Autumn Brings Dismal Thoughts

November, some rain, dark evenings - all conspire to drag down your thoughts and make you a bit depressed. Hence the following:


Alone, afraid,but aren´t we that a lot
When through our lives we go and meet new things?


First off, our birth - though most forget that time.
School,if we have no confidence or friends.
New job, strange town, colleagues assess and stare.

The loneliness will change from time to time
But is always there and in a corner lurks,
 Appearing when you least expect it to.

You go through life and cope quite well,
But now and then things block your way and then
The fear returns and only you alone
Can face it down and carry on towards your goal.

But at the end, the most extreme will come
When, by yourself and scared, you face your death.
For no-one knows what happens then.


I did say dismal, didn´t I?                                                                             
                                                                                  
It doesn´t rhyme, either. It´s a first attempt at blank verse and iambic pentameters.  Impressive-sounding, or
what?                                                                                  
                                                                                   
                                           
                                                                                   
                                                                                    
                                                                                   
                                                                                

More stuff that doesn´t rhyme but that can be understood.

At our latest Writing Circle the subjects which you could write about were "Breaking the Rules" and "The Street".

I produced the following, both of which are quite depressing, really. Don´t know why as, just at the moment anyway, I´m feeling quite at ease with life.
                   
Appearances Are Deceptive.


The street´s quite short.
It´s nothing special,
Terraced houses side by side.
In summer people sit in doorways,
Kids kick a ball, dogs run and bark.
It seems so normal.
And so it is because life is like that,
Smooth on the surface, ordinary.
But inside, underneath, things are different.
When the door is shut, when no-one sees.
Blows and curses, tears and woe,
Pain and anguish, black despair,
 Dreams all shattered, hopes awry.
Till, once more, thresholds are crossed,
Masks are in place
And life goes on in the street.
                   
Crossing the Line.


I broke the rules today,
It felt good.
I thought about it for a long while,
Pondered,debated with myself,
Considered the consequences.
For some time I backed off, afraid.
What would happen if….?
What might he say when…..?
But then, I thought, could things be so much worse?
Could he do more than shout or strike?
So, on a wave of desperation
I went ahead and crossed him.
And it felt good.
But now it´s time for those consequences.
I realise it wasn´t the wisest thing to do
Because I can never win.
He has the strength. He has the power.
But it did feel good.

It´s very hot here in Spain now so I really can´t bring myself to do anything else. Hasta La huego!

Competition

I recently entered a competion - didn´t win, mind you, but I rather liked the pieces I entered. The subject was "Going Home". I entered a poem and a piece of Flashfiction, which is just under 500 words. So although this is an actual poetry blog, I decided to put in both the entries even  though the one is prose and the other is against what I state as the essence of the blog - poetry that rhymes. After all, it´s my blog, so I can do what I want to!!

Homecoming (494 words)

 Cliff picked  up his backpack and followed Annie out into the corridor.They were students in the same evening class but had never actually spoken to each other.
Going home?
Yes, I have to be up early tomorrow.
You haven´t got a car, have you? I´ll give you a lift if you like. I´m going your way.
How do you know where I live?
Well, I don´t, exactly. It´s just that I heard you once  say in the break that you lived near Grange Park and I´m going over that way myself tonight.
They´d reached the main entrance. It was raining heavily.
You´ll get soaked if you walk to the bus stop in this.
Yes, I will, won´t I? OK, thanks,I´ll take you up on that lift. It´d be great. By the way, my name´s Annie.
Yes, I know. I´m Cliff. My motor´s over there. We´ll have to make a run for it.
   It was one of those vans with windows you could see out of but not in. As Cliff opened the passenger door, Annie turned to him.
You seem to know a lot about me. My name, where I live, that I haven´t got a car.
She didn´t get in and he realised she was hesitating. He punched her hard in the face and she slumped against him, groaning.
  He slid the rear door open and lifted her in, climbing in after her then closing the door.
There were only the two front seats and the rest of the van was an open space. The floor was covered in plastic sheeting and a spade was leaning against the back of one of the seats next to some knives and a saw in a bucket. He took the flex out of his pocket and slipped it round her neck. She started to choke and began to struggle but Cliff was stronger and it didn´t take long but the car park was too public a place to go any further. Besides he liked to take his time and follow his carefully worked out rituals.
Alright, darling, now you lie there still and we´ll go to Grange Park. You´ll like it there. It´s nice and quiet. He slid open the door, jumped out and after making sure the lock was secure, he got into the driver´s seat and drove off.
    Several hours later, Cliff drew up outside his house at the end of a quiet private road on the outskirts of town. He went into the back of the van and felt  the plastic sheeting. It was still wet from the water in the stream where he´d washed away Annie´s blood. He picked up the bucket and felt the heart. It was still slightly warm.
Well, Annie darling, you said you were going home and here you are. This is your new home. I´m sure you´ll be happy with the others. After all, sweetheart, you know what they say – Home is where the heart is.
  
  Not The Right Time


You didn´t expect to go home so soon.
In your book it was much too early.
But somebody had a different slant on things
And whether or not you were along for the ride
It was the ride that decided the outcome.
You ended up as Road Kill
And although lots of people put in time and effort
Trying to see to it that you stayed put
You ended up going anyway.
So there was nothing to be done about it.

I´m feeling a bit like the cat in the picture at the moment. All I seem capable of writing are fairly miserable pieces. So here follow a few.

    Desperation   
   
    You make me mad
    You make me rage
    Why can´t you change
    And act your age?.

    You´re always right
    You know what´s best
    You´re a besservisser
    A bloody pest.

    You rarely smile
    You mostly frown
    You know it all
    You get me down.

    Why do you think
    It´s only you
    Who has the answers
    Knows what´s true?

    And even if
    That is the case
    Just let it go
    And show some grace.
   
    You´re so alone
    I see that clear
    I ache for you
    And shed a tear.
   
    But I must think
    Of my own good
    To live the life
    I feel I should.
   
    I wish for once
    You´d stand outside
    And see the self
    I can´t abide.

    I just don´t know
    If I can take
    Much more of this
    Before I break.

Disappointment.

Seasons come and then they go
You cannot hold back time
The things you thought you´d do one day
Your dreams – those hopes sublime –
Are lost and gone forever
Like tears you´ve wiped away
And others, younger people,
Go on and you must stay.
A lifetime spent in struggle
Striving to attain those goals
Which once were so important
And now are gaping holes
The future seems superfluous
The present gives no peace
There´s nothing left to aim for
Just wait for life to cease.

Decision Time

We woke up late - I don´t know why
The air is clear, the sun is high.
A day to savour with delight
Not face with dread and creeping fright

The time has come – I can´t delay
I must decide, I have to say.
Today´s the day when I must choose
But if I do, I know I´ll lose.

To go with him or stay at home?
He wants to travel, longs to roam.
I go with him, I lose my friends.
I stay right here, away he wends.

Whichever way I cast my lot
I end unhappy, like as not.
He won´t discuss, it´s up to me
He´ll wait a while and then he´ll see.

So what to do? To stay or go?
I have to choose, he has to know.
It all feels cruel, hard and bad.
We woke up late and now I´m sad.   

    Maybe the next time I write something, it´ll be a bit less noir. ( Don´t hold your breath...)
   
        


   

A poem about a girls´night on the town.

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Evening Out

I should never have gone out to Bingo
It really was doomed from the start
But Corrie´s not on of a Tuesday
And my hubby´s a boring old fart.

So I set off with Nora, my neighbour
She´s Irish – her dad´s name is Pat.
But she´s lived all her life here in Handsworth
And wouldn´t change any of that.

When we got to the hall it was crowded
And no-one had saved us a seat
So off we went down to the local
And downed a few large whiskies neat.

We then moved on to the chippie
And bought some meat pies in a bag
Then tottered out onto the pavement
 To eat them and light up a fag.

But Nora came over all maudlin
And started to sing ´Danny Boy`
Then she jumped on a passing policeman
And asked if he´d be her sex toy.

The copper had no sense of humour
So she was banged up for the night
Then I was tossed in the cell with her
When I threw up and started to fight.

The next day we both had hangovers
And wished that we´d never been born
The Beak found us guilty of lewdness
And seducing a policeman at dawn.

So the moral to learn from our story
Is never to sing in the street
But stay at home watching the telly
Or go off on a package to Crete.

An Apology

Since I couldn´t come up with anything to write about this week, I wrote an apology.

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                                         So Sorry!

It´s happened again – my back´s to the wall
No inspiration to write at all.

I´ve had a bloody awful day
Things have gone wrong every which way.

The circle should be pure balm to my soul
But my creative spirit´s on cruise control.

Foot-licking grovels to Nik and the group
I know what I´ve written deserves a poop scoop.


                   

               

Life Sucks For Some

Had the weekly Writers´Circle today - always a highlight in my week. The topic this week ( if you wanted to write on it, though not obligatory) was "Stepping Stones". I wrote a rather pessimistic poem on the subject. Probably influenced by the situation I`m in at present with a broken-hipped husband. Here it is.

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                                                         Stepping Stones


There are those who skim on the river of life 
They wheel and cavort in the breeze.                 
There are others who swim, take their time, reach their goal.
Once achieved, then they do as they please.

Most people must wade, fight the current or drown
On their way many sink with no trace.
A few use the stones for help as they go
Take a grip, stop and rest, breathe a space.

But some are unlucky. They make for the stones
In the hope they can stay there a while.
But find they´re not stones, not a refuge at all
But cow pats in a great pile.

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With that miserable thought, adieu!