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Martini (dirty)

freyathewriter 5 Comments 
Once in a lifetime I hover
at the threshold, made ice
with fear, thawed by hope 
yet brittle with acceptance 
for this is no rehearsal; no
amount of practising the 
u
 n
  f
   u
    r
     l
      i
       n
        g
of your life
can prepare me for your journey 

and this will not be
the last time, for you are the first
the most important, paving the way
and perhaps, because of that
I fancy this gives you solace
together with the drama
that your departure creates;
a fanfare marking your final parade

you are not keen on acceptances
nor being the quiet man
preferring to make waves, no, bloody storms! 
your greatest fear is 
being left behind, so you leave first
slamming the door shut
to make your point

hope is a barbed crown of roses 
scratching your scalp red-raw, blood
and perylene petals not merging, but fighting
like the tigers in your soul; I never know which one will win
fearing one, hoping for the other
understanding
finally, that I have no say

as for the ice?
you prefer it
- - floating - -
in your martini (dirty)
two olives, pierced

and even still you raise your glass chin chin
and I ciao ciao
you, always present, never past tense
au revoir, Dad
this is not goodbye.


Over at dVerse Poets Pub, it’s time to dive into a bit of Poetics with our friendly host, Kim. This week she has asked us to be inspired by the glorious poem ‘The Window’ by Mary Jean Chan, which you can read here. Her poem won second prize in the 2017 National Poetry Competition.

Kim has asked us re-read and explore Chan’s poem,  particularly the use of line breaks and caesura to build rhythm and evoke emotion, and the three-word movement: “anger is like the sun, which is like love” and then write a poem that begins with ‘Once in a lifetime’, just like Mary Jean Chan’s.

Writing this was certainly enjoyable but quite a challenge to begin with, and then I got into a rhythm, losing myself in the process. Even though it’s thirteen years since my dad died, he’s still inspiring me. His death certainly wasn’t goodbye!

If you’d like to join us, head over to dVerse, follow the guidelines and most of all, have fun!

(Image by https://www.pexels.com/@amine-kubranur-cakiroglu-689611212/ on Pexels).

Gold – TJ’s Household Haiku Challenge

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IMG_2318

All that glisters is

generally gold, but is its

glory what we need?

 

people shine in our

hearts, more permanent, more true,

but so transient

 

It’s time for TJ’s Household Haiku Challenge, where today the prompt is ‘gold’. That precious metal s something many hanker after, but what does it truly give us, in the end?

Please do take part – it’s fun!

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Look up! Microfiction Challenge #9 – Rainbow

freyathewriter 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?