Reibus

From my long years as a volunteer at Drury Lane Theatre where I grew up, I had heard the music so many times from the show "Fiddler on the Roof". The song "If I Were a Rich Man" always got me singing with it. I recently heard it again - so this time it lead into a warble of being rich, whether men or women. If I were a rich man... I'd think I'm lucky Just turn off thoughts of this I'm not a man I'm not ever rich I'd like, though, to live on in bliss! My name's not Fiddler (though sometimes I wish) I've never been on a roof Except when I built My own first home... The sale was a burden of proof! If I was a woman... that's gender correct... Do I turn this saying off too? I've got female breasts And other women stuff But I'm treated like I said "I do" I used my brain many years ago I'd tested okay most times If I was thoughtful Thinking ahead I'm not sure I'd still use these ...

Anita felt very grumpy. She had to go up to the local hospital for another test, but she didn’t really believe that they would find anything unless they did the real tests. She knew, she thought she did, what might be in her body, but she had sighed, got frustrated, even got angry, when she’d been up there before. No, they didn’t find anything, and yet she could tell them why her stomach was painful, why she had backaches, why her legs cramped, why there were hours when she couldn’t even see. Every single day she woke up early in the morning in pain, curled up with her stomach feeling like it was due to burst out, her head feeling like a migraine after putting up with the rest of her body for so long – and she believed that! She would lie on her side and concentrate on breathing in, breathing out, long slow breaths which she hoped, every day, would relieve her pain at least a little bit. It was a week since she’d last gone up to the hospital, to Emergency. She’d given them her ...

This seems like how I felt around about this time. There are other stories I wrote this year, similar things. Have you ever felt this way? It was a volcano, waiting to erupt in her body. Her vision was getting blurry. She started to lose her balance. She knew something was terribly wrong, but she didn’t know what it was. It felt like a volcano. It must have been. Her double vision crept over. She could not walk or write. She couldn’t pick up her mobile. She looked out of the window, trying so hard to see what she could have seen every day. She couldn’t. It vanished, into somewhere that she didn’t know. She felt scared. Her blood pressure rose. She was angry. She felt rage. Her body curled up, and she couldn’t stop it. She felt a tremendous headache that wouldn't stop. Please, she cried to herself, please, I will lose consciousness! She lay down on the floor, closed her eyes, tried to regain her breath. Tears ran out of her eyes, across her face, onto the fl...

I'm not a huge christmas fan, but I loved to write a poem about my aneurysm at christmas time. (Clement Clarke Moore wrote originally about Santa.) 'Twas the night before Christmas, all aside from the aneurysm Not a creature was stirring and no one had rheumatism. The stockings were hung - although most didn't exist (In hopes that trees would be added on, but mostly were missed). The children were nestled, all snug in their beds, While visions of Santa danced round in their heads. With me in my nightie, alone with no kids, I'd just settled my aneurysm for a long nap without skids, When out on the lawn there arose such a noise - I sprang from my bed to see who had the voice. Away to the window I flew like a bird, I tore open the curtains, all outside looked blurred. The moon on the breast of the hottest of lawn Looked rather duller and very, very forlorn, When what to my wondering eyes did appear, But an awesome PT with no tiny rein-deer, With no littl...

I had the very good fortune recently to attend a Gunnas Writing Masterclass with Catherine Deveny. Catherine's irreverant and humorous presentation makes this a must-do day for new and existing writers alike. During the day we had timed writing periods, and for the last one of these sessions we selected picture and word cards, not unlike QWC's "Morning Glory" sessions and wrote for 10 minutes. I happened to draw the words "Alice in Wonderland" and a picture of two entertainers in an old-fashioned balancing act with two bicycles. This is my "10 minute fiction", which also was published on Catherine's website for a short while. Once upon a time in Wonderland, Alice was sitting quietly under her favourite tree, reading her book, when she looked up and saw the Mad Hatter bouncing down the road towards her. "Whatever is the matter?" she called out. "The circus," he shouted. "The circus is here and I'm going to be ...

The old lady rocks her chair in place, myriad lines etched into her face She’s not long for this life, she’s done her time – she remembers long ago when in her prime Young and pretty, so full of life, met a young man, became his wife But fairy tales aren’t real, they’re all in the mind – from then on her life was not very kind Four children and sags on her body to show the pain and the stresses that no man could know And her husband, once her valiant prince, grew tired of her, left – hasn’t been seen since Always a struggle to feed her brood, but she battled on whatever her mood Clothing them, loving them, reading them books, ignoring the neighbours’ judgmental looks As she let another man into her door, work of kind, so they wouldn’t be poor She knew of the whispers, she knew what they said, ignored it, let it go over her head I’m not a whore, she said to herself, as she hid a few dollars at the back of the shelf As her babes grew and flew...

18 January 2014 - I attended a writer's workshop, and took the bus into town. From the time I got to my local bus terminal, on the bus, walking through the halls to the library, and waiting in the library foyer, I felt invisible. No-one made eye contact, and I thought of the many times this same thing has happened. That inspired this poem. Do you feel alone in a crowd? Do you feel unwelcome? Invisible, although you know You're nothing less than human. But no-one looks you in the eye, It's like they just don't see you. You don't create an impact, You don't engage their view. It doesn't matter what you wear Or how outrageous your shoes, Their attention focuses elsewhere, You're not a vista they choose. They pass you by, engaged in thought Few of them ever smile. They're wrapped up in their troubled world, Never going the extra mile. Perhaps one day their world will crash And then they'll wander too, Looking for that twinkling e...