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 🙂

Masquerade – Friday Fictioneers

January 9, 2014freyathewriter 16 Comments

After a few weeks of festive absence, here I am with my entry into the weekly challenge brought to us by the lovely Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

Here are the rules: Use the photo as inspiration, write a hundred(ish) words – and share! Here goes my offering for this week – and I welcome your comments again!

Copyright - Dawn Q. Landau

Copyright – Dawn Q. Landau

– Masquerade –

“So our extensive funding for your art installation has produced… this?”

I hated him, and his condescension. I counted to ten, desperate for Jilly to fill the silence. She did.

“Mr Rogers, of course you know that this is a Second World War pill box. You will also realise – being an expert in military history – that it is the only one in the country to have been manned entirely by gay men. They were ready to lay down their lives, just the same as everyone else. Sadly, it was the only place in the world where they felt safe to be themselves. Ironic, don’t you think?”

Take that, you bigot.

—-

Click on the blue froggy below to read others’ offerings!

Principles – Five Sentence Fiction

November 17, 2013freyathewriter 9 Comments

It’s time for my latest offering to Lillie McFerrin’s Five Sentence Fiction, a weekly prompt where there is no word limit, just a limit on the number of sentences. Plus, although she provides a word prompt, it is just for direction only – you don’t have to include the word itself in your contribution.

This week, the prompt is – LETTERS.

Do let me know what you think of my offering below – and whilst you’re at it, why not take a look at everyone else’s offerings (I’m sure they’ll be fabulous), and even give it a go yourself…

*****

– Principles –

Granny had kept all the letters from her childhood sweetheart – they were tied together with a faded ribbon and hidden in a battered suitcase on top of her wardrobe.

Now Granny was gone, there was nothing to stop me from reading them at last.

As a little girl, I had been fascinated with them as she allowed me to organise the envelopes into date order, or by their colour – but I was never, ever to take the letters out, let alone read them.

I settled myself down to read, gradually unwinding the secrets of her mysterious youth.

I never expected to learn that she had been abandoned by her sweetheart for daring to fight for women’s suffrage – his loss.

Image from Wikimedia Commons – Nancy

Lillie McFerrin Writes