Tag Life

The watcher – W3 Prompt

freyathewriter 13 Comments

Image – author’s own

Those hands,
those deliberate hands
stroking the covers, the pages
caressing them with fingers gloved in leather
I saw them, those fingers, turning page, after page
after page.
Closing a book
placing it to one side
taking another from the pile
set, neatly, tidily, monumentally in the aisle

Those eyes,
Those appraising eyes
looking down, and, then up,
caressing me with ice grey, narrowed in thought
reading me in place of the words on the page
after page
Closing a book
placing me to one side
taking another from the pile
setting me neatly, tidily, placing me in your file

His lips,
his tongue that he slips
between his teeth, fingers he licks
gloved flingers that flip
through pages of books
that he sees but not reads, his covert, foul needs
barely hidden from sight
in the library at night.

A crescendo is reached,
my fear, lurking, creeps
boils out of my skin
I shall not hide from him
I rise, tall and strong,
take my stand
stride my stride
I

walk
to
his
side

I see you
I say
this is the last day that you do this
in your gloved, threatening way
I’m taking a leaf right out of your book
Filing you away, waiting for the day
Until you’re erased and deleted

And I will say
Let him look

*****

Through taking part in the dVerse Open Link Night, I discovered a new-to-me poetry prompt – W3. Organised by David over at The Skeptic’s Kaddish, each week a different poet is Poet of the Week, who’s poem each participant reads before submitting their poem in response to the prompt. The poems are then read by the Poet of the Week who selects the next week’s Poet of the Week.

W3 Prompt #84: Wea’ve Written Weekly’s poet of the week, Selma, has prompted us to write a memory poem reflecting on and celebrating personal memories and experiences, which often evoke feelings of nostalgia, joy, or sadness. She stipulated that it must be between 100 and 300 words long, and must end with ‘Let him/her look’.

I wouldn’t necessarily classify my poem as being nostalgic, but it was definitely inspired by sadness and a heft dollop of fear.

I hope you enjoy reading this poem – do hop on over to the link above on The Skeptic’s Kaddish blog to read more of the wonderful poems. You could even take part yourself!

dVerse Poetics – Blessed

freyathewriter 25 Comments

Image – author’s own

We didn’t know we didn’t want it
Until we’d passed it all around
We didn’t know how to stop it
So many six feet under ground

Our homes they began to empty
Some tried to run far away
The brave ones locked the village down 
Others fell to their knees to pray

The vicar held services in the fields
The church was locked up tight
Still the sickness danced in the air
Giving us death deep in the night

We saw not a soul in fourteen months
Our dead in our gardens now rest
The streets have been emptied of laughter and joy
But we are alive, so we must be blessed

*****

Tonight over on dVerse, Merril is our genial host and has asked to write on the theme of giving. I learned a new thing, that the Tuesday after US Thanksgiving is known as Giving Tuesday when people often donate to charitable organisations and non-profits.

Now… true to type, I have at first sight opted for the giving, or passing around, of something unpleasant – disease. My poem is inspired by the village of Eyam in Derbyshire which was infected by the Great Plague in 1665, after a parcel of infected cloth was delivered from London to the village tailor. Under the leadership of the rector, Reverend William Mompesson and his predecessor, Reverend Thomas Stanley, the village took measures to prevent the plague spreading to the surrounding area and also to limit, where possible, spread of disease within the village.

Of the 800 people living in the village, 260 died. If it hadn’t been for the brave actions the community took, the surrounding areas could have been at least as badly affected as Eyam. This is the real gift behind my poem.

The photo above is a window in the village church, telling the story of Eyam and the Great Plague. If you wold like to know more, please check out the village website here.

If you would like to read more poems on the theme of giving, please hop over to dVerse and enjoy! You could also take part if the mood strikes you!

Superfat Seven

freyathewriter 2 Comments

Yesterday I was having a chat with one of my writer friends about putting your face online. He has just launched the second novel in his series about Ardamin, a clone inhabiting a dystopian future (check the series out here on Amazon) and he has been promoting the latest novel on Instagram, including showing himself with his book.

So far, so normal. Unless you’re me, or someone like me. I’ve been running this blog since April 2013 (with some gaps for life events) and I’ve never put my face, let alone my body, on view. Over on my Instagram account there are maybe three instances where I’ve revealed myself as an adult. That’s out of 581 posts I’ve put up over there. And… to be honest I fight every day not to take them down. I may yet do that.

Why?

Superfat Seven.

When I was nine, we moved house, from a big city to a village. I was The New Girl. And some boys in the class below me immediately started calling me Superfat Seven. Until this point, I don’t think I’d ever thought about how I compared to other kids in my class. I was just me. That name would follow me everywhere I went, and I dreaded walking home from school if they were on the same street (which they often were) because the name calling would follow me home. I’ve seen photos of myself at that age and I can’t see why they chose that name, looking at it objectively. I had pudgy cheeks, but I wasn’t the huge lump that I very quickly saw myself as due to this name. Looking back, I guess the sole reason I was bullied was because I was The New Girl. That was it. But, the name had life-changing consequences.

I’ve never been diagnosed (I’ve never sought it out), but I’m almost certain I have Body Dysmorphia. I will do almost anything to avoid having my photograph taken. Even with family photos as I was growing up, I desperately wanted to grab the camera and throw it to the floor. But I was a well-behaved kid and knew that cameras were expensive so… I didn’t. I can’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. The only thing I focus on when doing my hair in the morning is the hair itself. When going somewhere where I have to be presentable, I focus on the neatness and cleanliness of the clothes themselves and whether what I have chosen is objectively ‘good enough’, not how I look in what I am wearing, because I will never accept how I look.

I have learned to mask the depression and anxiety that this has caused, but it has become entangled in other issues over the years. Unravelling it all seems like another lifetime’s work. Masking is what we do to get by in life, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t for one minute think that anyone else is bothered by how I look, nor do I think I am the focus of their attention. This is all about my inability to accept myself.

Superfat Seven.

What has this got to do with writing, with being an author? A hell of a lot, actually. Marketing your novel when the perceived wisdom is that you will be more approachable, more memorable, more relatable (I hate that word so much!) if you show your face, is a huge problem for someone like me. I know so many other authors who have their Instagram account filled with themselves. Their posts are bright and engaging and… relatable.

The upside is that I used this crushing mental health issue (because it is a mental health issue, let’s be honest) to my advantage when writing Callie, the main character in Anti-Virus. The cause of her situation is very different and entirely more violent than childhood bullying, but I was able to build on my personal experiences to create her story. So, there is that.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. It may be true. Sometimes though, it would be such a relief to be strong without having to go via Superfat Seven Highway to get there.