

For what is without can be taken away,

But what is within remains.

In death we cannot take the without.

Only our realness within will go.

ã19 December 1993, Daphne Yvonne Bradshaw.