The Rush

January 28, 2014January 28, 2014freyathewriter 29 Comments

If wishes were horses the devil would ride

He’d flay them with cruel whips and cut at their hides

Their strides he would lengthen with means all most foul

And scare their souls witless with a blood-freezing howl.

Those wishes are craven, all carved from regret

They weigh down our spirits, we cannot forget

all those lives we would live if times they had changed

and granted desires, hopes and dreams we’d arranged.

Like soldiers in battle ordered and neat

We planned our bright futures, could not wait to meet

the glorious high-life brilliantly displayed

Now disappointed we curse at the path, disarrayed.

Life is not like a spreadsheet, it’s wrinkled and rough

The devilish detail is knotted and tough

It will consume us in moments, time will speed past

Until we’re sighing our last breath, dismayed and aghast

at the time we have wasted on the roll of the dice

For at the end of the last day, no-one lives twice.

******

This poem came to me (yet again) on my travels on the London Underground last week. We were all herded out of the station as a man had suffered a heart attack and died on one of the platforms. It got me thinking about how there are no second chances, that we, a bunch of commuting strangers probably knew of his death before his own family – I found that fact on its own to be desperately sad. I wouldn’t choose to die in a London Underground station, in public – but that’s the point, we don’t often get to select the when, where and how of our death. So this, this is about making the most of every part of your life, because you really don’t know what’s lying in wait for you. Just don’t waste it, whatever you do…

Please do visit the dVerse Open Link Night for examples of some very fine poetry indeed – and be inspired… Join us! You can link up later at 3pm EST – or whatever that works out to, wherever in the world you may be…

Nudge

January 21, 2014freyathewriter 34 Comments

We fell to the ground grasping at glory
Determined to keep all our honour intact
The more that we reached out with hands clawed and scratching
Our goal disappeared, fabled not fact
Yet still we advanced like mad fools, demented
Determined to make our dream come alive
Harness the earth, make it bow to our bidding
Secure our mad futures, in dark times to thrive
All sense, love and wonder seem things long-forgotten
The one thing that matters is power driven greed
We dismiss those who caution, they’re mad men and tree-huggers
Yet step back, take a moment – what do you believe?
We don’t own this planet, never have in millennia
No, it’s not ours to discard when we’re over and done
There is only one Earth, live on it lightly
We don’t get a second chance – there is no re-run.

******

You might be pleased to note that I am ready to submit my work in progress novel to the writing competition! The synopsis was my task at this month’s writing group – goodness me, it was hard work, but well worth it. All I need to do now is write a cover letter, print it all out and post it off – how exciting! (It is to me, anyway!). If nothing else, I’ve got back into the swing of entering my work, so there’s no excuse now…

This week’s poem is, once again, inspired by my novelling – this time, the general backdrop of environmental distress. I hope you find it a little thought provoking?

Please do visit the dVerse Open Link Night for examples of some very fine poetry indeed – and be inspired… Join us!

Question Time

January 14, 2014freyathewriter 26 Comments

Are they really human

Those people at the top

That they can even think

Of letting the atom bomb drop?

Do they have minds

That work like this

Day in and day out

In maniacal bliss?

Do they drink and eat

Atomic genocide

And dream about explosions

From which only they can hide?

Do they have bacon for breakfast

Like any other man

Or do they eat mushroom clouds

Which you can’t fry in a pan?

Shall we let ourselves be run

By these inhuman heads of state?

Or do we assert ourselves

Before it gets too late?

******

As I wrestle with revisions, plot lines, character (assassinations) and general staring at an impending submission entry deadline, I have taken a trip down a (very long) memory lane this week.

I would be delighted to find out if, when reading this, you had any idea if this poem was written nearly 30 years ago, when I was but an angst-ridden teenager? This is the poem I mentioned in a previous post, being the last time I entered any sort of writing competition. I’m kind of impressed with my much younger self’s first forays into poetry, although I blush at the idealism – but isn’t that what being a teenager is partly about? It was the 1980s and I seem to remember being frightened silly by the prospect of nuclear war (which is rather sensible, when you think about it).

Thanks to my Mum digging out the book so that we could check the title (both of us could picture the cover, but not the name), I have managed to source a very good condition second hand copy, received it yesterday and am now able to share it with you all, just in time for the weekly extravaganza that is dVerse Open Link Night (which I will link up to later this evening).

The competition was run by the National Association of Youth Clubs in 1985 (I was 14 for most of that year) and was open to girls and young women between the ages of 8 and 22. I think I saw the notice about it in Jackie magazine, which was published weekly until 1993 (and is now defunct).

Come one, come all and join in at dVerse – and do let me know what you think of my old, old work 🙂