But my hair is OK – With Real Toads

August 14, 2016freyathewriter 18 Comments

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Whose idea was it

– please enlighten me –

back in the eighties

to instal changing rooms in clothes shops

with no privacy?

Mirrors were no friend of mine at home

let alone when in the company of svelte girls.

Harsh-lit under lighting

guaranteed to magnify my cellulite

and glint on the mouthful of metal

glued to my teeth by a dentist with no pity for

teenage sensitivity.

I was encircled by girls –

with perfect hair

with perfect bodies

with perfect teeth

with perfect make up.

Whose idea was it, I ask you?

It was the school changing rooms all over again

and the dash through the communal showers

as fast as I could without slipping over on those

god-awful brown and yellow tiles.

I still hate shopping for clothes –

thighs too robust to fit in jeans

knees too chunky for on-the-knee skirts

biceps too muscly for long sleeved shirts.

I like my hair though.

It’s too wild and woolly for fashion these days.

But about that one thing, I don’t care.

Over at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, Magaly is hosting and asks us to write about one of three bees – the Queen Bee, the bee that works the hardest or the bee that doesn’t fit in. Of course I chose the latter. I don’t feel that I’ve ever fitted in anywhere really (although the writing and art community seems to be suiting me rather well these days!). That not fitting in thing was certainly a theme of my growing up…

Please head on over to The Garden, have a good read and if you feel inspired, join in!

Look up! Microfiction Challenge #9 – Rainbow

August 14, 2016freyathewriter 13 Comments

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Sky painted with an ethereal hand, if only he would care to notice. But, as always, he was too full of himself, of visualising his increasing bank balance, of mentally spending it on new furniture, an extension, a pool, a double garage.

Sky sighed. She had been trying for years, chasing him around the globe, waiting for just the right moment after the sun-infused shower to wave her paintbrush in a great arc and illuminate the heavens with her multi-faceted glory. But she always failed. He was obtuse and oblivious..

Anger roiled from the depths of her being, a white heat rose from the soles of her delicately shod feet and coursed through her veins, clothing the forbidding clouds in a brief but intense flash. She opened her mouth and a great growl spewed forth, years of pent-up frustration shaking the trees, the rivers, the houses below with its violence.

He stopped in his tracks as fat tears of sorrow lashed his face, flattened his hair to his scalp, stuck his shirt to his skin. Lightning and thunder filled his void and then, then he looked up as a great bolt split the sky and tore his house asunder. All became still, as if the world was holding its breath.

“Janice? Janice? it’s me, Mike. Oh my God, the storm! It’s all gone, our beautiful home, our car, everything destroyed!” Mike winced in anticipation, waiting for the wrath of his wife to assault his ears.

“But are you OK, Mike? You’re not hurt?”

“I’m fine, but our house -”

“It’s just bricks and mortar. You are my home, that’s all that matters.” Her voice was gentle, soft, warm. He had failed to noticed these little things for such a long time.

It was then that he saw the rainbow. Finally. Sky rested her paintbrush and allowed a few final tears to fall to the earth. Her work was done.

Thanks to the lovely Michael, who I have known via the internets ( :)) for some time now, I have found this Microfiction Challenge from Jane Dougherty, who this week invites to write on rainbows. Please do head on over to Jane’s blog to enjoy the writerly goodness – and why not take part too?

Ripples – A Dash of Sunny

August 14, 2016freyathewriter 14 Comments

When the words don’t come easy

When inspiration evades me
When I must gouge every word from my bound and stitched mouth
When the rhythm’s distorted
When the rhyme pattern is thwarted
When confidence is eroded by crippling self-doubt
When I shrink before mastery
When my skill is unsatisfactory
When my fountain of words is foundered by drought
That’s when I lay my soul bare
That’s when I let myself care
That’s when what I put there on the table is me
It’s my heart, soul and body
It’s what pushes and drives me
I’m a poet, a writer, and words set me free.

It’s time for the weekly prompt from A Dash of Sunny! This week, we are asked to write on intuition, instinct and creativity. The poem above is a reprise of some work of a few years ago – ironically my muse is taking me to art today, not to writing, but I wanted to take part nonetheless, hence my sneaky, cheaty reprise! How ironic also, that this pieces is about inspiration and the drive to write! It’s always there, but sometimes, I have to take a time out to recharge and re-craft a little later on.

Please head on over to A Dash of Sunny and read, and enjoy!