Her Light Burns Brightly

In honour of International Women’s Day, This poem pays tribute to all the women in history who paved the way for women today to enjoy the freedoms and rights that we do.

Image of Millicent Fawcett by dimitrisvetsikas1969 on Pixabay

Her Light Burns Brightly

Strong, resilient, like no other
Fighter, defender, lover, mother,
Teacher, leader, inspiration,
Backbone of a generation.
Of a kind, yet individual,
Shrugging off the chains residual
That remain from eons past,
Smashing ceilings made of glass.
She honours mothers, sisters, aunts,
Who fought to give her every chance
To vote, to lead, to work, to win,
To overcome history’s sins.
Her light burns brightly: in her wake
Are those she has inspired to take
The future into their own hands,
On their own terms, not those of man.

ⓒ2016 Joanne Van Leerdam

In celebration of all women on International Women’s Day: Her Light Burns Brightly by @jvlpoet
#poetry #poetrylovers #InternationalWomensDay #WomensHistory

This poem appears in the collection titled ‘Stained Glass’, dedicated to the strength and resilience of women.

Muse

Crowned with a garland of heavenly flowers
My muse appears at times of solitude;
Cherished companion of secluded hours,
Bestower of verses in plenitude. 
In precious moments of visitation
Her ephemeral presence comforts me; 
Her gifts of lyrical inspiration
Give birth to a wellspring of poetry,
Where thoughts and emotions cascade into 
A broad pool of thoughtful reflection
Where the seeker can find perspectives new      
Amid moments of deep introspection. 
Hers are the lines that purge my troubled soul:
Let these songs heal my heart and make me whole. 

***

‘Muse’ is one of the poems in the collection titled ‘The Passing Of The Night’.

©2016 Joanne Van Leerdam

Classy Humour.

The teacher stood at the front of the room, textbook in hand, as the students settled down to business. 

“Please open your text book to page four hundred and four, and… yes, James?”

The teacher looked with anticipation at the young man sitting in the second row, hand raised and an awkward smile on his face. 

“That page cannot he found.” 

His classmates looked confusedly at James, and then at the specified page in their own books.

The teacher frowned. “Are you sure? There must be some kind of mistake.”

James’ smile became a triumphant grin. “It’s an error 404.”

***

Credit for this story must be given to my student, James, who actually did this in one of his classes, and gave me permission to write it as a drabble.

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