Stand, Listen, Regret

basking

raising my face to the sun
closing eyes to recede
and join the world
one and the same

ears buffeted by a breeze
a low note faceted with the subtle chill of autumn
whilst the high, bright notes are playful
bringing the bleat of ewes and adolescent lambs
the metallic clunk of farm machinery
tractors are tested, dismantled and put to bed
until the fecund seasons start once more

silence and boil
whisper and yell
contrast me
still —
silent with all that surrounds
the quietude is a fallacy
or perhaps not
perhaps striving for silence is something we created
to battle against the noise of our minds
the clamour of our industry
the demands of our modernity
the delusion of an easier life
machines doing our work

illusory

and yet —
how have we filled those dreamed-of empty hours?
our cups overflow
too much data
haptics vibrating
upticks in our constant chase
rat-defined race
the creeping animals are left breathless in our verminous wake

there is no silence

all those people underground tapping the underside
reflection of what we desired
or what nightmarish imaginings we strove to evade

they come to haunt
those things we spent our time aiming to miss
We are no better than those who came before
before
... before

and before

we merely found new ways to become the animals that we truly are
cannibals

destroyers of futures
creators of destruction

So I stand

I listen
I, regret
I... stand
I
listen

yet

Over at dVerse, Grace is inviting us to write a descort, which is a poem of deliberate difference rather than having a defined form like, say, a villanelle. She suggest that we might experiment with:

*varying line lengths
*changing rhythms or meters
*inconsistent rhyme schemes
*different stanza shapes
*shifts in voice or perspective
*fragments alongside complete sentences
*the use of another language or dialect
*unusual visual arrangements on the page

We don’t need to use all of these techniques, but keep in the mind the key principle: Let the discord mean something.

This was quite the challenge, but a lot of fun. If you want to give it a try, head on over to dVerse (linked above), read Grace’s helpful guide and join us!

The waiting game

My partner has said on more than one occasion that she would hate to be inside my head. Frankly, I don’t blame her.

I find it incredibly difficult to properly relax. I used to think that this was normal, that everyone felt this way, but apparently, this is not true. Go figure.

Take this time right now, the fallow period, if you will. My precious gem of a book baby, Anti-Virus, is with my much-valued ARC readers. I am giving them time to read it, at their own pace. Because we all have lives and commitments, the summer is basically theirs. There isn’t a great deal for me to do for the next couple of months.

My brain is making me feel guilty. For not doing something. God knows, I have no idea what that nebulous something is, but it’s poking at me very regularly for not ‘working’. As if a demanding day job isn’t enough.

‘Do more.’

‘DO MORE.’

‘DO MORE.’

‘DO MORE.’

I have a small list of things I will need/would like to do before publishing, but it’s small and manageable and…

I DON’T NEED TO DO THEM NOW!

As you can imagine, that only pacifies my brain (which is behaving like a demanding two year old to be fair) for a short while.

I do have a draft of a fantasy novel that is the first in a trilogy (this is how I have always envisaged it). So I’ve printed it out and am about half way through reading it. I’m quite impressed by past Freya. She had some good plot and characterisation going on. It’s definitely got legs. Will it be a trilogy? Do I have the ability to commit to that?

Time will tell.

‘Pssst… time’s running out! Better get on with it NOW!‘

Oh, good grief…

Grounded – dVerse

photo(1)

nailers, brewers and
butchers; artists, hoofers and
railway platemakers

Titanic, double-
booked, third class overflowing
what a stroke of luck!

photo

———-

This week, on dVerse Poetics, Grace has asked us to delve into our family history – what makes us, where have we come from, who are our ancestors? As I get older, as life changes, I feel more of an urge to answer these questions. Recently I spent a lovely long weekend with my family up in Worcestershire, investigating old photos and luxuriating in tales of what happened way back when. This knowledge is to be treasured, no?

I have decided to be short and sweet this week. Two haiku-form stanzas and two photos – one of me as a little girl, and one of my scribbles during a quick coffee break. You’ll see the second stanza didn’t really sit well with me… hence it got the chop. Ancestors in both my mum’s family and in my step-dad’s family almost made it on to the Titanic… strange, but true!