Talking Head

How shall I find the strength to chase my joy,

this passion that sets light to every hour?

Mundanity serves only to annoy,

turning my face to frown and darkling glower.

In days gone by, I dreamed, to hide away

in attics, writing, high above the throng,

romantic thoughts which, in the light of day

then fizzled out. How could I be so wrong?

To think that I could write, that old refrain.

A proper job is what you need, that’s right!

The voice inside my head inflicted pain,

and negativity took hold, turned hope to fright.

But I have fought right back, doubt shall not win!

This writer’s heart beats strongly, deep within.

———-

I’m a little late, taking part in Tony’s dVerse Meeting the Bar challenge this week. Yesterday I travelled to deepest, darkest Wales to stay with my best friend and fellow (non-writing) creative. My long train journey has offered up many fresh pieces of flesh for my notebook, I can assure you!

So here I am in the bird-tweeting and sheep-baaing countryside, finally getting to Tony’s challenge, which is to write a sonnet. As you will see, I have chosen Shakespeare’s favourite rhyming pattern, given that I was born in the Midlands (the only thing I have in common with the great Bard!).

Thank you to Jo-hanna for her comment on line three – I switched ‘serves’ and ‘only’ around, and it reads much better now!

I hope you enjoy it – please do visit dVerse and see how the other poets have tackled this juicy treat!

Wallow – Friday Fictioneers

Here is my latest entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

melting-wax-renee-heath

Copyright – Renee Heath

– Wallow –

The candle had burned constantly for three years. Sophia had protested strongly at this persistent state of mourning. Nobody had listened.

She had left the door open on windy, wintry nights, hoping for a strong gust to extinguish the flame.

She had tried pinching out the flame herself, but her fingers just couldn’t seem to grasp hold of the charred wick.

She sighed, watching as the community indulged in more prayers as the third anniversary night progressed

When would they ever understand that she had wanted to pass over, that she was happy to be gone?

Living was definitely over-rated.

—-

Click on the blue froggy below to read others’ offerings!

Refraction

When I look in the mirror

I am generally disappointed.

 

In my mind’s eye

I envisage a colourful character,

rainbow-hued, vibrant, sparkling with light.

And then my critical eyes

find the silver streaks wiring through my hair

(which I had imagined to be luxurious

but my elephantine memory reminds me that

somebody once told me was thin and fine and somewhat limp)

and I add to that let-down the bags under my eyes

and the slightly receding chin

and the crooked front teeth

and the wide hips

and the thighs too sturdy for the skin-tight jeans I would love to wear

(the kind my younger, more svelte sister suits so well)

– and I am disappointed.

 

It’s a good job I don’t own a full-length mirror

and even better that I only see the top to toe me

when in the Ladies loos at work

and really, that doesn’t count, because it is only work.

I come to life after 6pm and at weekends

when my imagination runs riot.

 

And then, then, I am not disappointed.

No, I am not disappointed at all.

oh-the-stories-she-could-tell

 

———-

Tonight, in dVerse Poetics, Grace introduces us to the juicily, vibrant art of Cheryl Kellar. Cheryl has kindly allowed us to use some of her art as inspiration for our work this evening – aren’t we lucky!Herbiography gives me heart and hope – she was a court reporter by day, her artist-soul hidden underneath the precise (and I imagine) serious demeanour required for such a responsible job. Please do rifle through her website and also her blog for joyous and uplifting art.

So, here’s my response to the glorious work above, which is actually titled ‘Oh, the stories she could tell’ – oh couldn’t we, couldn’t we all?! Please do pop along to the dVerse bar and see what the other twice-weekly drinkers (err, I mean poets!) have been up to!