The Dancing Decoy

There's a line inside my mind
that my thoughts dance with sometimes,
I never know where it is
or how to avoid it
but when it happens, I can't fail to notice.

Heart is a hammer
rattling the cage,
mind moving faster
fumbling through each page,
never quite discovering
what I'm searching for,
just knowing that when I find it
dust will settle, cool the core.

There's a line inside my mind
that becomes a swing-rope sometimes,
the inner me
will never flee
just feel the burn, whilst gripping tightly.

Train careering off its track
slips and races down my back,
shivers chasing up my spine
can't place the source of it this time...

There's a line inside my mind
crossing another, forming a bind,
I might never get it
or make sense of it,
what causes it
or forces it
to close a bit
and tighten in,
contricted and frightening,
but when it's happening
the only thing
that can be done
to force a draw,
or force a door,
is plan a distraction;
the escape clause.

And so I dive into the moment
earphones in, feeling hopeless,
til the notes are all I'm breathing
open mouthed, because I'm singing,
just can't help it anymore
not about to lose the war,
choreograph moves to the kettle
motown, funk or heavy metal?
No-one cares, and nor do I,
when I'm dancing in the sky.

I'm lost, it's working,
hands still burning,
but mind barely churning-
now I've chosen to deploy
the dancing decoy!

There's a line inside my mind
that my thoughts dance with sometimes
it attacks as I unwind
but if it's a dance it wants
then it's a dance it gets...
oh it's not seen my best moves yet!

The Tale of Windows 10 and its Culture Club Obsession

I've got a problem with Windows 10
it comes and then it goes again
I'm logging on
and then it's 'DONG'
like the timely chime of the Big Ben.

I notice the flashing notification
that leaves so swift, with little patience
and am aggrieved
and less than pleased
with little time to read in the short duration.

I made a plan to be in position
and armed with paper, pen and acute precision
so that next time
I'd write down the line
before it disappears from vision.

So finally I have it smote
because it's written down on a post-it note:
'Windows couldn't connect...'
and I couldn't care less!
I'm all 'Oh. No. How. Will. I. Cope?'

The 'DONG' and the notice
about the Group Policy Service
still bother me
as it won't leave me be
so I tried to find out what the antidote is...

I scoured the forums
and YouTube like a crazed moron
but the specific fix
didn't make the list
of wiki-how vids (due to some weird tech decorum?)

I realise my mistake
(although a little too late)
I should never have ran a Windows 10 update!
But it's all done now
and I don't know
to reverse
the curse
of redundant upgrades.

So just like the song
(and that incessant DONG)
it's karma-karma-karma-chameleon;
it comes and goes
and nobody knows
where the GPCS prompt actually roams...

or why it can't leave me alone!


PS: If you know the fix: sharing is caring ;)

Things I Discovered this Summer (SPOILER: No Voyages Involved)

It has been a summer of discovery for me this year.  By this, I don't mean that I've been lucky enough to discover a new species of animal, be part of a maiden voyage across the seven seas, stumbling across a long undiscovered island nestled in the far reaches of the northern hemisphere.  Sadly I also do not mean that I have discovered a way to bypass Prince's Spotify ban, and thereby listen to something other than 'Stare' via this particular steaming medium (I got a bit excited when Spotify started playing Prince yesterday, only to release that it was playing songs I already own via iTunes).

Whilst all of these would be pretty cool discoveries, I more mean that I have learned a few things this summer that I didn't already know.  I thought I'd share some with you.

1) Coal and charcoal are not the same thing.  Like, seriously, why did no-one tell me this before? I though charcoal was just a fancy BBQ specific name for something which was just, well, a relaxed diamond. (Pssst, I just googled the whole coal/diamond thing and also discovered that diamonds don't form from coal.  Read all about it here.)

2) Nobody creates purses/wallets with enough space for the number of loyalty cards the average person holds in contemporary times. I have basically stopped resisting shop assistants.  If you say no to the question, 'would you like 15% off your next purchase and a free gift on your birthday?' then you get looked at like a crazy person.  As people are pretty much already looking at me like a crazy person for singing the entirety of 'Call Me Maybe' without messing up one lyric whilst browsing the shop displays, it's best to just go with the flow.

3) Tesco very rarely has soya natural 'yoghurt', raspberries and soya white chocolate in all at the same time.  And this isn't cool when you're trying to make dairy free white chocolate and raspberry muffins!

4) When it rains, I buy more.  Shops = shelter.

5) Richard O'Brien would almost definitely wear a leopard print boob tube if he was a woman. (Although I'm not sure he would buy it for £1 in the sale at H&M).

6) When you accidentally follow someone to a social event, it's best not to announce to them that you followed them.  It freaks them out.  And also somehow means that you end up accidentally seeing them everywhere and paranoid that maybe you are following them... (For all I know Derren Brown is behind all of this...)

7) Two cinema trips in one day is absolutely fine. Two bags of popcorn probably isn't...

8) The Bob Marley theory extends beyond the realm of music.  If you want to watch the X Factor without adding the disclaimer 'it's my guilty pleasure', much prefer dancing to running and think taking selfies is super fun then don't sweat it. People are always going to tell you that what you like is silly, so as long as you don't say the same things about the stuff other people dig, you can just be happy that what you like is cool, simply because you like it* :) (Read my blog post of 2011 on The Bob Marley Theory here).

*Obvious exceptions apply - this is about tastes as opposed to moral issues.

9) Nothing quite fills the hole left by Gossip Girl. Which, yes, I realise I got into WAY too late.

10) I have way more chance of being a ukulele rock star than a piano rock star, even if I have yet to master the art of strumming patterns.

So, there you have it, my summer of discoveries.  I definitely would not call that wasted time!  What did you discover this summer? How to get rid of flying ants? How many fun facts about Prince you can withstand before needing to wallop me over the head with a cushion? The best book you've ever read? Leave me a comment and let me know :)

The Greatest Adventure

Telly bosses express distaste

for Christianity, what a waste,

unless, of course, they can expose

the hypocrisy,

I mean,

don't you see?

Nothing's meant to be!

It's just fallacy.

And so I watch on with horror,

because telly reflections just do not mirror

accurately

the reality

of what it means to be saved

or to receive grace

or to seek His face

and sacrifice praise.

We're always alien

we're the weird 'other'

who call each other 'sister' and 'brother'

and if we're not

we've an evil side

and what would Jesus say?

They ask, because this is just not right.

But this life isn't boring

and that's a fact

even if nuns aren't really

like they are on Sister Act.

I've never been more excited

to wake up each day

and tackle every challenge

that comes my way

praying, please Lord, let me be your spy,

I'm your double oh seven

your secret agent

show me someone that needs a blessing.

I never have to worry

I never have to strive

because I've nothing missing

with God by my side

He's my personal hero

and He's your hero too

He doesn't mind where you came from

and He's got a plan for you.

So if being saved is boring

then I'm still waiting for the yawning...

Even if films still fancy us

as plain and dull

do-gooders

or back stabbers

and hypocrites,

self-righteous

with evil bits,

then that's okay,

as long as you know

that it's fiction

that's as far as it goes,

because my circumstance

does not have to dictate

my happiness, I don't have to wait

to be perfect

or for life to be perfect

to have life in abundance

overflowing, and so worth it.

So I hope it shows,

if you didn't already know

I might not be there yet

and I've still a way to go,

and if quoting Miley Cyrus is a crime

I'm sorry, but it really is the climb -

the journey is the longest part

so I'll enjoy the view with all my heart,

happy as I am,

complete in Him,

growing

and learning

now I've stopped the searching

this is the greatest adventure

and it's never boring.

A Purple Obsession

It makes my friends wince

that I've become obsessed with Prince

He's The One, and I'm convinced

and it started ever since...

He took to the stage

and despite his middle-age

he struck a chord – I was amazed,

and his eyes, they held my gaze.

I melted on the floor

thunderstruck and in such awe

that a man of such slight stature

could take my heart capture.

I almost felt in pain

when he closed with Purple Rain

(although I did get confetti in my eye

now I know why doves cry...)

And so my heart was set

as fixed as you could ever get,

and at the age of twenty-six

I'd discovered love of Prince.

And from this monumental day

(it was the 23^rd of May)

I knew that we were meant to be

if only he would notice me.

I started every morn at 9

with a little 1999

(Until my dreams about the apocalypse

and freaky purple skies).

And before I went to bed

I'd dance the whole of 'Little Red

Corvette'

and yet

he has a private jet,

I'd bet!

My friends were beside themselves

and worried for my health

they threatened to have me sectioned

and planned a PRINCE-tervention...

But what they didn't realise

was that my heart was telling lies

and that my new found infatuation

was a blessing in disguise.

You see I needed a way to start

to heal my broken heart

and an unrealistic attraction

was the perfect distraction

from the pain that I still felt

and the purple one, he helped.

So yes he's older than my Dad

and yes, I am a little mad,

but Prince, you see... he's not so bad

he gave me focus, made me glad.

So I'll be thankful for the funk and roll

that fixed my heart and soothed my soul.

No, don't take it out on Mr Nelson

because in winning my affection

he stepped inside my crazy brain

and occupied my full attention.

He gave me something to take away

from all the hurt and all the pain,

so maybe you could let it slide

just this once, it could pass by?

I'll try to hold in all fun facts,

although this is a mammoth task

(Like, I bet you didn't know it's true

he wrote Nothing Compares To You)

And in the meantime, please be satisfied

that I know, I could never lie

Prince isn't The One,

and do you know why?

Because he's-

Nah, I can't think of a reason.

He's The One isn't he?

Yep.

Noel Edmunds, Doctor Who Harmonies and the Mystery of my Cross-Dressing Dream Boy

The stark contrast between the waking wanderings of my over-active imagination and the deepest, most bizarre musings of my dreaming self has me flummoxed. (Flummoxed - good word, right?)

Awake Frankie actively takes time out of her life to imagine things. (Why am I speaking in the third person? Let's just go with it, I think I'm hitting my stride...) Sometimes I'm daydreaming, imagining what it would be like to meet Prince, what my Dad would say if I brought him round for tea even.  Sometimes my imagination is provoked or inspired by something that someone said, leaving my mind to wander off JD-from-Scrubs-style.  Sometimes it's simply positive thinking, going over and over in my mind what I want to happen that day, the best outcome, visualising it in detail, taking my mind out of the hectic and chaotic moment.  Maybe this is normal, maybe this isn't but this is what happens to me.

Meanwhile, dreaming Frankie (who bizarrely is the same person as awake Frankie, it's just that now she's, well, sleeping) for the most part does nothing.  But then every now and again, during a stressful period in my life, when I'm consistently worrying about something, when things around me are happening that I can't control, when my mind is struggling to process events in 'real-time', well, then...the dreams go CRAZY!

In my dreams, I've ridden pillion on a motorcycle, sang karaoke with daleks, won VIP packages in competitions, ice-skated, been Buffy the Vampire Slayer, been Blair Waldorf, moved to Italy, broken hearts, received threats from the Grim Reaper, and, during one horrible nightmare as a child, been chased by Noel Edmunds flanked by an army of  robotic 'Mr Blobbies'.

It all sounds very exciting and adventurous, doesn't it?


You see, apprently the imagination that I try to keep alive daily by writing and daydreaming, just doesn't get enough exercise in waking moments.

Or perhaps, conversely, my daytime imaginings are simply feeding the crazy dreams, adding more fuel to the fire?

When dream Frankie is mean to people, or does things she would never do in real life, it comforts me to know that the whole thing is complete fiction BUT I can't help wondering...why am I dreaming it?  Does awake Frankie want to do these things?  Is this my subconscious teling me something more meaningful than I ate too much the night before?

Well, maybe.  Like, I know for a fact that when I dreamt about getting married to someone in order to please my family, and the groom to be, that in reality I was worried about doing things for other people, rather than myself.  I know that when I dreamt that my date was seriously injured, horribly and graphically, that really, I was just worried about the date going badly.  I know that when I dreamt that my then-boyfriend was a cross-dresser, I- wait, what was that about again???

I think dreams at times can help you to see things that you didn't see before, but to be honest, I don't think all dreams are meaningful. I need to believe this to keep my sanity, to stop me from being convinced that Noel Edmunds really is out to get me, just for starters...

Use a dream book all you want - I challenge you to find the page with singing daleks on it.  If you do, get in touch - that's a paragraph I want to read!

Sorry, we no longer accept cheques

I always feel inspired after hearing the other amazing talent this country has to offer.  Written on the way back from the slam final, prompted by the sign at a petrol station pump reading "Sorry, we no longer accept cheques'.

Welcome to the postmodern era
for someone like me it couldn't be clearer
We've technophobes
and nomophobes
and silver surfers
on Google Chrome
Twitter feeds
breed pedigrees
of violent trolls
and Trending Ts
#supportZayn4eva
#whydidZaynleave
I'm telling you, they're all on 1D!

Now we don't even need money to pay
we wave cards at readers with a 'have a nice day',
then go back to our Candy Crush Saga
or reap motherload crops on pastures calmer
and then there's always another app
for when we've had enough of that
(because everyone soon gets their fill
after 30 long minutes on Farmville).

And I'm guessing this poem won't age so well
'cause I mean 'fax machines' what the hell
did they even do?
Hate to break it to you
but they're about as obselete
as a Walkman cassette
and that's almost as redundant as you can get!
(Save the art form of the slowly dying cheque,
an almost unacceptable payment,
but we're not there yet!)

So I turn to the future now -
what will be next?
When we've used all our resources
and exhausted
our energy choices
what will be left?
I tell you the whole thing leaves me bereft,
lost for words,
which is weird for me,
so I'd best demonstrate with an emoji 😶

And what even comes after the postmodern era?
What's more modern than modern?
No-one thought that we'd need a
word for the noughties
or whatever this decade is called
(I vote we leave the numbers thing and just call it 'Paul')

Yes, this is the postmodern era
Already these words the last in a thin, crumbling tier
Defunct
Done with
Completely over
Before I've even finished this poe-

Happy Mother's Day!

I'm blaming you

for my dual passion for dance

as well as correcting poor grammar.

I'm blaming you

that I thought there was a chance

I'd be in a ukulele band with ya.

I'm blaming you

for every little change

that as a kid didn't phase me.

I'd like to blame you

for making me strange

but we both know that's all me!

I'm blaming you

for these darn good genes

and for those amazing jeans

that you convinced me to buy.

And you keep blaming me

for your shopping spree

but that's pretty much all lie!

I'm blaming you

for the fact I can't listen to 'Let it Snow'

without thinking of that line you ruined (you know?)

or how sticky toffee pudding

was a bit more 'spotted dick'

after you'd finished with it.

I'm blaming you

for everything I didn't do

when I was just a teen

because you see,

it was the best thing you ever did for me

and I was positively affected

by being so well protected.

I'm blaming you

for being well fed

and well read

and well educated

(and not knowing a bacon buttie

was just bacon between bread)

I'm blaming you

for music you got me into

and for the fact I know all the words to Simply Red

which, by the way, is never to be repeated

to anyone else.

(But good old Mick was right in some ways

because I actually do love the thought of coming home to you.)

I'm blaming you

for inspiring me

to be

the best woman I can be.

I know I'll have succeeded if I'm half as strong as you,

half as kind as you,

half as considerate as you,

half as compassionate as you.

No, I don't know what I'd do without you.

I'm thanking you,

that I have so many good things to blame you for,

there's so much that I owe you for,

so much you might think goes ignored,

but I see everything you 'do me for'.

So I'm blaming you

for being the best Mum in the world,

and yeah, everyone says it,

about their own Mam, I know it,

but there can only be one

and everyone else is wrong

so you'd best believe it's true,

'cause I know that it's you!

Happy Mother's Day!

A Tale of Three Tokens

A token look
a token book
a token key
on a broken hook
that shoots to the ground
with a slight burst of air
when you enter the room
with your cold, burning stare.

A token key
in the open sea
of when will you next come and visit me?
A question that echoes
and bounces right back
because nobody knows
if it's fiction or fact.

A token book
with trace paper pages
that span the vastness
of multiple ages.
It's timeless
no matter the date or the year,
it speaks to me always
and so loud and clear.

A token look
so strong and so layered
misinterpreted
as hateful and fray-ed
and even as I write these thoughts from my head
I know that I might have betrayed what you said.

I still think on
and I still think of you
and I hope that this token
shows a hint of my view
because I never close doors
without leaving a key
on a hook somewhere close
in case you ever need me...

And yes, I still treasure those memories
that I re-read in the book that you never left me
and I don't know if you still keep yours
but just in case, look under the door.

Because the look was imagined
and it might not be true
but I hope that sometime
I will look on you
and won't see a mirror of pain that is past
but I'll see a future;
separate/
joined,
but happy
at last.