Tag Frustration

Blogspot comments – my nemesis!

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I am interrupting this programme for a public service announcement of sorts for my online blogging friends.

For the past couple of weeks, my ability to comment on blog posts where the host is Blogspot has been cruelly thwarted. This happens every now and again, but damn, it’s frustrating! I expect that this also happens for Blogspot bloggers who are trying to comment on WordPress. I’ve got to the point where my heart sinks a little when I open a blog to read a poem/piece of prose and see the blogspot url.

Here’s what happens. I write a comment, click on publish and the usual verification process doesn’t work. Instead, I am caught in a Groundhog Day kind of process where I click on ‘publish’ , the page refreshes and… I have to click on ‘publish’ again. Needless to say, most of the time, my comment can’t be published.

So, if you wonder where my comments are my Blogspot friends, they are probably floating around in the ether somewhere, never to be seen again.

I don’t know where the problem lies but I do hope the tech-geeks sort it out soon…

False Flag

freyathewriter Leave a comment

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This may not fit in

this may not sit well

with the order of things

with the man-made, dull hell

of the nine to the five

of the being eaten alive

by the overtime is king

by the work to survive

I’m not so conforming

I’m not so law-abiding

as my outward appearance

might lead you to believe

I might talk a good game

I might look meek and tame

I might primp, paint and preen

I might smile, might act keen

seem eager to please

seem happy to tease

and honour your superiority

bow down to your authority

but it’s all in your mind

but it’s not for you to decide

but look ‘round you’re behind me

I’m way out in front

my charm is the offensive

don’t get all defensive

It’s too late for that now

you know it’s the truth

Echo – VisDare

freyathewriter 8 Comments

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Mirrors are for the young. I even avoid those streets flanked by high-end stores enshrined in vast sheets of plate glass. Who needs to have their insipid reflection hurled back at them so remorselessly? Who needs to feel like an impostor amongst the throngs of the young and the beautiful?

I was one of them once, you know. I had legs up to there, a cleavage to die for and such grace, like a swan. Oh yes, the boys all wanted me.

The trouble is, in my mind I am still ‘that girl’. I still have ebony curls kissing my shoulders, rosebud lips, alabaster skin and flashing green eyes. I am still devastating. My hips still undulate and I still walk as if the pencil skirt was invented for me.

We all have to grow old, darling, on the outside. Inside, well that’s an entirely different matter…

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Here’s my latest entry to the lovely Angela’s VisDare.

I hope you enjoy this week’s entry- and please do visit VisDare for amazing poetry and prose!