Saturday, 10 October 2009

day two and some small technical difficulties...

so I managed to log on here before and edit my blog. this is easy, I thought. this is a piece of cake. then I decided to start following some blogs I like...and have managed to follow myself. so now the bijou raconteur follows, er, the bijou raconteur. this isn't me being a narcissist, this is me not being particularly technologically savvy. oops. luckily, cally is going to log on later and fix it for me, she's really quite good at it, which is good for me. phew!

so I'm going to stick to what I can do, which is type text in a box. there's not much that can go wrong here (hopefully).

as I mentioned yesterday, I'm in the process of sending stuff off to magazines and competitions and have decided that each story will have a 3 strikes rule - if it isn't accepted, then I'm going to post it on here. like vanity publication that isn't going to bankrupt me. hooray! I only started sending stuff off at the end of August, so that means it will be a good few months before I've been rejected 3 times. so for now, until I write something just for here (which I will, I've started it already, although historically I'm a lot better at starting things than I am at finishing them) for now I am going to post some old stuff. just to get posting, and to keep the momentum up. which is a good thing.

ok, so here you are, have some poems. enjoy!


Window

Old woman sat alone
at a two seater table
in the window of the bakers,
shop half unopened around her,
as she nibbles, squirrel-like,
at her antiquated toasted teacake,
treating herself.

Teacup devoid of saucer
in this harsh, modern world,
plate, knife, spoon arranged symmetrically,
a bad habit from her childhood
enraged by old age
and the taunt of senile dementia.

Old woman sat alone like a bulldog,
all jowl and foul expression,
the youth of yesterday,
an attitude problem armed
with a walking stick and a blue rinse.

Twenty-one again if she closes her eyes,
ignores her aching joints, rheumy fingers.
She's waiting for him in the shadows,
breeze blowing freshly washed hair in her eyes,
shivering beneath her thin cardigan.

He steals up behind her,
wraps his arms around her thin waist,
shared laughter,
warm glow,
brilliant smile.



Advice
Hey friend, take my advice,
watch the world through rose tinted glasses,
paint your feelings in primary colours,
and never let the bastards get you down.
Think once, think twice
then throw caution to the wind,
dive into the river and sink or swim.
Look left, look right
then take a deep breath
and put faith in the dice and
dance.
Dance with your friends
in armchairs on rooftops,
laugh with your siblings at family functions
and never learn by other people's mistakes.
Choose your friends and your drinks wisely,
and mix them carefully,
tequila, with a vodka chaser, will not make you
glamorous, sophisticated, or particularly nice.
Make every day an adventure,
and above all, remember this,
never listen to bad advice
and always remember the people you've kissed.

1 comment:

cally jane studio said...

Haha! I like that you're following yourself! :) LOVE these poems lady...especially love 'Advice', that's brilliant xx