I've dragged myself to the laptop yet again without a clear idea of what I am going to write. I've always enjoyed the serendipitous feel of free writing. It really does limber up and stretch one's vocabulary.
Why does everyone assume poetry has to rhyme? We all know the old adage about what assuming makes so I'm not going to go in to it here. What is exactly poetic about describing a period like a moon? Why can't we use flowery flamboyant language to explain the everyday? It's a little daily win to me; to use a ridiculous word, or get my dictionary.com word of the day into an everyday sentence. I could probably do with thinking of more important things than this, but hey-ho it is not unpleasant.
DO YOU KNOW WHO DESCRIBES THE EVERYDAY IN FLOWERY LANGUAGE?
Gawd, I knew I'd get him in somewhere! (A little win for me!) So bear this in mind as you read my next poem.
The Appointment.
Dreading the day.
That appointment with Gaynor.
“No need to be shy, we're all girls here.
I've seen them like yours love,
and plenty bigger!”
Her hands
dishwasher soft, yet cold
as she slides two fingers under the strap.
A sigh as she runs the width of my back.
“Look at our new range,
they are in every shape, size and colour!”
So I tentatively creep around the corner
reluctant to raise my eyes,
not wanting to look.
I stopped.
In awe, I stood.
In front of the bras
in every shape, size and colour!
A child in a sweet shop. Aching to try every one.
I handled the huge ones.
Consoled myself that yes!
There were ones bigger!
One after another I tried them on,
studying myself in the flattering mirror.
Twisting to the side,
my hands on my hips.
Until my reflection defiantly told me my new year’s
resolution.
Jeni, don't hide that womanly shape,
Don't crush them away!
Just be a Goddess in your 36G!
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