Melanie’s Poetry

So a friend of mine generously supplied me with an unusual little book of poetry, it’s called “The Nest and the Turret,” by his late wife Melanie Farquharson Goddard Brose.

It’s a collection of musings that spans a four year period, 2015-2019, and they are a reflection of an unusual mind. There are thoughts about nature, the future, society, and keen observations into things that many of us would gloss over in our maybe not too-busy, but certainly less-studied lives.

She speaks of growing moss. One hundred days of rain. Kids filing into a museum. Featured below, a time paradox; reprinted with permission from her husband and featured in her book.

Enjoy; I did. Then give the book a look. It’s quirky, full of odd corners and unforeseen paths you’ll be glad you went down.


I can imagine your shiny silver metal rocket ship

skipping through the stratosphere

with endless elemental energy

I hope to hear your stories of decades

gone by in unexplored space at

unexplored time windows of gold, pinks, and blue…

wrapped in black cylinders.

Out bursts your rocket ship from a black cylinder in its descent

to a launch pad waiting to be built

for your launch decades ago.


This type of thing appeals to me, what a shame her writing is done. She obviously adored her little patch of heaven, a handsome old brick estate in the rolling Virginia hills, although her thoughts didn’t stay there. She skipped around, she had a wide range of interests. This is clear from her prose.

A statement that she makes:

Writing is very powerful as it can project thought from beyond where one can physically reach one’s body and the current moment.”

This echoes what was said by another poet, Robert Browning. “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, Or what’s a heaven for?”

Favorites of mine, really. This book is full of little nuggets like this. I never had the chance to talk this collection over with her. A missed chance to engage with a smart and observant lady.

The best I can do is make my circle of readers aware of this work.

Painfully, the final entry is followed by the simple words “Undated, final poem.” This somehow reminds me of the remark Rudyard Kipling made when he learned his only son had been killed during the Great War. “The boy made a good end in his first action.” The grief that is hidden behind a few sparse words.

“The Nest and the Turret.” A life celebrated in print.

I liked it, you can inquire about it here:

The Nest and the Turret, PO Box 147, Waterford VA 20197, USA.

It’s worth the old-fashioned approach. Seriously.

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