Today I want to be extravagant
To do, to be, to experience something extra
something outside my usual dull round
Of daily dreary activities
Meaningless actions, getting nowhere, achieving nothing.
Today I will break free
And for once be extravagant.
Wandering outside my comfort zone
Trying new things, exploring new possibilities.
But what shall I do?
I know, I’ll buy a cream meringue and eat it with a double cappuccino!
Compass needle pointing to North
Never wavering, never deviating
Solid, strong, unchanging, unbending.
Showing the way to the uncertain traveller.
Some people are born with an inbuilt compass
Know from the start where they are going to.
I’d like to be one like that
But alas I am not.
I struggle to make sense of maps
To plot a compass bearing
To set the map so it faces North.
Perhaps I need a Satnav
A firm voice telling me
“Turn right”, “After one mile, turn left”
You have reached you destination.
Sounds good. (I knew it would!) My muse is dead, that’s what I said. I’ve lost the urge to splurge on verse and, worse than that, my prose is flat, dull as a lake. No breeze to shake the surface stillness. Is this an illness that I can shake off like a sneeze or a cough or final and fatal and from this date I’ll write no more, write but to bore? I won’t entertain it, can’t explain it, But I just know It can’t be so!
I’ve time to spare. to do and dare I’ve time to share With friends.
I brush my hair What shall I wear? the forecast’s fair “Begone dull care” The Bard once said. Depends if weight of care can bring despair so I don’t dare to leave my lair or climb the stair to reach the rainbow’s end.
I yearn to be I’ll learn to be Completely totally CAREFREE!
Shakespeare, or rather Hamlet, lamenting the fact that his mother had married his uncle very soon after his father’s death. Today I think we’d call Gertrude treacherous and wicked rather than frail. To me the term “frail” conjures up a person man or woman, who is physically weak, probably elderly and easily swayed by a stronger personality.
The term that goes most often with “frail” is “old lady”. A doddery old woman tottering along with the help of a stick, speaking in a low croaky voice and generally overlooked and disregarded by those around her.
I’ve dealt with this situation in several pieces of fiction I’ve written where an old lady is being bossed about (usually by her daughter}. This “frail” character develops unsuspected strength and ingenuity when dealing with an unforeseen problem. The chararacter of the little old lady with hidden depths is, I think, sadly overlooked in popular fiction.
Nowadays we have become used to strong women in postions of authority, Margaret Thatcher, for instance, and of course our new Prime Minister. By no stretch of the imagination could either of these women be described as “frail”.