Biography

Freda Davis began writing poetry when Elvis sang ‘Heartbreak Hotel’. First poem published in Liverpool Mag 'Phoenix 9' Summer 1963 alongside Roger McGough, David Selzer and Brian Patten. Her poems are inspired by nature and the seasons, mind and body, pagan and feminist themes. Her work is funny, rhythmical and has a musical quality good for reading aloud. Her feminist poetry was published in 'Spare Rib' magazine and the Women’s Health tome 'Our Bodies Ourselves' (Penguin 1989) and poems on life and the mind, in Calderdale Mind magazine in the 90’s. She has performed at Lancaster Uni 70-73, with Bradford Women Singers' in the early 90’s and with Puzzle Hall Poets in Sowerby Bridge for last decade. She has produced two of her own collections: 'Sympathetic Magic' (1990) on inner and outer journeys, and ‘Well Woman Poems’ (2003) which brings together her observations on the struggle to stay well in an unbalanced world. Freda is also a line artist. Her magical moon calendar is widely sold and is echoed in her many, nature-based, spiritual poems.
Freda is also a keen member of Puzzle Poets wanting to develop the venue as a high quality, fun reading and performance space for poets.

Samples

Puppy

Half past eight in the morning
Nobody else was up.
I would have been asleep myself
But we had a brand new Pup
The air was sharp and breezy,
The ground wet from overnight rains
The sky like a well used tea towel
Dirty grey with a few red stains.
We trotted downhill to the river,
The dog leaving marks on the wall.
Over the bridge and into the woods.
This was our regular stroll.

We surprised a gossip of squirrels
The puppy was off like a hound.
One fled on the path up the hillside
like a leaf drifting over the ground.

As we stood, yellow light burst around us.
The sun shot up over the hill.
The trunks of the trees became lemon and gold
and a rainbow dropped down to the mill.
All the beech leaves shone copper like money.

We stared at the sight,
and stood still.


LOVE TURNS THE WHEEL

Love turns the wheel,
The knife turns in the wound.
The stars turn in their courses.
I turn tail.
This whirling world.
My turn is yet to come.
I am the clown, who falls about the ring,
And turns the children's tears to mockery.
They ring upon my ears.
I turn to stone.
I spin, I am the top.
You hold the whip.
This is the twist that turns your mind to me.
Love is the roundabout.
We ride its hub.
A wheel of fortune, spun with tears and time.

METRO LAMENT

On the Brighouse bus
They make no fuss
As it rolls and swings
Round Ellands’ rings.
It follows the Calder
By Abbey and Mills
through Mirfield and Raven
Up Dewsbury Hill.
It takes no heed
Of Osset’s need
But flies on to Wakefield
However you plead.

When all’s said and done
It’s much more fun
On the 251
Through Batley, Birstall, Birkenshaw, Brierly, Bradford.

Well it’s neck and neck
Through Cleck and Heck
On the Sheffield Express
That I caught on spec.
Not counting the cost.
But the driver got lost
For an hour and a half
On a half hour run
And we all felt a wreck
When that trip was done.

When all’s said and done
It’s much more fun
On the 251
Through Batley, Birstall, Birkenshaw, Brierly, Bradford.

Through Wakefield Westgate
The Intercity.
High speed Express mate.
So what a pity
That mishaps at Leeds
Reduce these speeds
And trains are delayed
Till nerves are frayed
And the Halifax train
Is late again.

When all’s said and done
It’s much more fun
On the 251
Through Batley, Birstall, Birkenshaw, Brierly, Bradford.

All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.

Last blog entry

Winter Morning

Posted on Friday 26th September 2008 8:08 pm

 

Now the golden leaves are gone.
Winter, barefoot, stalks alone,
Through the naked trees.

Gone the warmth from sun and sky.
Gone the dancing butterfly.
Gone the summer bees.

Winter stirs the withered grass.
Trees draw back to let her pass
Fearing her cold breath.

Leaden snow clouds crowd the air.
Lonely sea birds wail up there
Crying tales of death.

All the sounds of earth and sky
Sing a mournful lullaby
In the winter dawn.

While the sun, with feeble light
Melts the shadows of the night
And flickers on the lawn.

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