Tag dVerse Meeting the Bar

Threshold – dVerse Meeting the Bar

freyathewriter 35 Comments

Here’s my latest entry into the dVerse Meeting the Bar. This week, Gay is asking us to reflect on ourselves, think about how we talk, what we say, reveal a little piece of us in poetry form. I confess, I found this tough, tough, tough. This year, life in the Freya world has been turned upside down, and then all the pieces put back in some form of random order, so I’m not really sure who this ‘me’ is. I think I’m at a chrysalis stage, just deciding what butterfly I’m going to be (positive spin, do you see?).

So, I’m not sure if I fulfil the brief, but better some words than none at all. I do use the language, it sounds typically British as well, I feel (a bit stilted, somewhat diffident, perhaps)?

Do visit the other poets who take part in this wonderful community… you’re in for a treat!

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– Threshold –

Being at a crossroads
Or maybe halted by a sudden fork,
not sure which direction I’ll follow,
even where the turn will take me
when I blink and look again –
I’m not sure of myself
Nor do I understand which me I am.
The work me is part of it
But what is the other me like?
How do I behave?
What do I do, or say, differently
when the responsibility is
sloughed off as I walk through the front door?
Some days, I bring it home.
Not my work concerns per se
Just the demeanour.
I think it’s time for a reinvention.
Long overdue, frivolity has been a stranger at my door.
Perhaps with jollity’s return,
the prospect of a new beginning
won’t leave that taste of fear
on my tongue.
The taste that stops the words
seeping out.

Body of Proof – dVerse Meeting the Bar

freyathewriter 22 Comments

Here’s my latest entry into the dVerse Meeting the Bar. This week, Anna is asking us to explore the art of conceit – such fun!

I wasn’t going to even attempt this, but the cruel mistress that is my Muse told me that once I had eaten some dinner, my poetic brain would kick in. I trust her. She is in charge. 🙂

This week, I am looking forward, not back. The past cannot be changed, and yet it shapes your future. You just have to not let it dominate.

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– Body of Proof –

My body is tossed to the shore,

Washed up, desiccated, roughened

Yet worn smooth –

The life I knew is distant,

A ship on the horizon

Rolling port to starboard

In the stormy seas.

I may be bladder-wracked

Time and tide has engulfed me

But I am still here

I breathe

I rest on the shingle

The morning heat blushes my skin

I open my eyes

Gaze at sun-kissed clouds

Carrying wind-winged promises

And know that all will be well.

All Whipped Up – dVerse Meeting the Bar

freyathewriter 42 Comments

Here’s my latest entry into the dVerse Meeting the Bar. This week, Gay is urging us to explore American Sentences, 17 syllables of deliciousness a little like haiku, but sentence-style and jazzed up, beat poetry style. Allen Ginsberg, anyone?

My selection are inspired by the sudden cold-snap we seem to be experiencing (I love a clear night sky with a bright, white moon!), plus a remembrance of the Great Storm of 2013 we were hit by a few weeks ago. Oh, and the sea, because that’s where I live!

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– All Whipped Up –

My beach is glorious in winter, few choose to brave the elements.

My cheeks, whipped raw by sand and spume, rosy testament to Nature’s gifts.

My waves suck and draw shingle, crush shells, shred seaweed, salt crusting old boots.

My shuttered shops, empty carousel, cacophony for eyes and ears.