linda brinklow

Biography

I live on the Isle of Sheppey. I studied at Christchurch Canterbury and Goldsmiths College. My main subjects were Art/Education and Design Technology. I run an over 50ies group called Aspirations. I love writing poetry/especially about the island and its history and want to do more performance poetry and involve other people in my poetry.

Samples

FOOLISHNESS By Linda Brinklow 2018 The day was hot, The tunnel dark and musty, Sunlight filtered through, Revealing stains, where, the iron bolts were rusty. Emerging from the gloom, I was startled to see, Old Gus, complete with bike and box, Under the old fig tree. Painfully thin and frail, A shadow of his former self. His shaking hands reached down, To get an item from the shelf, From inside his box, Where- in he slept, And where is meagre possessions kept. “Gus where have you been? And what has happened to you?” I watched him .kettle in hand, Stoop down to make a brew. He falteringly replied, “In the Sierra Nevada Mountains, I nearly died”. Cycling all the way from Denmark, (A regular trip he made), Each year to stay in Gibraltar, Under the fig tree’s shade. Crossing the Sierra Nevada Mountains, The weather turned to snow, So he stopped, Bedded down in his box, No further could he go. All through the night snow fell, (While Gus- in his sleeping bag froze.) It buried his box and bike. Gus couldn’t feel his toes. Come morning Gus awoke to find, His box was now his prison, It took two days for the snow to melt, -After the sun had risen. “I thought I’d take the mountain route Instead of the coastal strip. This stupid mistake could have cost me my life, I’ll know better if next year I make this trip.” I never saw Gus under the old Fig tree again But once glimpsed him from the car As we travelled the coastal road, Through Spain. -------------------------------------------------------------- SUFFRAGETTES IN WARDEN 1914 (Information from the Sheerness Times and General Organiser) Twenty fifth of July nineteen fourteen, We ask you listeners to picture the scene. Warden Village – at Sheppey’s east end. A beautiful day, in which to spend, Time out of doors. A nearby field, so kindly lent, Hours of planning had been spent, Preparing, organising, raising funds (from Warden through to Leysdown and to Harty,) For this summer’s children’s party, Organised by the committee. Over 100 local children expected. Large marquee by the committee team erected. Tea and cakes and fizzy pop, Games and races- fun none stop. ‘Till- after every one had eaten, And many competitors squarely beaten, Came a most surprising event. Two ladies, one with axe and one with hammer in hand, Emerged while played the Sheerness Band. Unfurled a banner, held on high. “VOTES FOR WOMEN”. They did cry. With damaging gestures- it was publicity that they sought, So swiftly both of them were caught, By PC A Berry- who cuffed and detained, These two invaders who were named; Mrs Pancake and Miss Evelyn, The strangest Suffragettes ever seen. Both prisoners, local men in drag, Were rumbled when one got out a fag. Their discovery, a bitter, bitter blow, BUT It only goes to show, How far the fame of Suffragettes had spread, And just how much, authorities lived in dread, Of militant Suffragettes.

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