Who am I asking at the top of the tree Self-affirmation does nothing for me I can’t trust my instincts, they’re hay-wired and shot The message is scrambled, my brain’s lost the plot
I’m down on the floor, scraping in dirt A nod of acceptance won’t really hurt You in your turret, with glories to share Tell me, a poor wretch, that you do really care
For it is cold down below in the shade of your heart I live for attention, I am broken apart When you look to the beauty of others in sight Ignoring my mewling, I cower with fright
That I have lost you forever, I am lost in the dark The future is bleak, empty and stark I must go on without you, craft self-belief Strength, hope and glory must rise from this grief.
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This is me, putting myself in the shoes of one of the people in my work in progress novel, in the form of a poem. So don’t worry, I am not broken-hearted so soon into the New Year! Of course, there are elements of my personal history woven throughout, but this is essentially a piece of fiction. The main female character has lost her brother, has been left responsible for the safety of her little sister and the love of her life has taken a path she can no longer follow. Personal stories don’t change much in quasi-apocalyptic worlds, it’s the catalysts that are different….
Hurrah for the return of Open Link Night on dVerse. I will be linking up later on. Come one, come all and join in!
When the words don’t come easy When inspiration evades me When I must gouge every word from my bound and stitched mouth When the rhythm’s distorted When the rhyme pattern is thwarted When confidence is eroded by crippling self-doubt When I shrink before mastery When my skill is unsatisfactory When my fountain of words is foundered by drought That’s when I lay my soul bare That’s when I let myself care That’s when what I put there on the table is me It’s my heart, soul and body It’s what pushes and drives me I’m a poet, a writer, and words set me free.
Here’s my latest entry into the dVerse Meeting the Bar. This week, Gay is asking us to reflect on ourselves, think about how we talk, what we say, reveal a little piece of us in poetry form. I confess, I found this tough, tough, tough. This year, life in the Freya world has been turned upside down, and then all the pieces put back in some form of random order, so I’m not really sure who this ‘me’ is. I think I’m at a chrysalis stage, just deciding what butterfly I’m going to be (positive spin, do you see?).
So, I’m not sure if I fulfil the brief, but better some words than none at all. I do use the language, it sounds typically British as well, I feel (a bit stilted, somewhat diffident, perhaps)?
Do visit the other poets who take part in this wonderful community… you’re in for a treat!
*****
– Threshold –
Being at a crossroads Or maybe halted by a sudden fork, not sure which direction I’ll follow, even where the turn will take me when I blink and look again – I’m not sure of myself Nor do I understand which me I am. The work me is part of it But what is the other me like? How do I behave? What do I do, or say, differently when the responsibility is sloughed off as I walk through the front door? Some days, I bring it home. Not my work concerns per se Just the demeanour. I think it’s time for a reinvention. Long overdue, frivolity has been a stranger at my door. Perhaps with jollity’s return, the prospect of a new beginning
won’t leave that taste of fear on my tongue. The taste that stops the words seeping out.
