Silk

February 4, 2014February 4, 2014freyathewriter 46 Comments

And so the tissue-thin skin
covering the scar, sealing in the hurt and anger and grief
and burning, scalding emptiness
has stood well against the test of time.
Or so I think.
A famous sportsman has a skiing accident
A businessman dies in a London underground station
Another throws himself from a tall building in the City
A famous actor’s life is cut short – snap – just like that
And the delicate strands of the healing unravel, tear, gape.
The wound is opened, the bloody depths are revealed.
My throat stretches and aches to keep back the tears
and my eyes burn.
I am reminded that grief is not a path from A to B.
It meanders, traverses peaks and chasms, navigates switchbacks and
launches me into the air.
My parachute is gone, only ropes snaking my ankles –
freefall beckons and just, just when I think I will hit the ground
I am yanked back, ligaments and muscles tearing with effort
to just keep going.
It’s the hardest work I ever imagined.
Because that sorrow, that jolt, that catch of breath isn’t for those who have died, or are unaware.
It is for the souls left behind, making new patterns out of just getting through
wanting it to be temporary-permanent-over-never to end.
What’s left on the other side?
It is this. Just this.

******

This week, I am releasing some of my pent-up emotions. Life is filled with light and shade. This is how it is, sometimes.

Please do visit the dVerse Open Link Night for examples of some very fine poetry indeed – and be inspired… Join us! I will link up to this week’s post later today.

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 🙂