I thought I had a thousand words
Folded, like cranes, to gift you
My mouth cannot make their shapes,
They taste of regret, which
Unsettles me, you
Once as familiar to me as
The veins that decorate my
Wrists that I offered you, soft,
Meatless and vulnerable, I
Handed you a cunning blade and
Prayed you would not cut too deeply, or
Too casually, with disregard, I
Took my time in concluding that
A weapon must be passed, with
The blade turned inward, toward
The one who would be wounded most harshly, were they
To stumble and fall upon the cutting edge of trust.

Saddest
of all
springtime
shows
is the
display of
sculpted stone
that never
blooms
and only
grows
after the
seeds of war
are sown

Skipping ropes tied to lamp posts
hopscotch was another for girls
I'd try to work out the rules
but dare not ask, nor yet even
be seen to be showing interest
sometimes I'd be invited
to join in girls play
I could hold the rope
while others skipped
but had not the grace
or the agility to skip
at all well myself
there were role play games
of families with dolls
proudly displayed
tenderly nursed
and I would be offered
the role of 'daddy'
though I had no clue
of how to do that
having no father myself
so I would be told
to arrive home from work
to sit in my chair
to put on my slippers
to smoke my pipe
to hear tales of misbehaviour
by the children
and I would be amused
but would be told firmly
that I must be stern with them
then when that was done
to eat my tea and afterwards
to sit watching the telly
distracted from the game
that continued around me
or to go out to the pub
and I thought that
fathers must be
the most boring of people


The rough and tumble
was not for me
why would some boy think
he could throw me down
straddle me, pummeling
overpower and hold me there
trapped, despite my struggles
I learned early that
scratching, biting,
flailing, kicking
were not permitted
nor were tears
yet I shed them still
and screamed and scratched
and bit and flailed
if I could not avail
myself of natural defences
generally expected of girls
then why should my attacker
receive no more than
mild admonishment, if that
while I'd be advised
to "toughen up"
and the goading
carried on relentlessly
"you run like a girl"
"you throw like a girl"
"you kick the ball like a girl"
"you fight like a girl"
as though doing those things
like a girl were demeaning

Cynthia Pauline Jones 30/10/13

A day in the country
A day made for you and me
Beautiful fields of wild flowers
and trees as far as the eyes can see
We run and try to catch butterflies
then stop and pick flowers for my hair
Next we go fishing at the pond
and kick golden leaves up in the air
We take the back roads on the four wheeler
to try and catch the last rays of sunlight
Then we chat beneath billions of stars
that came out to say hello to us tonight
We talk about everything
and talk about nothing...
We agree that there is beauty in belonging to a place
and then we laugh till we cannot feel our face
Now we both just stare at the fire
content with just our thoughts at this hour
This day and place is full of wonder
and magic that you cannot believe
A place in the country
A place that we never want to leave

And suddenly I realized
I'd spent far too much time
Trying to write a poem
As beautiful as her.

Is't only me
who miss
how we used
to be?

Is't only me
who miss
our memories?

Is't only me
who miss
the way we laughs
together?

Is't only me
who miss
our conversations?

Is't only me
who miss
us?

- a.e