Category Poetry

Running to stand still

freyathewriter 18 Comments

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time oft hangs heavy

but our growth can be stunted

in this fast-paced world

 

I can be a bit of a flibbertigibbet, hopping from one prompt to another. I love continuity and stability at the same time. I’m a bit of a Schrodinger’s Writer!

I found this prompt courtesy of my new-found blogging friend, Shadeau (thank you, dear lady for popping up in my reader today!).

So here is my entry into the Ronovan Writes weekly haiku prompt, where we are invited to write on the themes of time and grow. I did use ‘growth’ instead, I hope nobody minds!

Why not take part yourself?

 

The sound of your day

freyathewriter 10 Comments

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What does your day sound like?
The groan that escapes through a mildly bitten lip as you haul your carcass out of bed.
The muted shuffle of slippers on laminate floor and the rasp of terry towelling against skin as you multi-task your way to the bathroom.
The squeak of naked foot against the bath as you slip into the shower – quite literally.
A sigh this time as the soft, warm water- needles pummel your skin,
and the voice of your thoughts, your thoughts, your need to stay just there, just there forever
(or at least for as long as the hot water lasts).
But it’s a work-day, or a shopping-day, or a car-washing-day, or a take-the-kids-to-the movies day
and you have to desert your naked haven and get-damn-dressed.
One day, you promise yourself,
your day will sound like ripe cherries squeaking against your teeth as you bite into their shiny skin and the juice runs down your chin.
One day, your day will sound like your daughter’s gleeful chuckle when she found the Easter eggs hiding in the crook of the branches of the old plum tree.

One day, you promise yourself, your day will taste of freedom.

 

On my way home, I was listening to an interview on the Radio 4 Woman’s Hour podcast, with Felicity Ford who is a sonic artist (and knitter). She was talking about a project she engaged on to encapsulate the knitting history of the women of the Shetland Islands. This made me think about what a day would sound like (and then I I slipped into taste).

Can anyone identify with my poem?

Bitter sun – Poetic Bloomings

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the (hang)-dog days of summer

tangle themselves in my hair

and the curlicue corkscrews plaster themselves

to my forehead, shiny and greasy with sweat.

I attempt to cool myself

and enjoy a chilled glass of wine

but all I get is a headache

a dry mouth and a hankering for shade.

Summer nights under the stars ain’t all that –

in the northern hemisphere,

once the sun has gone and the sky is cloudless

you’re wishing for your duvet

and a hot cup of tea.

stars may be beautiful, tiny jewels above your head

but they don’t protect you from the chill

and crawling gooseflesh skin.

Yah, kissed by the sun is just  a euphemism –

for scorching sunburn –

for skin raked raw by sand

and swimsuit straps,

and don’t even tell me about trying to pat yourself dry after that needle-sharp shower.

Me? I love summer…

 

Here’s my latest offering to my new found love – ah, Poetic Bloomings, you are a treasure! Tonight, we are asked to use four (or more) of the ten phrases that are often used to sum up the summer experience.

I had great fun with this – and please, take it all as tongue in cheek. I love what passes for Summer here in the UK, although I do wish we had more, errr, sun!

Please do hope on over to Poetic Bloomings to take part, or just read and enjoy!