This is how it goes
your hands will be proxy for mine
my hands will be proxy for yours
your fingers my fingers
and my fingers yours
what I describe, you enact
told in detail so exact

Just to begin
I squeeze your *******
knead and pinch
tweak a ******
give it a tug

Stroke your tummy
work over your thighs
move up the inner
where skin is smooth
circle around, moving in
till soft contours are caressed
through pants that burn
to be removed
that pain you to wear
and I see in my mind
as you describe
the spreading, darkening patch
that fills the gusset

Now they're pulled down
removed quickly, completely
and you are revealed
spread, opened, shameless

Gentle fingertips tease
dance in circles, barely touching
yet the fire within grows
back and forth, round and round
dance the fingertips
as both reciprocate
with growing pace
and firmer touch

I hear you gasp down the line
and your breathing quickens
as you hear mine
as your excitement fuels mine
as mine fuels yours
in our feedback loop of lust

And I tell you how
my fingertip would give way
to tonguetip if I could
that I can taste you
in my imagination
fragrant, salty sweetness
with musky undertones
the tip of my tongue now circling
then flicking back and forth
beating out the rhythm
that you best harmonise with
bringing forth your moans

Then darting down, back
between wet, glistening folds
exploring each ridge and valley
working remorselessly

Breathing faster now
with animal grunts and moans
directions of pleasure gasped
breathless down the phone

As fingers again
take the lead
find the opening
slip readily within
probe, explore, ****
find that place
on your front wall
yes, just that spot
that's a little rougher
and feels sooo goood

Add a second finger
working and *******
licking and rubbing
moaning and gasping
barely intelligible now
...yess...more...yess...ohhh
are all that have meaning

Finger three joins one and two
then the pressure builds
demanding release
and shaking and thrusting
grows to shuddering
and...yes...yesss...sooo clooose

******* faster furiously
till we both explode
hearing each other's
voicing of our ecstasy
in language intelligible
only in this one context

Brains and voices return
as we bask in the afterglow
and what passes between us then
in those moments
is the deepest intimacy of all

Cynthia Pauline Jones 01/02/2014

I can be a sadist
I can be a ****
I enjoy a bit of pain
I'm often filled with lust

I want to be the Top
and to be topped too
I'd love to tie you up
or to be tied by you

Push the right button
and I'll be your subby
or grant to me control
I may lock you in the cubby

Stick me full of needles
or I'll put some in you
zap me with electricity
I may pass the current through

Whip me, flog me, spank me
I too can you impact
I'm happy to do whatever
and that's a ***** fact

I can be anything for anyone
pretty much more or less
it all depends on circumstance
and on what you confess

So let's stop prevaricating
and get on with the fun
let me know where and when
and which way round you run

Cynthia Pauline Jones 25/10/13

I want perfection
I want that moment where our eyes meet
and neither of us can break the gaze
where our souls open to one another
like buds thirsting for the rain
where I see eternity, endless infinity
expand and share their secrets
from within you and know in that instant
that you see the same in me
I want that perfection of recognition

I want perfection
I want a shared empathy
an effortless telepathic connection
to feel that golden thread that links
all my chakras with all yours
I want to wake thinking of you
to drift into sleep doing the same
to know this is true for you too
and to meet even in our dreams
I want that perfection of synchronicity

I want perfection
I want to explore your body
to marvel at its complete perfection
even though you believe it imperfect
I want you to marvel too
at the perfection you see in this body
although I know it to be far short
I want to be consumed in mutual lust
to burn with your tastes sounds and smells
subsuming our senses into one another
I want that perfection of sensation

I want perfection
I want to run and work and sweat with you
to experience the joys of music, of performance
to travel with you to places of wonder
to inspire your creativity
to be inspired by you in every way
to reach new heights as yet undreamed
to remain forever grateful
for the gifts of your love
I want that perfection of complementarity

Cynthia Pauline Jones 4th May 2015

"There are animals in the road"
the traffic reporter said
"We're not told what they are
find another route instead"

And so I got to wondering
though I wasn't going that way
what the mystery beasties were
that were on the road that day

Were they a herd of wildebeeste
who took a wrong turn on the veldt
or perhaps a wayward mule train
delivering some sacks of spelt

Maybe a team of trainee reindeer
diverted from the North Pole
or a bunch of llamas from Peru
that fell through a wormhole

Or bears, or wolves, or lions
could be zebras or kangaroos
surely not beached aquatic mammals
or elephants trumpeting the blues

Exotic beasts seemed unlikely though
it was more likely cattle or sheep
though it could have been migrating badgers
moving goalposts somewhere safe to keep

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 27/10/13

Once upon a time, in a place called Venustus
a raw newb caught my eye
I wonder what it was about her
that made me want to try

The quiet one
kneeling on the rug
playing with her Pegs
quite unlike the others
less submissive,
yet somehow more so
in ways that I couldn't see at the time

She chides me for my lack of attention
shouldn't it be the other way round?
should she not be the one attending to me?
yet somehow I can't make that demand
can't bring myself to issue the command
can't take the risk she'll call my bluff
begin to realise I can't get enough

I begin to doubt my Dominance
as we get closer there's something else
Incredible as it seems,
I feel her body close to mine
her warmth come through
and then she asks
"do you feel it too?"

And I do feel it
I feel you beside me, within me
I feel that for us
it has always been this way
that I've always known you
and you feel that way too

Then everything became simple
and yet more complicated
Now I had no choice
but to face myself
to admit the thing I'd tried to hide
because love demands honesty
to be honest with you
I had to be honest with me

Even though I had no doubt
still I needed space to work it out
a week or two should be enough
the next three months were really tough

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013

Total trust implies one must
remove all doubt that remains about
untold plans or secret spans
some past betrayals can last
that give cause for us to pause

The worst thing about abuse
is not so much the guilt
of feeling you're to blame
that you should never
have been so attractive
so irresistible, so seductive
though in all other contexts
you felt anything but,
were filled with doubt
and lacked self confidence

No, the worst thing of all
is the way that when
it's repeated enough times
you get used to it, inured
then in time there's a part
of you comes to welcome
that expected familiarity
need it even, participate,
share the other's pleasure

But the rest of you
rails against this
taking of your autonomy
this removal of consent
and that part wages war
upon the part that
gives it's acquiescence
and you are fractured
hating your complicity
despise that you made it
in any part your fault

Yet to have healing
requires you recognise
the part of you
that went along
was no more to blame
than the part that didn't
it was just a coping strategy
you needed to survive
after all what else
could you have done?

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 18/10/13

First, kiss your frog
rinse out, then repeat
until you have kissed
every frog in your street

Then carry on kissing
much further yet afield
until the one you seek
is eventually revealed

With your final frog kiss
only then you'll see
if it's your Prince or Princess
or one with lethal toxicity

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 3/11/13

Trains at the bottom of the garden
metal dragons breathing out smoke and steam
huffing and puffing, waiting for the signal
some compact with tanks affixed
others larger, more grand
pulling colour matched tenders
sometimes bearing shields and names
beginning with 'Duchess' or 'City'
mostly black, some rusty
deep reds or greens
with contrasting lines edged in gold

Once one came in matt pink
and I wondered why it didn't gleam
like the others, perhaps pink
was a colour not to be given
it's equal due with other
less feminine shades
it had to be denied vibrancy
yet I loved the pink one best
later I learned somehow
that the colour was that
of the primer used
to inhibit the rust
and my pink engine
was just an unfinished paint job
pressed into service
prematurely to give cover
for another that was broken

I wrote down the numbers regardless
it was a ritual that one performed
though I didn't understand why
yet it was exciting
to record a new one
that hadn't passed before

Behind the business end
came carriages laden heavy
with the visitors of summer
come to fill our beaches
and our town with their loudness
their raucous laughter
with strange accents
brummie, scouse, mancunian
faces pressed against glass
expectant, excited, impatient
almost there now
anxious that this last delay
pass quickly and the half mile
remaining be completed

We would lurk beneath the bridge
like adopted troll children
it was cool there in the summer heat
darting out from behind pillars
or in my case watchfully, cautiously
edging my way forward
to place pennies on the track
or sometimes nails
then to retrieve them
flattened, thinned, squashed
once the train had passed
sometimes we'd wait hours
or so it seemed
sometimes no train would come
and we would trail home
for tea and bath and bed
leaving our offerings
to the gods of the rail
for rediscovery and inspection
the following day.

Cynthia Pauline Jones 17/10/13

I thought I'd write a villanelle
though form is not my forte
yet I'll try, what the hell

Let's see if I can do this well
as an exercise in structure
I thought I'd write a villanelle

Can I make my verses swell
write five of them as tercets
well I'll try, what the hell

For to my inertia quell
while my muse is absent
I thought I'd write a villanelle

Now I've fallen to the spell
but the next must be a quatrain
so I'll try, what the hell

My words upon the page do jell
and this is almost finished
I thought I'd write a villanelle
then I tried, what the hell

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 10/5/2014

i felt Your beast stir
He called to the *****
the **** who lies within
and she answered Him
with whispered seductions
coaxing Him from His lair
filled with longing for Him
to emerge and sport with her
spreading herself wantonly
craving to be taken, devoured
eaten up and filled
made a plaything, consumed

the ***** inside me needs to see
the beast in You set free
her freedom to exist is in His gift alone
her purpose to rise to meet His lust
to take His stripes as her own
and bear them with pride
the beast in You will find release
inside the ***** who lives in me

Cynthia Pauline Jones 17/01/14

Gorse burnt
bird skeleton
laying beneath
stark, white, crumbly
just calcium
a proto-fossil
that lacks the hardness
derived from
aeons encased
in mud
becoming stone
but this one
will never be
its future is dust
mingled with sand

Close by lies
a golf ball
a wayward one
that strayed
from links
to dune
to deform
in the blaze
become blackend
and split
the skin peeled back
opened to reveal
the tight-wound
elastic strands
fused together
yet penetrable
with persistent
small fingers
and unravelled
in exploration
to be left
in an untidy
forgotten pile
once the sac
at the core
is retrieved
within which
thick white paint
to sqeeze forth
and daub
on wall or fence
or kerbstone

This was the day after
fire had torn
through a thicket of gorse
that I and one or two
others had found ablaze
burning red and yellow and orange
hissing and spitting in protest
radiating heat in aromatic miasma
impressing all senses together
and knowing our civic duty
had run breathless
two streets inland
to fire red telephone box
to dial three nines
and deliver the news and wait
for fire red fire engine
to thunder by with shrilling bell
then to follow on, running back
to observe and to claim
with pride our part
in the resolution of danger
only to face accusation
that we must be responsible
for starting the conflagration
our shock and earnest denials
not entirely convincing
even when we protested that
had we been the culprits
then reporting the matter
would be the last consideration
instead, we were told
we'd clearly done the deed
so we could call out the brigade
and though nothing in the end
came of it, I was left convinced
that adult thought patterns
left much to be desired
and were far too convoluted
too suspicious, too impenetrable
to be ever worth adopting

That episode taught me
the magnificence of gorse ablaze
that discoveries were to be
made in the aftermath
that doing the right thing
wasn't always to be advised
that overly suspicious
too officious firemen
were fishing for payback
that if I were to be judged
guilty of the offence
when I was innocent of it
then I had a credit awaiting
in the bank of misdemeanor
so in due course
I made my withdrawal
and lit the gorse
in assembly at school
we were told we should
not hide our light
under a bushel
but I, not knowing
what a bushel was
lit mine under a bush
I did it only once
and though I had a brief
flirtation with Fraid
Her power scared me too much
no great damage was done
no human life lost
or placed in danger
save possibly mine

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 19/10/13

Sometimes it's all about the ***
though mostly it isn't.

Sometimes it's about the play,
about enjoying the effect
that I have on another
or, less so recently,
about seeking to please
and enjoying whatever is given.

Sometimes it's about wanting
to hold and be held in return
to feel the love
and the connection
and the closeness
and that warmth inside.

Sometimes play isn't enough
when it ignites my desire
and frustration strains the pleasure
sometimes holding someone
isn't enough either
when the warmth turns to heat.

So sometimes it becomes
all about the ***
and yet that's so elusive
when my attentions are unwanted
or I find my desire
impossible to express.

Sometimes I feel in need
yet nobody picks that up
none come forward to ask
to writhe with me, entwined
to seek mutual fulfillment
of a shared lust.

Sometimes it's not about the ***
because that's not on the menu.

Cynthia Pauline Jones, Aug 2013

This is a poem of anger
this is a poem of grief
this is a poem for those
to whom death was the only relief
from the words of abuse
from attitudes of shame
from the spittle and curses
from the taking of blame
from the raining of blows
from fists and boots and rocks
from the penetrating blades
that **** like sharpened *****
from the bullets and blasts
that tear flesh apart
from the tearing of veils
from the hammers and nails
this is a poem of outrage
this is a poem of pain
this is a poem to honour
those who were never to blame

Cynthia Pauline Jones 20/11/13
For International Transgender Day of Remembrance

Another lone celebration meal
another year of down at heel
another draught of loneliness
another night without caress
another year at least until
another life can bloom in full
another year of wondering if
another hoop will materialise
another year of wondering why
another year has been let go by
another year to question whether
another year will bring me pleasure

Cynthia Pauline Jones 24/3/2013

And the monstering comes to this
the result of the ignorant *******
the product of shaming
by society's ill-trained watchdogs
gnawing at the bones
before the body's cold
before the body's aligned with mind
and still gnawing when all's done
to make sure we know the price
to keep us in our assigned place
to monster us, to demonise
to create and feed self hate
so we hide, turn inward, upon ourselves
so we don't disturb
the comfortable myths
by which they live
the black and white
wrong and right
binary fantasies
that allowing us to be would challenge
so the real monsters monster us
and impose on us the binary
of life and death

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013

Commuter trains go clickety clack
up and down the trickety track
except when it snows
or leaves the wind blows
then you can’t get there or back

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

Time passes, as time does
we text about this and that
inconsequential things
life and other chit chat

Then I confess I miss you
you say you miss me too
your virtual return is immanent
can we pick up once more
from where you left?
you ask me to please, please say yes
how can I refuse?
that's not something I can do
not when the one who asks is you

Yet something in me has changed
my inner subby needs to emerge
the one who made that clear
stands in the wings, cajoling
and when your return is delayed, I succumb

Then, when you arrive it's no contest
I'm yours, there's no doubt
you offer me your Dominance too
that's something you feel you can do
it'll suit you better than subbing
I have doubts this is the best path for you
at least, until you've learned to let go
but I can't be the hand to guide you
at least not now,
not at this point of my own journey

And though I know you can't really be mine
still my need for you outweighs all these things
only with you can my heart have wings
and I accept on these terms
I'd accept on any terms at all
because life without you is unthinkable

We build castles that are too large or too small
we build pubs and houses that aren't castles at all
then you find one the right size
with rooms to explore
I furnish it when you're not there
hang art on the walls and more

Though I call you 'Mistress'
we carry on as before
until the day when suddenly
that word means more

Out of the blue my kiss is refused
no explanation, no warning
the rules have changed
I'm hurt and confused
the pain goes deep
and I'm rebuked
I blink back the tears and slowly adjust
this isn't unwelcome, just too sudden
but we get through
then both surrender to lust

That night the emotions flood
as do the tears
something beyond sub drop seizes me
there's the fear that from now on
the protocol will rule
that spontaneity is gone
that the ease of communication is broken
that too much will now remain unspoken
the initial hurt of your rejection
of my kiss returns
deep down inside it burns

I have to explain
that a gradual path
would have caused less pain
that negotiation and consent
are needed at each step
but you hear criticism and ingratitude
that I'm rejecting your gift
when what I wanted all along
was to build something that was ours
not to have another's form of control
adopted and replicated by you
that it was always about loving you for you
not so much about needing you
to be a particular way
but you're not hearing
and you say we won't try that again
it turns out to have been the last time
we made even virtual love

Once again the gaps grow
the distances expand
your appearances are further apart
I feel the need to say something
to tell you I feel I'm expected
to give out more and more
while getting less and less in return
that something needs to change

But when I see you next
you steal those very words from my mouth
and turn them against your other half
who constantly asks more from you
but offers less to meet your needs
(those same needs I'd give anything,
have already given so much, to meet)

But I bite my tongue
reflect on the irony
and offer you more
offer you sympathy
try to make it better
because I love you

After that, things move faster
her body clock is ticking down
she needs to feel new life grow within
but this is a step beyond for you
not a thing you're ready for
you move out yet it's several days
before you tell me this

I'm hurt again that you didn't
immediately turn to me
yet this is the seed of realisation
that we won't ever be
though the seed doesn't yet take root
for a while yet, hope remains

Then you say you're broken
you stand at the crossroads
say you know which way to turn
say you know your relationship
isn't right and must end

I weep for your pain
yet am filled with hope
that soon it'll be resolved
that at last I'll hold you
and call you mine

Later I learn that even as you tell me this
you tell another that you know you must return
yet are tempted by the attention of another
I wonder if this temptress
is chocolate valentine Argus woman
or yet another so far unmentioned

When next we talk
you have returned to her
yet have made your position clear
by staying out all night
and my heart sinks
it matters not who or what
entertained or sustained you
through that night
but that once again
you hadn't turned to me

I try to make these feelings known
we argue
and neither of us
can do this
any more...

Don't ever mess with a moose
a half ton of meat on the loose
they demolish your truck
and they don't give a ****
don't ever mess with a moose

Cynthia Pauline Jones 2012

I thought you were my angel
maybe I was yours instead
you needed some distraction
having recently been wed

I thought you were my angel
perhaps you really were
yet it was just a temporary job
just me that wanted more

I thought you were my angel
it seems that wasn't you
your true vocation's as my muse
I guess that will have to do

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 6/10/13

England is waterlogged
becoming submerged
nascent Atlantis
surrendering to the tide

Sink holes in Hemel
sunk homes in Surrey
hanging railways in Devon
****** cafes by the sea

A damp apocalypse beckons
it may get wetter yet
now that rain reigns
Britain is ruled by waves

Cynthia Pauline Jones 15/2/14

I make no demands of you
for love makes no demands
I give to you what love
demands of me
There was a time when I might
have made demands
and you might have responded
as on our first meeting
or at that later time
when I joked about kidnapping
and you said "yes please"
because you have that side
it's something I recognise
perhaps you do not yet
need to let her out
perhaps you never will
but if you do one day
then I hope you find
one who can guide you
or perhaps the day will come
when your guide appears
unbidden, perhaps inconveniently
but reaches within
touches her and bids her wake
when that happens
there is no denying of truth
just acceptance and knowing
that you are truly home
in the place where you belong

Cynthia Pauline Jones 19/1/2014

Rain puddles outside
are like distorting mirrors
with ripple effects

Again time passes
and after a while
you escape my waking thoughts
only to haunt my dreams

Your birthday comes around
as birthdays inevitably do
on their ever accelerating cycle
I send my greetings
because I can't resist
we agree how much we've missed
being in touch
that without each other
something's lacking

We go back to regular texts
about our respective lives
I want to say that if we try again
I want your consent to take control
flexibly and without high protocol
to work toward some switching
but that there are things on which I'd insist

Like regular voice contact
because lack of that
was something that dented my trust

Like a commitment to meet
with a date in mind
or at least a date
by when a date must be arranged

Like being able to hold you to things
to answers you don't avoid
and questions you don't evade

Like being able to hold you

But it becomes clear that
none of these will be on offer
you're not returning to your castle
because you say
your Second Life is over

I wonder why in that case
you still pay to keep it there
empty save for an abandoned dog
whose pitiful barking
brings me to tears

Yet once again I bite my tongue
because even this friendship
this new phase
is fragile and on your terms alone
I hold back and accept what you grant
because anything however small
is better than nothing at all

You offer advice with my fitness
and we make a good start
but your promise of more advice
fails to materialise
often you're too busy to talk at all
you're even busier than before

I'm pleased your career has progressed
though puzzled how this happened
in a job you said wasn't you
that more responsibility
wasn't something you'd consider

I'm pleased you're fitting in
charity work too
that working on your fitness
brings you satisfaction

Yet I'm aware that these things
leave you no time for me
or for the desires
that I know still burn within

I wonder if this commitment
of time and consciousness
isn't perhaps a distraction
just another avoidance strategy

Then the crunch comes
I'm upset, shaken
tell you of my pain
any friend would show sympathy
give hugs, even though virtual

But not you
there are worse things you say
as though their existence
invalidates my feelings

I call you on this
and that's it for you
you "can't say the right thing"
but it was never about saying
what I wanted to hear
(was it that for you?)
I'd prefer you said
what you truly feel
and that your actions
followed from that
but now that's easier said
because we're over

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013

Diving into the darkness
surfing through the void
life without a safety net
no parachute, no ripcord

Letting go of everything
no limits, no taboos
just merging of identities
no more me's or you's

Following the dynamic
breaking all the rules
learning to transcend
what makes humans fools

Pain and degradation
is my path, my destiny
I might lead or follow you
until we are both free

So take my hand
we'll make that leap
we'll cross the line
there's no return, but that's fine

Cynthia Pauline Jones 15/02/2014

If I could only have been with you
would have made your dreams come true
if only you had allowed me to
there are no limits to what I'd do

I'd shave my head for you
fall down dead for you
swing the lead for you
keep things unsaid for you
make up my bed for you
bake gluten free bread for you

tell big lies for you
be despised for you
have only eyes for you
criticise for you
create surprise for you
wear disguise for you

give protection for you
take direction for you
lose connection for you
keep affection for you
bear inspection for you
shun perfection for you

would do anything at all for you
would do anything you want me to
would do nothing to make you blue
if I could only have been with you

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 3/11/13

Today is not my day
today is a day for lovers
whose love is reciprocated
who are loved in their turn
by the object of their desire
those who have and hold
sometimes quarrel and scold
yet are able to be bold
who have someone to cuddle
they who get to snuggle
those who share dinner
and wine and roses
to enhance the romancing
and so on to bed
today was not my day

Cynthia Pauline Jones 14th February 2015

When you're sixty plus and trans
you don't get many offers
so need to issue them instead
when your life's been short of romance
it's hard to break on through
easier for invitations to stay unsaid

If you're younger, more attractive
it can be hard to understand
just what it's like for someone
who is far less in demand

So if I should give an invitation
remember that's all it is
don't let embarrassment appear
you can say "Yes" or "No" or "Maybe"
respond to the invitation given
not to some imagined fear

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013

You appeared in the room
I noticed you, felt something bloom
you sat near me
we talked
my interest grew
you blushed
my heart flew
my brain turned to mush
insides flipped to goo
I fell so hard
yet what could I say to you
when there were so many pitfalls
so much that might go wrong
so hard to read your feelings
and what anyway
did I want to say
what was this that I felt
what had I glimpsed
the need in you?
the need in me?
recognition of something beyond?
Lust? Yes, that was there
and why should it not be
when so many boxes
were ticked for me?
When it's clear that I'm far from alone
in this attraction to which I'm prone
but then, with so long without
I had long grown to doubt
that I could ever state
my expressions of desire
or to say I'd like to play
with someone who lit my fire
and there's the catch
to make a match
there must be a connection
and yet that connection's the thing
that has the power to make me flinch
and in the past I may have drawn away
said nothing, not made my play
but I felt this so strong
that I had to go along
at first so tentatively
while I tried to probe
to find what you thought of me
then, somewhere along the way
my inner sadist awoke
I longed yet more to play
then all too briefly it seemed possible
that despite all the reasons I'd imagined
for why nothing could happen,
that something, after all, would develop
and I couldn't help but express
just how pleased that made me feel
yet I waxed too enthusiastic
gave the wrong impression
and a reason I had never imagined
arose to **** the mood
the wires, so carefully disentangled
crossed themselves once more
my new found pride lay mangled
broken, trampled on the floor
I sought for answers
but harvested anger
and to my shame
responded the same
yet I am responsible
I am to blame
you may have caught
the wrong end of the stick
but that was due
to how I presented it to you
and I offer my apologies
to admit that in part
your fears were justified
it's true I'd thought ahead
had dreamed that I
might help you fly
that I might take you to that place
where others would fear to try
yet that's not the whole story
it's also true that the trip to the edge
happens one step at a time
and that the very first one was
at the forefront of my mind
and had that turned out mediocre
so that we'd wanted no more
then that would have been all of it
at least we'd both have known
but had it been fantastic
had it been amazing
had it blown our minds
ready or not would be meaningless
and that's what terrifies
and what terrifies entices too
and therein lies the tension
so to disclose I have to mention
that though I shall not cross
the lines you draw
part of me wants to ignore
that they're there at all,
wants to take you and make you fall
at my feet and beg for more
and when I saw you'd cut your hair
I was torn between thinking
how handsome you looked
and feeling it was a cause for regret
that you no longer had enough
to wrap round my fist
and I wonder if your walls are there
to protect you, or to challenge me to dare
to plunge on through and break them down
and even though I've made other connections
have played, will play elsewhere
even though there's one
feels deep and special and true
this tension has me addicted
I feel the pull of you
please don't be alarmed
I mean you no harm
well, not of the lasting kind
I'm aware of the potential
for the tension to consume
to pull into a downward spin
but I won't allow that to happen
and I say these things
not to make demands
not to influence
or force your hand
but just so you know
if you didn't already
that you can break the tension
whenever you're ready
unless it dissipates before that point
of it's own accord
or through distraction
and however this turns out for us
my wish remains that you should fly
no matter whose hand that happens by

Cynthia Pauline Jones, April 2013

Not worth a valentine
roses, chocs or fizzy wine
yet again one goes out
and none, not one, come back

I thought that this year
would bring an end to fear
things set up to be different
yet one by one new barriers rise

Things are rarely what they seem
the old tale of shattered dreams
so much promise starting out
but everything turns to dust

Cynthia Pauline Jones 14/2/14

Not so very long ago
when I was 62 or 3
I'd figured out the answer
as it applied to me
to that question asked
so many years before
"Will you still need me,
will you still feed me,
when I'm 64?"

The solution to this question
I'd worked out in my head
was very far from "Yes"
...a resounding "NO!" instead
but now the day has come
I'm more positively disposed
and think that there is scope
for the answer to be "maybe"
so I can live in hope

Cynthia Pauline Jones 24/3/2014

There was a picture
you once took
of the moment
that forever changed my life

Of the virtual you
and the virtual me
becoming virtual we
on a chaise-longue in paradise

You showed it me later
though I never had a copy
now the evidence is gone
yet the image remains

It's etched there forever
in the centre of me
and you once wondered
if it was just about the chase

But those doubts were misplaced
it was never the chaise
for me you see
it was all about the longue

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 30/8/13

Seeing guns as a right
means you must have one
to protect yourself
from others just like you

The illusion of opportunity
to make yourself wealthy
by dint of your own effort
when it's all just a lottery

Passing off privilege
as some born vocation
while your downtrodden masses
rot in poverty or prison

Say taxation is theft
to underline your greed
while you live on stolen land
hate those you put in need

Deny health care for all
because you don't need it
it's better they die in pain
than be obliged to the State

Exporting your dystopia
all around the earth
so the rich get richer faster
and the rest increase in dearth

Cynthia Pauline Jones 3/10/2013

Infinity is so tedious
it just goes on and on
and on and on and on
and on and on and on

and on and on and on and on
and on and on and on

Forever has no limits
it just goes on and on
and on and on and on
and on and on and on

and on and on and on and on
and on and on and on

This poem's got no end
it might go on and on
and on and on and on
and on and on and on

and on and on and on and on
and on and on and on

Repeat ad nauseam

Cynthia Pauline Jones 11/11/13

John James Stanley Whyte
why would you not
do what was right
man of the cloth
man of the sea
(at least in uniformity)
privileged hypocrite
evader of consequence
Doctor of Divinity
all that's divine
about you, is me

Used my mother
because you could
refused to acknowledge
you're in my blood
was it due to the class divide
that you found it so easy
to throw us aside?

Whenever she wanted
to punish me
she'd list the ways
I took after you
say I was created
in your image
say that your visage
was mirrored in me
that the nose I hated
was exactly like yours
and that was hard to take

She showed me a cutting
someone sent to her
from the Scotsman I think
or perhaps some local rag
from Edinburgh, where you were
saying you'd been bound over
for indecent exposure
from the window of your Manse
where you stood naked
though whether ***** it did not say

And she'd beg me
not to turn out like you
and I would ask
in my innocence
what she meant by that
"He's a ladies' man" she'd reply
and I had no clue
what she meant by this
yet even then
the idea of nakedness
sent a tingle up my spine
though I didn't like
what I had to show
felt it wasn't really mine

You had a life of comfort
while ours was hand to mouth
did anything ever stick to you
did your conscience ever twinge
did you ever even wonder
what became of me?
I'm not sure why I never yet
tried to track you down
perhaps it shows my utter contempt
or on the other hand
maybe I felt being rejected once
was once more than enough
and a second time would be
two more than I should take
yet at times I wonder
what fate had in store for you
because if your karma
didn't catch up with you
it sure as hell got me

Cynthia Pauline Jones 23/9/2013

You said you'd find a way
to be mine one happy day
I can't tell if you meant it
or said it just for play

I know that you have
no motivation any more
if indeed you ever had
to make your way to my door

All the words in my head
won't get you into my bed
despite the love in my heart
we'll always be apart

Cynthia Pauline Jones 15/10/2013

They say I'm pretty good with words
but the tunes they just don't come
you know if I could make the notes align
I'd write you a song to make you shine
and have Kylie come and sing it
in your living room

Cynthia Pauline Jones 7/10/2014

Nos Calan Gaeaf, the night before winter
we sit cwtched over bowls of cawl
hot steaming broth
by tradition lamb with vegetables
whatever comes to hand
leeks, carrots, tatws, swedgon
cabbage or kale, shredded
deep green leaves though
not the pale stuff
that disolves in the stewing
before it gets to the bowl
a dash of herbs perhaps
and a touch of pepper
the cwtching and the steam
make this as much an experience
of inhalation as of taste

And when the last drop is gone
the liquid focus turns to cwrw
that's ale if you're Sais
and the singing begins
not all hymns and arias
anything counts, all is game
so long as voices are raised

Amid the singing, thoughts turn
to those who sat in years past
drinking cawl and cwrw
and raising their voices
but sit and eat and drink
and sing no more
though in the flickerng light
of candle and lamp and fire
seem once more present on this night

Cynthia Pauline Jones, October 30th 2014

Perhaps one day
you'll mention casually
just in passing
as though it were
no big thing,
that a poet fell
in love with you
once, years ago
before she was
a poet even
before she was
ready to be she,
that at the time
you'd not thought
it worth mentioning
lest it disturb
the equilibrium

Or perhaps it might
be thrown forth
with emphasis, triumphantly
when that equilibrium
has been disturbed
by other events
and accompanied by
the expressed wish
that you'd taken
that alternative route
when it was available

Perhaps you'll step forward
and claim your place
in these words
as muse, as inspiratrix
proudly proclaiming
that you were adored
to this extent
that the love
that could not be
expressed in touch
or taste, in immersion
of the senses
in physical intimacy
was expressed instead
in lasting verse

Or perhaps you may
keep this inside
locked away
telling no one
for all your days
hiding this secret
from the world
maybe in time
yet far away
to be discovered
stumbled upon
with incredulity
by some person
you leave behind

I shall never reveal
this truth directly
but there are clues
here and there
that if followed
may lead some
to suspect, but none
that would reveal
with any certainty
who you are
because this secret
is yours to keep
or reveal, not mine

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 17/10/13

Finally I found the courage
I don't know how or where from
to return, to open up, to come clean
to reveal my deepest darkest secret
hoping I hadn't left it too late
hoping this wouldn't turn your love to hate

You dismiss your elf
hear what I say
none of it matters
you feel the same way
I'm your missing piece
I know that you're mine

I've known love many times before
but this, this is different
more intense, just, just more
I'm swept off my feet
you make me complete

Our love grows
gets more real every day
we text, we chat, we want to meet
and we'll find a way

You ask for intimate pics
of bits I'd prefer I never had
(and about which you express most unsapphic desires)
you promise to return the favour
just not right now
though I feel disappointment
at the time it doesn't
feel like violation

Do I need pictures anyway
when your description's so graphic
that I see every fold glisten
with the moisture that lubricates
your journey home
so we can connect again
and again we feel the thread
that connects us
draw ever tighter
we steal our moments riskily
we *** together on the phone

You give up some secrets
deep and dark and terrible
yet others less dangerous you withhold
your 'dodgy Irish' surname
and her name too
the 'other half'
namesake as it turns out
of my first celebrity crush
when I was nine
the Mills girl as was

Then for me, the small disaster
your text is seen
I become homeless suddenly
and worse than that
lose the love of my girls
though that will in time
return I hope

And I still have yours
so that's OK
we're sure that will last all time
and we get closer still
well at least until
Christmas, when I head to Wales
full of trepidation
to deliver the news
that will shake my family further

The journey's made easier by your promise
that you'll be there the very next time
(but you never will be
and it's so long before I go again
that for a time
I'll think you jinxed me
with that reneging)

Nothing changes overnight
or over Christmas
or over the next few months
while for me everything changes
except my love for you

It's still wonderful
when we're together
but it happens less and less
as the crumbs of your love
fall more thinly
the thread that connects us
slackens gradually, imperceptibly

The realisation grows
that your love is only borrowed
that your heart belongs to her
that return is overdue
and in time
I brace myself
ask the question
find it's true

You're happier these days, you say
more settled
I know that's been true for some time
understand you never really were mine
I'm hurt you didn't tell me before
but don't let that show too much

We agree to stay friends
I cry a lot
I cry buckets
I cry thunderstorms
I cry streams and rivers and seas

You still have my heart
but I never had yours
it was her's all along
and I think I understand why it is
that you love her
too much for honesty
but not enough
to set her free

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013

Did you really make it
from Chicago to LA?
see the sights, feel the vibes
get your kicks along the way

Did you make any detours
or stay faithful to the route?
to stray can be so tempting
but you need to be astute

I'll admit to being envious
it's a trip I'd love to do
and if you'd done the M4 with me
I'd have done 66 with you

But none of that could ever be
because you were always her's
and parts of that land are no go for me
but it's cool for cis girls to wear spurs

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 1/10/13

I could step in front of a speeding train
adapt a microwave to fry my brain
leap from a cliff or a tower block
be sure to land on concrete or rock
slit my wrists, swallow some pills
maybe that would cure my ills
plug myself in and throw the switch
leave a note that says "life's a *****"
hang myself with a ligature
a tight plastic bag would make it all sure
but there again it might be fun
to shoot myself with a stolen gun
if I had a sword I could fall on it
or a can of petrol and a match that's lit
shed my clothes, walk into the sea
then drowning would make an end of me
it's just one life, but even so
there are just too many ways to go
it's a heavy choice, there's just one end
so I'll postpone the decision and think again

Cynthia Pauline Jones 21/9/2013

Sometimes I think
we dance
through time
you and I
around and around
one another
sometimes together
sometimes apart
always entwined
one way or another

But this time
something got missed
we fell out of synch
you found another
this time around
you're her's
but there will again
come a time
when you'll be mine

Other times I think
that we have
just the once
that there never were
those times before
that we won't have
a next time around
that we missed
our only chance
yet still something
feels so right

So why does
this invisible thread
connect us still
why do I feel
it extending
onward and back
from the beginning
to the end
of all time?

Cynthia Pauline Jones 3/10/13

The love whose name
I dare not speak
lest I implicate her
lest I expose
that she once professed
to love me too
the love who for me
will last forever
she loves another
and we can never be
can never share all
yet we share secrets
that burn the soul
secrets I cannot confess
for her sake alone
yet that I would shout
loudly from every
rooftop and mountain
and be proud to own
secrets that I hope
she will one day
find the strength
to confess too
yet I fear she will
instead put them safely
inside that box
she labels 'the past'
and keeps locked up
nailed tight shut
even to herself

Cynthia Pauline Jones 11/11/13

If my difference
fuels your desire
you'll need to work out how
you're going to light my fire

You might offer me presents
you might offer me love
you might offer a life of pain
you might offer a life of crime
you might offer me luxury
you might offer to buy my time

I'm an acquired taste
to which you might aspire
but before you get the flavour
first you must acquire

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 11/10/13

I want someone
to be my friend
or maybe more
it all depends

If there's a spark
that lights both our flames
it could be fun
if not, no blame

Just to be held
can be such bliss
to hold in return
perhaps share a kiss

Should things progress
yet further still
please bear in mind
I mean no ill

If I put my trust in you
and you put yours in me
we could get more entendre
by doubling it you see!

Cynthia Pauline Jones 4/10/13

How is it that
someone into whose eyes
you've never looked
someone who would never
offer more than crumbs
and most of those illusory
who could leave you
dangling on a thread
for days and weeks on end
hoping you might be graced
but knowing disappointment
was more likely
how is it someone like that
can take your heart
and make it sing,
even as they bit by bit shred it?

How is it that
when you, in the end, protest
it all becomes your fault?

How is it that
even after you think
you've got over it
it all resurfaces
to add yet more hurt?

The next one to break my heart
will at least have to
look me in the eye first.

Cynthia Pauline Jones, 9/4/12

I've reached the conclusion
that I'm not equipped
for breaking down another's walls
so you have to step forward
and give me some help
if you want me to make them fall

Cynthia Pauline Jones 10/10/2013

And so it's over
we, who set each other alight
who had the potential to fulfil
one another's deepest needs
we can't even be friends

So it's time to weigh
it all in the balance
to see if the positives we take away
make all that pain worthwhile
I can speak only for me
what you've gained and lost
I cannot tell
but there's so much for which
my thanks are due

The penny was dropping anyway
but loving you tipped the scales
for the first time I had a love
who didn't reinforce
the pretence of being male
a love who could give her love
to the real me
and if she could accept me
then I could accept me too

Thanks are due too
for giving me reason
to question my diet
to notice that wheat
has unwanted effects
for nudging me to face up
to needing work on my fitness
for the rediscovery
that a workout's enjoyable
for helping me listen
with a different ear
to some music
to realise that rap
isn't just crap
and now Kylie reminds me
that all the lovers
who've gone before
don't compare to you
and how could they?

Then there's the acceptance
that things that happened
when I was young
count as abuse
though at first
my knowing about you
had the opposite effect
the same effect
hearing others disclose had
that mine, in comparison
paled into insignificance
something I dare not mention
for fear I'd be called out
named a pathetic drama queen
so I silenced myself
self censored and shut up
but now I can think about it
and break the denial

And with time I'm letting go
more than I could before
because it's always been hopeless
when the love of your life
belongs to another
and consummation is no option
you learn to take the pain
of knowing it can never be
yet there's still cause
to mourn a love
that never really was
that never could have been

Some questions are unanswered
and perhaps always will be so
those needs you said you must express
are they gone or just repressed?
buried under work success
and gym exertion done alone
and keeping harmony at home
or did you find another outlet?
someone else with whom to roam
or is the harmony for real?
and you've worked your issues through
found your love for her is true
that you don't need the other stuff
that I could give to lift you up
to give you wings
to make you sing
Or is it, with Kylie again
Better the devil you know?
rather than one who's twice your age
and of dodgy gender history

But whatever becomes
I'll still love you
until the end of time
and who can tell
maybe next time round
in some life to come
we'll get to make it rhyme

Cynthia Pauline Jones, March 2013