Pauline ,Pauline
Pauline,Pauline !!!!!!
It so is now your birthday ..Pauline

Pauline,Pauline
Pauline,Pauline!!!!!
There is so many candles I bet

Now over here we miss you so
Its time you came a home
For lots of gin and party hard
Sing birthday happy songs

Pauline,Pauline
Pauline,Pauline!!!!
You are so blinking old ..it hurts Pauline

So many years upon this earth
Yet we want real many more
So raise a toast to my sweet friend ..Pauline  

Pauline,Pauline
Pauline Pauline!!!!
Please come and visit us now real soon !!!!!!!

Happy Birthday chuck **

She started to reorganize the kingdom,  to give it access to the sea,  
To modernize the economy, and any army officer had a college degree.
That superpower had one weakness: she was stronger than her king.
She reorganized the political administration by creating a diplomacy ring.

She used the high trees belonging to their forests  to build  many ships.
She opened gold mines by using slaves  being  beaten with hard whips.
Reforming the toll system, she rose the taxes to pay for the army wars,
And created the overseas colonies to have many ports on the seashores.

She dissolved the parliament not wanting to consult with them.
A lot of  protests took place in the main cities her behavior to condemn.
The archbishop retired, because she reduced the ecclesiastical rights.
The new archbishop was trustful to her, and made new religious rites..

This way, Surah held completely the religious and the political power.
To advocate her prerogatives, a new Doctor Fox she started to empower.
Surah created a new high society at the John's court to control his life.
The old nobility lost the independence, which was a major cause of strife.

Surah met John and asked him to give her a part of his kingdom.
John gave her a big province , which it became her  new sub-kingdom.
She recruited and trained a new secret army, being ready to strike him
Clearly knowing  that his chances of winning this battle are pretty slim.

John knew  he was too young to be a ruler and allied with Frederick.
To make friends the vassals for this battle with Surah, they were quick.
When her army was subdued , she really saw the fire of God as sacred.
She had to face His army, and to see how her own men were massacred.

There always had been poverty, but at that time, after seven years, there were many vagabonds on the streets. Frieda was preparing the dinner waiting for Pauline to come. Eda , their friend, helped her. Eda worked as  a servant for a rich person. Her husband was a digger. Pauline entered the house in a rush being very upset and saying,

'A **** stole my bag .'Eda said,'Hoboes have no license to beg.'
'I tried to catch him , but he ran so fast.' 'You should shake your leg'
'People like him are tied to a cart, and whipped till they are bloodied',
Said Pauline,'they're forced to return to their homes being so muddied.'



'By law, the vagabonds can be made slaves for ten years', said Frieda.
' If they ran away during this time they're made slaves for life’, said Eda.
'Some  people have to rely on poor relief', said Pauline. 'Others thrive.
After having money they're forced  to pay a tax to keep hoboes alive',

Said Eda.'The overseers can provide work for any able-bodied vagrant.
If he refuses to work he's whipped, but he waits to be caught in flagrant’,
Said Frieda. 'The pauper's child goes to the employer to be an apprentice',
Said Eda.'For many poor people, drinking gin is their only preference.'

Pauline said, ‘I would like to eat roast beef cooked with pea.'
'My dear, meat is a luxury. We have  bread, butter, potatoes and tea' ,
Said Frieda.'By the way, where's Surah now?''She's John's vassal
As a landless queen.’Pauline smiled.’ She lives in her old castle.'
(Mary , Clara and Sarah, another nun, were preparing their dinner. On the table , there were corn, carrots some cheese, a little bread, a bottle of milk and six eggs.)

Mary said,'Monastery churches were converted to parish churches.
Buildings having monastic cells were left to ruin for social searches.'
'In order to hide, we must build new monasteries in the mountain valleys',
Sarah said.' Teaching poor people, others live near towns having alleys’,

Said Clara.'They live humble lives needing silence to devote themselves
To the worship of God, to copy out  manuscripts placed on their shelves,
To baptize the people, to farm their lands, and for tending their sheep',
Said Mary.'She restricted pilgrims from coming there to pray and to sleep',

Said Clara.'Many suppressed monasteries were hardly hit to surrender.
To confiscate the lands', said Mary,'Surah also convicted any defender.'
'You're right. Those , who agreed to surrender were given pensions for life',
Said Clara,'The transfer of the  lands to the Crown was Surah's greatest strife.

Some monasteries were transformed into workhouses for poor people
Having no income. Throwing out the bell, she built a room in every  steeple',
Said Sarah.'Surah deterred poor people from asking the state for help.
In houses, they wore uniforms being angry, while hearing the dog's yelp.

Husbands , wives and children still live separately , while breaking the stone .
Many children are looking like having a syndrome of the hungry bone',
Said Mary.'What is she doing now?'Clara asked.'John pushed her out the door’,
Said Sarah,'She tastes the peace while recovering from her last war!'
(In his castle, Frederick, John and Matthew, who was Frederick’s councillor, were waiting for the dinner.
John was 19 years old , not a minor any longer. On the table, there were green beans, asparagus, grapefruits, cheese, bread, avocado and eggs.)

John said ,'my mother didn't let her have a very close relationship with us,
But help was there when I needed it most , and aunt Surah loved me, thus.’
Frederick said,'Then, why did she declare war against you? It's strange.'
'In just one year', said Matthew,'it's amazing how many things can change.'

'She taught you everything , this way, you tried to undermine her power',
Said Frederick. 'She threatened to destroy me, but I could never cower',
Said John,'her counselors built a wall between myself and my people.'
Matthew smiled', she was that sound coming from a mysterious steeple'

'Each king ceded to me a part of his land in exchange for his vassalage,
And she didn't like it', said John.'She couldn't add controls to backstage’.
Matthew said,’ You took their territories on the coast to expand the naval power.
You traced the traitors, who were her people to imprison them in the tower.’

’ She had governed your  kingdom while limiting your power and influence’,
Said Frederick, ' and while advising you  to use some diplomatic prudence.'
John said,'then, she used her corsairs to attack my merchant ships.'
Matthew said,'we must trace her, and cope with missing information slips.’

To be continued...tomorrow

Elle ne connaissait ni l'orgueil ni la haine ;
Elle aimait ; elle était pauvre, simple et sereine ;
Souvent le pain qui manque abrégeait son repas.
Elle avait trois enfants, ce qui n'empêchait pas
Qu'elle ne se sentît mère de ceux qui souffrent.
Les noirs événements qui dans la nuit s'engouffrent,
Les flux et les reflux, les abîmes béants,
Les nains, sapant sans bruit l'ouvrage des géants,
Et tous nos malfaiteurs inconnus ou célèbres,
Ne l'épouvantaient point ; derrière ces ténèbres,
Elle apercevait Dieu construisant l'avenir.
Elle sentait sa foi sans cesse rajeunir
De la liberté sainte elle attisait les flammes
Elle s'inquiétait des enfants et des femmes ;
Elle disait, tendant la main aux travailleurs :
La vie est dure ici, mais sera bonne ailleurs.
Avançons ! - Elle allait, portant de l'un à l'autre
L'espérance ; c'était une espèce d'apôtre
Que Dieu, sur cette terre où nous gémissons tous,
Avait fait mère et femme afin qu'il fût plus doux ;
L'esprit le plus farouche aimait sa voix sincère.
Tendre, elle visitait, sous leur toit de misère,
Tous ceux que la famine ou la douleur abat,
Les malades pensifs, gisant sur leur grabat,
La mansarde où languit l'indigence morose ;
Quand, par hasard moins pauvre, elle avait quelque chose,
Elle le partageait à tous comme une sœur ;
Quand elle n'avait rien, elle donnait son cœur.
Calme et grande, elle aimait comme le soleil brille.
Le genre humain pour elle était une famille
Comme ses trois enfants étaient l'humanité.
Elle criait : progrès ! amour ! fraternité !
Elle ouvrait aux souffrants des horizons sublimes.

Quand Pauline Roland eut commis tous ces crimes,
Le sauveur de l'église et de l'ordre la prit
Et la mit en prison. Tranquille, elle sourit,
Car l'éponge de fiel plaît à ces lèvres pures.
Cinq mois, elle subit le contact des souillures,
L'oubli, le rire affreux du vice, les bourreaux,
Et le pain noir qu'on jette à travers les barreaux,
Edifiant la geôle au mal habituée,
Enseignant la voleuse et la prostituée.
Ces cinq mois écoulés, un soldat, un bandit,
Dont le nom souillerait ces vers, vint et lui dit
- Soumettez-vous sur l'heure au règne qui commence,
Reniez votre foi ; sinon, pas de clémence,
Lambessa ! choisissez. - Elle dit : Lambessa.
Le lendemain la grille en frémissant grinça,
Et l'on vit arriver un fourgon cellulaire.
- Ah ! voici Lambessa, dit-elle sans colère.
Elles étaient plusieurs qui souffraient pour le droit
Dans la même prison. Le fourgon trop étroit
Ne put les recevoir dans ses cloisons infâmes
Et l'on fit traverser tout Paris à ces femmes
Bras dessus bras dessous avec les argousins.
Ainsi que des voleurs et que des assassins,
Les sbires les frappaient de paroles bourrues.
S'il arrivait parfois que les passants des rues,
Surpris de voir mener ces femmes en troupeau,
S'approchaient et mettaient la main à leur chapeau,
L'argousin leur jetait des sourires obliques,
Et les passants fuyaient, disant : filles publiques !
Et Pauline Roland disait : courage, sœurs !
L'océan au bruit rauque, aux sombres épaisseurs,
Les emporta. Durant la rude traversée,
L'horizon était noir, la bise était glacée,
Sans l'ami qui soutient, sans la voix qui répond,
Elles tremblaient. La nuit, il pleuvait sur le pont
Pas de lit pour dormir, pas d'abri sous l'orage,
Et Pauline Roland criait : mes soeurs, courage !
Et les durs matelots pleuraient en les voyant.
On atteignit l'Afrique au rivage effrayant,
Les sables, les déserts qu'un ciel d'airain calcine,
Les rocs sans une source et sans une racine ;
L'Afrique, lieu d'horreur pour les plus résolus,
Terre au visage étrange où l'on ne se sent plus
Regardé par les yeux de la douce patrie.
Et Pauline Roland, souriante et meurtrie,
Dit aux femmes en pleurs : courage, c'est ici.
Et quand elle était seule, elle pleurait aussi.
Ses trois enfants ! **** d'elle ! Oh ! quelle angoisse amère !
Un jour, un des geôliers dit à la pauvre mère
Dans la casbah de Bône aux cachots étouffants :
Voulez-vous être libre et revoir vos enfants ?
Demandez grâce au prince. - Et cette femme forte
Dit : - J'irai les revoir lorsque je serai morte.
Alors sur la martyre, humble cœur indompté,
On épuisa la haine et la férocité.
Bagnes d'Afrique ! enfers qu'a sondés Ribeyrolles !
Oh ! la pitié sanglote et manque de paroles.
Une femme, une mère, un esprit ! ce fut là
Que malade, accablée et seule, on l'exila.
Le lit de camp, le froid et le chaud, la famine,
Le jour l'affreux soleil et la nuit la vermine,
Les verrous, le travail sans repos, les affronts,
Rien ne plia son âme ; elle disait : - Souffrons.
Souffrons comme Jésus, souffrons comme Socrate. -
Captive, on la traîna sur cette terre ingrate ;
Et, lasse, et quoiqu'un ciel torride l'écrasât,
On la faisait marcher à pied comme un forçat.
La fièvre la rongeait ; sombre, pâle, amaigrie,
Le soir elle tombait sur la paille pourrie,
Et de la France aux fers murmurait le doux nom.
On jeta cette femme au fond d'un cabanon.
Le mal brisait sa vie et grandissait son âme.
Grave, elle répétait : « Il est bon qu'une femme,
Dans cette servitude et cette lâcheté,
Meure pour la justice et pour la liberté. »
Voyant qu'elle râlait, sachant qu'ils rendront compte,
Les bourreaux eurent peur, ne pouvant avoir honte
Et l'homme de décembre abrégea son exil.
« Puisque c'est pour mourir, qu'elle rentre ! » dit-il.
Elle ne savait plus ce que l'on faisait d'elle.
L'agonie à Lyon la saisit. Sa prunelle,
Comme la nuit se fait quand baisse le flambeau,
Devint obscure et vague, et l'ombre du tombeau
Se leva lentement sur son visage blême.
Son fils, pour recueillir à cette heure suprême
Du moins son dernier souffle et son dernier regard,
Accourut. Pauvre mère ! Il arriva trop ****.
Elle était morte ; morte à force de souffrance,
Morte sans avoir su qu'elle voyait la France
Et le doux ciel natal aux rayons réchauffants
Morte dans le délire en criant : mes enfants !
On n'a pas même osé pleurer à ses obsèques ;
Elle dort sous la terre. - Et maintenant, évêques,
Debout, la mitre au front, dans l'ombre du saint lieu,
Crachez vos Te Deum à la face de Dieu !

Jersey, le 12 mars 1853.

Hello Love I'm breaking up with you
tired of all the little things you do
and I'm telling you now cause I'm feeling blue.
You might return, but I don't think so
can't believe what you choose to show
not that you say what I already know.
Forget you loved me
time moves on you'll soon see
that some love isn't meant to be.
Goodbye my inner demon so divine
hey Pauline I won't let you shine
I'm taking this broken reflection as my sign.

Dudley does to Pauline,
He does her right.
Dudley does to Pauline
Day and night.
Dudley does to Pauline
Til he hits the floor.
Dudley does to Pauline
Til he can't anymore

Dudley, Dudley, Dudley
Dudley Do-right.

Dudley never meant
To make a mess.
Dudley never asked Pauline
To wear that dress.
Dudley never needed
To hear her groan.
Dudley would have offered
To drive her home.

Dudley, Dudley, Dudley
Dudley do-right.

Dudley gets the mop
And a soapy pail.
Dudley wouldn't like
To go to jail.
Dudley is relieved
There's no-one to tell.
Dudley is so sweet,
Who'd believe the tale?

Dudley, Dudley, Dudley
Dudley Do-right.

1.        Eugene And the Pumpkin Pie

Wee Eugene's but a lonely boy
(arrayed in cap and corduroy),
has Jungle Jim (a ragged toy)
and fancied Friends his only joy.

Well, Jim appears from time to time
behind a pane of pantomime,
a charmed mirage, or dream sublime
inside a Cuckoo's nursery rhyme.

Still Eugene always finds a way
(while riding on his magic Sleigh)
to meet with Jim somewhere halfway
between the Moon and Yesterday.

When Jim brought Eu to Timbuktu
to kiss the Queen (a Kangaroo)
and tweak her tail (bright shiny blue),
Eu sneezed instead “achoo, achoo”.  

The baby Roo, surprised, awoke
and thought 'twas but a funny joke
beholding Eugene cough and choke...
well, sounding like old Froggy's croak.

Said Jim to Roo "Eu has a cold,
we mustn't laugh, we mustn't scold
instead we'll let the tale unfold
and frolic in the marigold".

With runny eyes and mighty sniffle
Eu could hardly get a whiffle,
climbed a hill to reach the cliffle ,
searched the sea for ship or skiffle.

Behind the breeze, some sloops were seen,
a grand delight that pleased Eugene,
and Jim, and Roo, and yes, the Queen;
they then set sail for Halloween.

Above the sea, below the sky
they saw a skinny Scarecrow fly -
within its beak (one couldn't deny),
surprise, surprise, a Pumpkin Pie!

The Scarecrow wore a veil and shawl
so really couldn't see at all
and swooped too near the sunny ball,
got grilled and let the pastry fall,

which bounced upon the waves below,
then slid beneath the undertow.
"Why did it fall, where did it go?"
cried Eugene with a gasp of woe.

Roo wondered would it reappear
(for where it went was certainly queer),
but where it went became quite clear
to Eu and Jim while standing near

the Queen who, hungry, hopped awhile
observing Crunch the Crocodile
come floating down the river Nil
with belly full and toothy smile.

2.        Eugene and the Wolverine

Within the sandbox played Eugene,
as well, his little friend named Dean,
a simple-minded Wolverine.

But yesterday was Halloween
when they collected sweets unseen,
all stuffed inside a sad Sardine.

And making sure their hands were clean,
they shared a snack - a tangerine,
a cantaloupe and big fat bean.

But they forgot the Sandbox Queen
whose hungry name was sweet Pauline -
with no invite she felt so mean
and woke the naughty Sand Machine.

Sand trickled in their fine cuisine
which scratched their gums and set the scene
to brush their teeth and in between.

Poor Dean was sad he hadn’t seen
the sandy specks with sparkly sheen,
all hidden like a submarine.

Eu sold his cookie magazine
And bought a brand new limousine
To flee the naughty Sand Machine.

Next time their food they’ll try to screen
from something hard and unforeseen
while tapping on a tambourine
to sooth the hungry Sandbox Queen
and trick the naughty Sand Machine.


3.        Eugene and Antoine

Eugene awoke and looked upon
his Mirror in the morning Dawn.
He saw himself and stopped to yawn
then saw instead his friend Antoine.

Well Antoine said ‘come in, come on
I’ll whisk you with this Magic Wand
then we can journey to the Pond
and sail astride the Silver Swan’.

And once inside the Looking Glass
amazing conquests came to pass
before the midday hourglass
released its sands upon the grass.

Well, first they sought and found the Pond
and hypnotized the Silver Swan
to sail them to the edge beyond,
to Charles, the Froggy Vagabond.

Well Charles was said to be ‘a King’
(whose Crown was hanging from a String)
while hopping with a golden Ring
just waiting for a Kiss in Spring.

Now Antoine said he’d kiss ‘the King’,
(or better said, ‘the Froggy Thing’)
but Eu refused to do such thing
unless the Frog removed the Ring.

The Ring transfixed poor Froggy’s Nose
instead of round his tiny Toes
to keep away the Midnight Crows
(as far as anybody knows).

When Froggy’s Nose was finally free
there was a sudden kissing spree
with Ant and Eu (and Swan made three)
to fix old Froggy’s Destiny.

The Rest is rather imprecise.
As to the trio’s Sacrifice,
the facts alone should now suffice -
the Pond and Froggy turned to ice!

And Swan became a Toucan Bird,
the strangest thing I ever heard,
instead of chirp she only purred
and even then she sometimes slurred.

Though Charles the Frog was mighty cold,
upon the Pond he stiffly strolled
behind the The Ring that slowly rolled
in search of one more nose to hold.

Well, Eu watched Antoine set the Pace
when beating Toucan in the Race
to seek and find a warmer Space
in front of Mother’s Fireplace.

So Antoine waved his charmed Baton
and whisked Eu back to Mum’s Salon -
But looking back, Eu’s friend was yon
behind the silvered Amazon.


4.            Eugene and the Milky Way

Eugene stayed in to play today
inside his secret hideaway;
he laughed and ate a Milky Way
with little fear of tooth decay.

But Dean, his friend, was far away
just driving in a Chevrolet
and didn't wish to disobey
so hurried home with no delay.

What took so long, I couldn't say
but Dean came late, in disarray -
he'd lost, alas, the Milky Way
that he had hidden Yesterday.

When asked, Eugene led Dean astray
about the missing Milky Way,
blamed Pauline in her negligee
who'd fed her little Popinjay.

Then Dean said sadly, in dismay,
"It was a gift for your birthday".
Well Eu felt bad, no longer gay
and offered Dean ice cream frappé.

Soon afterwards they romped in hay
beside the forest near the bay;
but when the sky turned somewhat gray
they flew back home to hide away.

At home, with all his toys at play,
Eugene confessed to Dean, to say
"Dear Dean, look here, I can't betray,
I ate the sweet, it made my day."

Said Dean, "I knew it anyway,
I saw the traces straightaway,
your chocolate lips, the giveaway;
but we're best friends, so that's OK."


5.         Eugene and the Gold Doubloon

Eugene took his nap at noon
and dreamt about Loraine the Loon
reclining in the long Lagoon
adorned in birdie pantaloons.

Then Eu suggested to the Loon
“Let’s pay a visit to the Dune
we’ll search and seek and very soon
we’ll find a shiny Gold Doubloon.”

But naughty Sand Machine typhoons
arrived and whisked them to the Moon
and left the playmate pals marooned
where gold of pirate ships was strewn.

Pale moonbeams played a mystic tune,
and touching on a magic rune,
Wee Eu, he found a pink harpoon
and in his hand a Gold Doubloon.

Instead of sitting on cocoons,
Loraine, she hatched the Gold Doubloon
when suddenly popped a blue Balloon
revealing Royce the red Raccoon.

Well Eu, awaking from his swoon,
was sad he’d lost the Gold Doubloon.
Instead he found a Macaroon
and munched and munched all afternoon.


6.        Eugene and the Dragonfly

When Eugene climbed a mountain high
and wandered down a dale nearby,
he came upon Doug Dragonfly
asleep beside a Tiger’s eye.

Soon Eu was thinking “Now’s the time
to take a rest from my long climb
and waken Doug to tell him I’m
about to pick a bunch of thyme”.

But Doug was quite a grumpy guy
when woken from his dream whereby
he’s dancing with a Butterfly
in magic realms that mystify.

So Doug complained “My dream's now gone
of dancing to the carillon
with Butterflies upon the lawn,
which won’t come back until I yawn.”

Then Eugene said “Well I know what!
A mug of tea and hazelnuts
served with a chocolate Buttercup
will surely help to cheer you up!”

Thereafter, picking tufts of thyme,
they heard the distant bluebells chime
and watched the Fairies pantomime
and dance till Eugene’s suppertime.


7.        Eugene and the Eskimo

Not so very long ago,
a bit before the morning’s glow,
Wee Eugene met an Eskimo
while trudging through the windblown snow.

Bedecked in boots and winter fur,
the Eskimo said “I’m Jack Spur.
Or call me Jack if you prefer,
it might be somewhat easier.”

Soon Jack was passing by to say
“Well could you help me find my way
back through the door to Yesterday,
to where I left my silver Sleigh?”

So Eugene said “I’ll come along,
but listen, hear the breakfast gong,
my Mama’s made the porridge strong
and chocolate milk, if I’m not wrong.”

So, filled with porridge to the brim
and feeling vigor, full of vim,
Wee Eu called Jack and said to him
“Well now we’ll travel on a whim.”

While seeking Yesterday and more
they searched an unseen corridor.
Somewhere behind the mirrored door
was Yesterday, the day before!

Without a fear they slid within,
with Jackie playing violin.
And Moon above was seen to grin
’cause Jackie’s tune was kind of thin.

Though searching long to find the Sleigh
they heard instead an echo stray
quite sounding like the Donkey’s bray,
the Donkey’s bray of Yesterday.

The Donkey’d left to find some food -
well, something fresh and not yet chewed
by Fran the Cow that always mooed
(and sometimes burped when she was rude).

The Sleigh was at the Donkey’s back
and nowhere’s near the railway track,
so Jack took Eugene piggyback,
just stopping once to eat a snack.

The Donkey heard the munch of chips
and wondered if his hungry lips
would ever taste some bacon strips
before the midnight Moon Eclipse.

Well Fran and Donkey, unforeseen,
found Jack at lunch with Wee Eugene
and shared a mighty fine cuisine,
provided by the Sandbox Queen.

Well ,Franny chewed her little cud
and Donkey ate a shiny spud,
and Jacky said “Now we must scud
before the coming springtime flood".

So Jack jumped back upon his Sleigh,
the Donkey droned a farewell bray,
(and Franny burped, need I to say?)
while Eu returned from Yesterday,
surprised to hear his Mother say
“Well, now it’s time for you to play!”


8.        Eugene and the Christmas Tree

Eugene awoke on Christmas morn
to find the Christmas Tree'd been shorn
and presents strewn around, forlorn,
midst bows and tinselled paper torn.

So blowing on his little Horn,
Eu called Eunice, the Unicorn.
The duo flew away airborne
(straped to Eu's side his Sword, a Thorn).

Escaping back to Yesterday,
in search of thyme and Santa's Sleigh,
Eu sought to brave the grinchy Fay,
reclaim the joy of Christmas Day .

Then Eunice and the Reindeer Corps
chased fey Fay to a sandy Shore
where Santa banned forevermore
the Fay to mop and scrub the floor.

Then Santa iced the windowpane
(thus waking Eu from dreams again),
left gifts arrayed, and candy cane,
beneath a Tree with candled mane.

’ Climbing down these secret stairs is a hell’, said Clayton. ’Don’t talk!
They can hear us. It has two sets of stairs. I think when they wanted to lock
This part of the tower, they made the secret passage ’, said Surah. ‘I’ll take care
Of the workers.  They drank that poppy seed tea. Now, they must feel the flare.’

Clayton threw them into the abyss, one by one. Then, he used a big rock
To block the entrance of the cave.’ Clayton, do you hear that screaming hawk?’
Frederick stopped dancing with Jezebel, and asked her to go with him to the terrace.
He professed his love for her saying that she might be a young pretty heiress.

’Did you talk with my father?’’ Yes, Jezebel, your father intends to give you
A half of his kingdom in order to make you be my bride. ‘’Is it true?’
‘I hear a weird noise coming from the cave.’’ Yes, indeed. ‘’Let’s take a look!’
He extended his hand, ‘I hear a rock moving behind those walls forming a nook!’

(It happened in the moment, when Clayton finished locking the passage.)
‘It has already caused waves in the lake. We must stop a real ravage!’
‘Two lamps are missing. They’re lost in the water. My father must know.’
‘That’s nothing’, said Richard,’ the beast could give its nose a loud blow.

Ha, ha, you’re really scared! It’s a tiny crack, which in time can expand.
Come to drink ‘, said Richard putting on Frederick’s shoulder his right hand.
’Fred is beautiful’, said Surah looking at a picture, which was hung on her wall.
‘I can’t believe he’s really here again after all this time, in the royal dancing hall.’

(Pauline and Frieda were two widows of those ten workers dying in the abyss.)
The poor homes were cold, damp, and dark within their walls.
The children used to play in the mud without having toys or dolls.
The windows were very small openings with some wooden shutters.
The men used to get drunk and to fight each other using small cutters.



The people ate, slept, and spent their time together in two rooms
Having thatched roofs and being as easy to destroy as were their tombs.
The homes of the rich people were more elaborate than the others.
They had paved floors being decorated with tiles in many colors.

Tapestries were hung on the walls, providing an extra layer of warmth.
In a simple home, there was no chimney. There was only a stone hearth.
Some vegetables such as cabbages, or onions were known as *** herbs.
They grew as much food as their families needed by using gardens and yards.

Pauline said 'It hurts me constantly until I know what really happened',
Frieda replied, ‘Because of the clouds, that day, the sky could be blackened'.
'But John was familiar with the trail, having hiked it many times before',
'Maybe they ran being afraid of that beast, a bear, or a very big boar.'

'John was a husky, healthy man, and he was not afraid of anything.'
'What can I say, Pauline? They are not at home, they are really missing.'
Pauline said crying,' On this mountain, so many have disappeared!'
'They disappeared near the cascade, and have never reappeared.'

(After a year, it was the springtime again. The people living at the castle were preparing the wedding.)
The sun shone, and the pink flowers bloomed at the wedding, in spring.
The guests were expected to come to the wedded pair, having gifts to bring,
Without a great change in the life at the castle, there would be stagnancy,
Due to her destiny, Jezebel would never be able to come out of her infancy.

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

(Richard and Anne opened their eyes.)

It was an emotional moment John never dared dream would happen.
He embraced his father, who was wearing a royal fur mantle of lapin.
'I feel like a little kid.' They broke down in tears, in each other’s arms.
'Those wall clocks worked to jolt you out of dreamland with big alarms.

The happiness in the family was clear in their massive smiles,
But the queen said,' I'm as tired as walking five hundred miles.'
They described how this meeting has made them be complete.
Frederick left them for an intimacy talk liking to be discreet.

'I can’t get out of bed’; said Anne, ‘I have a weird sensation in my legs.’
Freda came into the room saying, ‘I cooked for you bacon and eggs.'
'I can't eat with these shaky, weak arms, and I have a stomach pain.'
'Taking care of your needs is so hard,' ‘From meat, I must abstain.'

Jezebel came into the room, ‘my dear mother, how do you feel?'
'My eyes are blurry, and I can't see you. ‘To pray for you I kneel.'
‘I feel so light-headed, foggy, and faint. I'm thirsty, and I want to sleep,'
Said Richard. ‘I hear you, my dear father, and I began to weep.'

(After four months, in the castle, people were ready again for the wedding.)


The Archbishop was committed to keeping the wedding confidential.
Thus, the religious ceremony and the dinner were quintessential.
'If I could stop that misfortune happening to her,’ the groom thought.
'As soon as a baby will come into the family, things will change a lot!'

(Mary recovered, and came to the wedding. She embraced the bride. After that, he talked with Anne.)

'I should recognize there were some moments, when I felt as giving up.
I spiraled down in a whirlpool of sadness, and life was as a death cup.
I felt backed behind a wall .It was nowhere to run, and no reason to move.
Then, I was forced to do things I would normally fiercely disapprove.

Beneath its charming, the evilness manipulates, and destroys people
For its amusement, but its history is reddened in Surah's steeple
I lost my hope that the world, this imperfect place, can be good someday,
But I felt better than before, when I heard you're well, and I began to pray.'

(Anne replied to Mary.)

I think the feeling of disappointment that started in Surah's mind,
And slipped down to her soul was the result of being spiritually blind.
The knowledge that she had been wrong seeped into her bone,
And it wasn't a world to collapse , but a woman to become a stone.

(After two years, Pauline was talking with Freda and Eda, while preparing the dinner.)

'In the cave, there are skeletons of people who died under strange
Circumstances and the entrance of this grotto had to suffer a change.'
'Once, a friend of mine heard some cries of some bat creatures.  
They can ****** kids. ‘An expression of fear crossed Eda's features.

'Their bodies are black, though their wings are dark brown or red.
Their lower jaws contain serrated teeth. They’re big, people said.'
'It's only a demon having red lights on the eyes making them glow.
It becomes active, when the dandelion flowers the seeds start to blow.'

'I heard that a creature as no other one was painted on the wall.
In fact, it was a huge bat creature. Bats still exist , but they're small.'
'Did you hear that Surah died? She had burned scars all over body.
In the burning castle she wore a dress, which was cheap and shoddy.'

(Frederick was talking with Jezebel.)

Jezebel sat softly on a jutting rock near the old cave’s lake.
In that fine damp mist, as usual, she wanted to take a break.
Frederick came to see her, carrying his little son in his arms,
‘I'm in love with you and still deeply captivated by your charms.’

’ The castle has an open natural entrance and a bridge over the lake.’
‘I gave the poor people a half of the treasure for your father’s sake.
Clayton came to hand Anne the blamed castle's keys telling her
That Surah died in his arms. Clayton said,'' I loved her, but we were

Two lonely people in search of a lost happiness . It seems that it was
Not helpful. Now, I go to live in a monastic community because
I want to know the stages of becoming a monk. It has been a while
Since I took the time to find out about God. ‘He went out with a smile.

(Pauline and Freda were in the kitchen of the royal castle. Pauline looked out the window, and saw Clayton leaving the castle.)

'I've always thought that Clayton was a mysterious figure as a crow.'
'He has always loved Surah. He's not able to live without her, now.'
'But where is doctor Fox?’ ‘Who’s this doctor?' 'Nobody exactly knows.’
'Freda, it is said that the secrets lose all their power if they expose.'

The end

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

(Jezebel drank the entire beverage.)
'It's good to feel better', said Jezebel, 'What is that?' 'It's a golden spindle.'
She took it. 'Pay attention to the candle flame, which the room can kindle.’
She began to spin the golden fleece as she had learned from that book.
She fainted after stabbing herself with the spindle, and to have a look



Surah approached her for a minute. ’She was his mother, I wanted to say!’
After that, she opened the window. ’I need fresh air to start this new day!’
She heard the demon laughing while climbing down the last two stairs.
‘Do you see that bird flying into the open window?’ ’Let’s go upstairs!’

Jezebel switched to a persistent vegetative state, in which breathing,  
Digesting and eliminating foods continued, although she was unwitting.
A nun will feed her using a feeding tube, and will take care of her body.
She will wash Jezebel, and she will dress her in clothes made of shoddy.

Frieda and Pauline entered the tower room and found her sleeping;
They heard strange sounds, and they thought that she was weeping.
She slowly breathed, so they tried to arouse her. It was a strange smell.
'Her eyes don't open, her body is flaccid,' said Frieda, and she started to yell.

Hearing the screams, the royal pair climbed up the stairs in a hurry.
''What happened?'' Anne was shocked. ''Your Majesty, it's a major worry!'
When Anne saw her, she had a whirling sensation and a tendency to fall.
A soft, ivory pallor shone in her face, she started to lean against the wall.

When the king saw her pallor, he took the goblet and gave her to drink.
Thinking that it's wine, he drank the rest of the potion, 'The goblets stink!'
He looked at Pauline, but losing his consciousness, he fell on the floor.
At that time, Mary arrived and remained speechless in front of the door.

'What happened?' 'They are ill. Look, the royal doctor is coming!’
The doctor examined them saying, 'I'm afraid they are succumbing!'
'It's very hard to keep them alive. I must invite here a great master.
I gave them medicine, but their condition will not improve any faster.’

Fred was riding his horse through the woods together with his guests.
He sang being accompanied by the male birds singing near their nests.
He was so happy thinking of those village people also coming to the castle.
He imagined his bride wearing her wedding gown, and being certainly gracile.

Jezebel fell into a coma from a drug overdose containing morphine.
It was extracted from Marijuana imported from Asia, when she was fifteen.
She couldn't respond to outside stimuli such as sounds, or temperature.
Many doctors came to treat Jezebel, and to study this illness structure.

Princess Jezebel started to dream resting on many time's wings.
She found a new Frederick in a forgotten world with seasonal swings.
In reality, she remained a beautiful rose bud in the tower's room.
She was as unaware and as sad as a departure of a flower’s bloom.


The monastery, which was sleeping in the daylight sun
Could hide both the demons and the prayers of a crying nun.
In time, that realm was forgotten and caressed by pearls of rain,
The life could go on, while the girl was sleeping in her doom's chain.

Words can be rotten, indeed,
Tugging you in every step,
Since they released the hold on those hellhounds,
"You're an awful person".
Letters may they only be,
Yet they can still be as sinister,
As a wolf creeping behind a rabbit.
Yet, this being truth,
It is a two-way mirror.
They build us up or break our walls.
They can be your rise,
They can be your downfall.
Words spoken may be all that powerful,
But words can also best them, as well.
See them as their insecurities,
Not yours.
Pity not yourself, not them, not anyone.
Understand that they cannot understand you;
They may have a reason not to?
Please, don't lose yourself,
In the blur of the letters and words they threw.
Let the Demons in you be tamed,
They can be freed for another time.
Letters and words these may all be,
Yet I hope what I want to say, you see.
You are not alone.
**We are not alone.

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

What's behind the Bright Red Door, is it all my dreams come true
Is this where Time and Circumstances has secretly hidden you
Did Circumstances steal you away before the light of day
Keeping you confined, for reasons Time won't say

Should I crack it open, take a peek, do I dare explore
Do I even want to know the secrets of the Bright Red Door

Maybe it's my lost childhood, that behind it is imprisoned
Books read at bedtime, awake before the sun has risen
Mud pies are made, fire flies chased and all my mistakes forgiven
Before the division, when Happily Ever After was still envisioned

Should I crack it open, take a peek, do I dare explore
Do I even want to know the secrets of the Bright Red Door

Wonder if it's my future there, right beyond that door
I know my past, I know my present, both have left me floored
Would it finally all work out, or the universe's fatal blow
I'm still holding tightly on to hope, so do I really want to know

Should I crack it open, take a peek, do I dare explore
Do I even want to know the secrets of the Bright Red Door

Standing in front of it, mindlessly wringing my hands
Heart beats, that of a humming bird that never lands
Skin on fire, as it turns white with the fear
Hand shaking, turning cold as the **** comes near

Should I crack it open, take a peek, do I dare explore
Do I even want to know the secrets of the Bright Red Door

If old dreams lie behind it, can't I simply dream anew
If it's a lost childhood imprisoned, it's ok, with the years I grew
If the future, shouldn't it remain unseen, leaving hope to grow
For as mere humans we're ment to look forward, only to tomorrow

I turn away from that Bright Red Door, temptation firmly resisted
What does lie beyond, I'm sure is severely twisted

©Pauline Russell

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

Renee Vivien Translations


Song
by Renée Vivien
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

When the moon weeps,
illuminating flowers on the graves of the faithful,
my memories creep
back to you, wrapped in flightless wings.

It's getting late; soon we will sleep
(your eyes already half closed)
steeped
in the shimmering air.

O, the agony of burning roses:
your forehead discloses
a heavy despondency,
though your hair floats lightly ...

In the night sky the stars burn whitely
as the Goddess nightly
resurrects flowers that fear the sun
and die before dawn ...



Undine
by Renée Vivien
loose translation/interpretation by Kim Cherub (an alias of Michael R. Burch)

Your laughter startles, your caresses rake.
Your cold kisses love the evil they do.
Your eyes―blue lotuses drifting on a lake.

Lilies are less pallid than your face.

You move like water parting.
Your hair falls in rootlike tangles.
Your words like treacherous rapids rise.
Your arms, flexible as reeds, strangle,

Choking me like tubular river reeds.
I shiver in their enlacing embrace.
Drowning without an illuminating moon,
I vanish without a trace,

lost in a nightly swoon.



Amazone
by Renée Vivien
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch  

the Amazon smiles above the ruins
while the sun, wearied by its struggles, droops to sleep.
******’s aroma swells Her nostrils;
She exults in blood, death’s inscrutable lover.

She loves lovers who intoxicate Her
with their wild agonies and proud demises.
She despises the cloying honey of feminine caresses;
cups empty of horror fail to satisfy Her.

Her desire, falling cruelly on some wan mouth
from which she rips out the unrequited kiss,
awaits ardently lust’s supreme spasm,
more beautiful and more terrible than the spasm of love.

NOTE: The French poem has “coups” and I considered various words – “cuts,” “coups,” “coups counted,” etc. – but I thought because of “intoxicate” and “honey” that “cups” worked best in English.



“Nous nous sommes assises” (“We Sat Down”)
by Renée Vivien
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Darling, we were like two exiles
bearing our desolate souls within us.

Dawn broke more revolting than any illness...

Neither of us knew the native language
As we wandered the streets like strangers.
The morning’s stench, so oppressive!

Yet you shone like the sunrise of hope...

                     *

As night fell, we sat down,
Your drab dress grey as any evening,
To feel the friendly freshness of kisses.

No longer alone in the universe,
We exchanged lovely verses with languor.

Darling, we dallied, without quite daring to believe,
And I told you: “The evening is far more beautiful than the dawn.”

You nudged me with your forehead, then gave me your hands,
And I no longer feared uncertain tomorrows.

The sunset sashayed off with its splendid insolence,
But no voice dared disturb our silence...

I forgot the houses and their inhospitality...

The sunset dyed my mourning attire purple.

Then I told you, kissing your half-closed eyelids:
“Violets are more beautiful than roses.”

Darkness overwhelmed the horizon...

Harmonious sobs surrounded us...

A strange languor subdued the strident city.

Thus we savored the enigmatic hour.

Slowly death erased all light and noise,
Then I knew the august face of the night.

You let the last veils slip to your naked feet...
Then your body appeared even nobler to me, dimly lit by the stars.

Finally came the appeasement of rest, of returning to ourselves...
And I told you: “Here is the height of love…”

We who had come carrying our desolate souls within us,
like two exiles, like complete strangers.



Renée Vivien (1877-1909) was a British poet who wrote primarily in French. She was one of the last major poets of Symbolism. Her work included sonnets, hendecasyllabic verse and prose poetry. Born Pauline Mary Tarn in London to a British father and American mother, she grew up in Paris and London. Upon inheriting her father's fortune at age 21, she emigrated permanently to France. In Paris, her dress and lifestyle were as notorious as her verse. She lived lavishly as an open lesbian, sometimes dressing in men's clothes, while harboring a lifelong obsession for her closest childhood friend, Violet Shillito (a relationship that apparently remained unconsummated). Her obsession with violets led to Vivien being called the "Muse of the Violets." But in 1900 Vivien abandoned this chaste love to engage in a public affair with the American writer and heiress Natalie Clifford Barney. The following year Shillito died of typhoid fever, a tragedy from which Vivien never fully recovered. Vivien later had a relationship with a baroness to whom she considered herself to be married, even though the baroness had a husband and children. During her adventurous life, Vivien indulged in alcohol, drugs, fetishes and sadomasochism. But she grew increasingly frail and by the time of her death she weighed only 70 pounds, quite possibly dying from the cumulative effects of anorexia, alcoholism and drug abuse.

Keywords/Tags: Renee Vivien, lesbian, gay, LBGT, love, love and art, French, translation, translations, France, cross-dresser, symbolic, symbolist, symbolism, image, images, imagery, metaphor, metamorphose, metaphysical

I know of a girl
With small hands
That write small letters,
But with a mind so wide
Like her arms opened
For a comforting embrace.
Few spoken words at first
That ring with cautious clarity
Then grows in depth and length.
Tiny capillaries that connect
To the biggest heart I've heard
Whose louder beats echo
From where she stays.
Little feet which will carry her
To a larger place some day.
Her name may mean "small,"
But she's so much more
than most of all.

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

Boudicca, long hair tangled and bunched; fiery flame red hair.

Warrior queen of the Iceni, daughter of these isles of tin.

Defender of freedom, leader of men, slayer of legions.

Through the mist the Britons, Celtic in origin; saw the legions.

Row upon row of tightly packed troops, shields locked together!

Flanked on either side by cavalry.  Above the silence orders could

Be heard echoing across the field, the leather harness’s creaked

Metal chinking, horses stomping and snorting, in the stillness.

Through the mist came the first rays of sunlight glinting on sharpened

Swords and spearheads; horns began to blow as the steady

Stomp of the legions moved forward in formation.

Boudicca’s eyes peered out from a face of blue woe. Bow strings

In turn began to creak death, as archers pulled back on their bows.

A slow chant from the Iceni, slow at first, began to build into a crescendo

Of noise, as the boom, boom of sword and axe rapped against wood shields.

Boudicca flame haired warrior queen stood proud and fearless on her chariot;

Daughters on each side of her, defiant against Gaius Suetonius Pauline’s

And the might of Rome.

Oh what a sight it must have been!

You see that porcelain ranged there in the window--
Platters and soup-plates done with pale pink rosebuds,
And tiny violets, and wreaths of ivy?
See how the pattern clings to the gleaming edges!
They're works of art--minutely seen and felt,
Each petal done devoutly.  Is it failure
To spend your blood like this?

Study them . . . you will see there, in the porcelain,
If you stare hard enough, a sort of swimming
Of lights and shadows, ghosts within a crystal--
My brain unfolding!  There you'll see me sitting
Day after day, close to a certain window,
Looking down, sometimes, to see the people . . .

Sometimes my wife comes there to speak to me . . .
Sometimes the grey cat waves his tail around me . . .
Goldfish swim in a bowl, glisten in sunlight,
Dilate to a gorgeous size, blow delicate bubbles,
Drowse among dark green weeds.  On rainy days,
You'll see a gas-light shedding light behind me--
An eye-shade round my forehead.  There I sit,
Twirling the tiny brushes in my paint-cups,
Painting the pale pink rosebuds, minute violets,
Exquisite wreaths of dark green ivy leaves.
On this leaf, goes a dream I dreamed last night
Of two soft-patterned toads--I thought them stones,
Until they hopped!  And then a great black spider,--
Tarantula, perhaps, a hideous thing,--
It crossed the room in one tremendous leap.
Here,--as I coil the stems between two leaves,--
It is as if, dwindling to atomy size,
I cried the secret between two universes . . .
A friend of mine took hasheesh once, and said
Just as he fell asleep he had a dream,--
Though with his eyes wide open,--
And felt, or saw, or knew himself a part
Of marvelous slowly-wreathing intricate patterns,
Plane upon plane, depth upon coiling depth,
Amazing leaves, folding one on another,
Voluted grasses, twists and curves and spirals--
All of it darkly moving . . . as for me,
I need no hasheesh for it--it's too easy!
Soon as I shut my eyes I set out walking
In a monstrous jungle of monstrous pale pink roseleaves,
Violets purple as death, dripping with water,
And ivy-leaves as big as clouds above me.

Here, in a simple pattern of separate violets--
With scalloped edges gilded--here you have me
Thinking of something else.  My wife, you know,--
There's something lacking--force, or will, or passion,
I don't know what it is--and so, sometimes,
When I am tired, or haven't slept three nights,
Or it is cloudy, with low threat of rain,
I get uneasy--just like poplar trees
Ruffling their leaves--and I begin to think
Of poor Pauline, so many years ago,
And that delicious night.  Where is she now?
I meant to write--but she has moved, by this time,
And then, besides, she might find out I'm married.
Well, there is more--I'm getting old and timid--
The years have gnawed my will.  I've lost my nerve!
I never strike out boldly as I used to--
But sit here, painting violets, and remember
That thrilling night.  Photographers, she said,
Asked her to pose for them; her eyes and forehead,--
Dark brown eyes, and a smooth and pallid forehead,--
Were thought so beautiful.--And so they were.
Pauline . . .  These violets are like words remembered . . .
Darling! she whispered . . . Darling! . . . Darling! . . . Darling!
Well, I suppose such days can come but once.
Lord, how happy we were! . . .

Here, if you only knew it, is a story--
Here, in these leaves.  I stopped my work to tell it,
And then, when I had finished, went on thinking:
A man I saw on a train . . .  I was still a boy . . .
Who killed himself by diving against a wall.
Here is a recollection of my wife,
When she was still my sweetheart, years ago.
It's funny how things change,--just change, by growing,
Without an effort . . .  And here are trivial things,--
A chill, an errand forgotten, a cut while shaving;
A friend of mine who tells me he is married . . .
Or is that last so trivial?  Well, no matter!

This is the sort of thing you'll see of me,
If you look hard enough.  This, in its way,
Is a kind of fame.  My life arranged before you
In scrolls of leaves, rosebuds, violets, ivy,
Clustered or wreathed on plate and cup and platter . . .
Sometimes, I say, I'm just like John the Baptist--
You have my head before you . . . on a platter.

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

One year on....

My Nana has unfortunately passed away after a valiant fight against cancer. In this passing we have lost a lovely woman who meant the world to our whole family. Me and my cousins affectionally called her 'straight Nana' as when we were younger we were lucky to also still have our great gran around who we called 'curly Nana' this was based on the fact that Nana Pauline has Straight hair and her mother had curly hair. In all my years I've have never heard even a choice word said against her spirit or character which is truly a rare commodity in this day and age.



She lived a full life and had three amazing daughters and a step son who she raised as her own. Thirteen grandchildren one being myself and five great grandkids. Thankfully we recently all got together and she was able to see her whole family together for the first time. I could see how happy it made her that day to see the legacy she had created and more importantly that we all were in a good place before she left us for the final time.



'May the wind always be on your back and the sun always upon your face and may the winds of destiny carry you aloft to dance with the stars '



My mother was very young when she had me so the support that my Nan gave her as I grew up was vital. Without her me and my mum would of struggled but we always had a safetynet of support that we could rely on that was invaluable to us both. I know this notion is appreciated by my aunties and cousins too. We all share our own individual special memories as well as collective moments too that we will never forget. I would appreciate it so much if anybody has any memories stories that they wish to share as I know they will help us all as a family as we cope with this difficult time.




Cara: ". I once mistakingly rang there (labour club) instead of nanas house looking for mum, nana answered anyway, and passed me on to mum! Good job I got the wrong number! 



Her husband John is a great man who was with my Nana for her last 20 years. He is a part of our family and I hope he knows that we will always be here for him and I look I will look forward to his Sunday Dinners in future and having a beer in the back garden in tribute to our usual routine. I know I'm not alone when I say we are always here for you and we love you
and respect you so much. If you ever need anything please do not forget that.


She had a a gift for poetry that was exposed when she made her way to Facebook. I would always giggle at the little dittys she would loving, yet embarrassingly post to our Facebook walls with affection, nailing little pockets of the personalities of the protagonists each time she wrote them. Reading back some of these small potent poems know I smile as a proud Grandson and I'm happy we will all each have our own little prose to refer to in the future. 




From Moat Road, to Winterslow Avenue, Clover  Croft and finally your home in Widnes - I'll always remember each place fondly for reasons as they represents different periods of my life as I've grown up. My blue bear and parties, your back garden at Moat Road. Snowballs and magic tricks, teddy football at Winterslow Avenue. Clovere Croft was a place of refuge in my teenage years, your naughty rabbits and old school cooked dinners and misbehaving Malig. The dog who you took in and never left your side. The Labour club, where you worked hard and played hard! The beautiful garden you have created that will grow and remind us of your colourful nature as the flowers grow and bloom each year. I know John will tender them with care and think of you with a smile as he listens to smooth FM and remembers all the great times that you both spent together there. 



'if winter comes can spring be far behind?'



As a woman she was truly beautiful, a short stunning blonde. Her three daughters each different in ways but each a  reflection of there mother in their own unique ways.  Looking at them now they are all testament to her gorgeous genes and gentle, kind nature.



Nana was the most amazing crossword completer I have ever met. I was consistently surprised by her ability to finish these crosswords as she watched daytime TV and it was one of the small funny things that made me really proud of her. She filled in the gaps that was synomomus to her life.

Each of her daughters have fought through hard times and she provided a back bone of support that helped them reach the stability and happiness in their lives today. I know she said to me personally how she had comes to terms with her fate and that she was especially happy my Aunty Julie has found happiness with a good man like her sisters. I feel this represented the final piece to the puzzle for her and as usual she was able to complete this before she left. She took great solace in this fact - and so she should. It made me feel a small element of contentness when she told me this during one of our last conversations together.



To all my cousins now is the time to step up and being there for your mums. I have no doubt you will be.  I am proud of you all and you all have a special place in my thoughts. You all have great qualities and potential and it's been a pleasure to watch you all grow up into fine young men and ladies, even mothers.  Please never hesitate to contact me if you need to talk or share your thoughts. I know we will remain strong as a unit and we will get through this tough time together as a family!


In closing I want to thank my Nana just for simply being her. I will hold you in a special place in my heart forever and you will never be forgotten. Each Christmas I will toast you with a Jack Daniels (Nan would always buy the guys a JD related present every year) I will never taste that whiskey again without a passing thought for you as it passes my lips. I know I will not be the only one with this sentiment.

Even as a close family - I still hope this brings us all together and that we use this experience to better ourselves in our own personal ways. Fight hard to reach your potential and stay true to your essence and the person you desire or have chosen to be. It's these times that expose what really matters to you - embrace those thoughts and do not lose them in grief or forget them in time.

I am so proud of you.
Goodby Nana. I love you.
Your Grandson,
Nathan x

ANCIEN REGIME

I

Now that I, tying thy glass mask tightly,
May gaze through these faint smokes curling whitely,
As thou pliest thy trade in this devil’s-smithy—
Which is the poison to poison her, prithee?

II

He is with her; and they know that I know
Where they are, what they do: they believe my tears flow
While they laugh, laugh at me, at me fled to the drear
Empty church, to pray God in, for them!—I am here.

III

Grind away, moisten and mash up thy paste,
Pound at thy powder,—I am not in haste!
Better sit thus, and observe thy strange things,
Than go where men wait me and dance at the King’s.

IV

That in the mortar—you call it a gum?
Ah, the brave tree whence such gold oozings come!
And yonder soft phial, the exquisite blue,
Sure to taste sweetly,—is that poison too?

V

Had I but all of them, thee and thy treasures,
What a wild crowd of invisible pleasures!
To carry pure death in an earring, a casket,
A signet, a fan-mount, a filigree-basket!

VI

Soon, at the King’s, a mere lozenge to give,
And Pauline should have just thirty minutes to live!
But to light a pastille, and Elise, with her head,
And her breast, and her arms, and her hands, should drop dead!

VII

Quick—is it finished? The colour’s too grim!
Why not soft like the phial’s, enticing and dim?
Let it brighten her drink, let her turn it and stir,
And try it and taste, ere she fix and prefer!

VIII

What a drop! She’s not little, no minion like me—
That’s why she ensnared him: this never will free
The soul from those strong, great eyes,—say, “No!”
To that pulse’s magnificent come-and-go.

IX

For only last night, as they whispered, I brought
My own eyes to bear on her so, that I thought
Could I keep them one-half minute fixed, she would fall,
Shrivelled; she fell not; yet this does it all!

X

Not that I bid you spare her the pain!
Let death be felt and the proof remain;
Brand, burn up, bite into its grace—
He is sure to remember her dying face!

XI

Is it done? Take my mask off! Nay, be not morose,
It kills her, and this prevents seeing it close:
The delicate droplet, my whole fortune’s fee—
If it hurts her, beside, can it ever hurt me?

XII

Now, take all my jewels, gorge gold to your fill,
You may kiss me, old man, on my mouth if you will!
But brush this dust off me, lest horror it brings
Ere I know it—next moment I dance at the King’s!

That curving space
between her *******,
a perfect place
for my chin to rest
as I dreamt a scene
along the Seine
of the perfect *******
of my sweet Pauline.

r ~ 6/20/14

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

Give me my warm pajamas, my heart has been covered with snow
There are only lonely nights, no one to hold

Give me my warm pajamas, there's no one to hold
My bones are weary and so very cold

Give me my warm pajamas, my bones are cold
My heart is frozen over and growing old

Give me my warm pajamas,my heart is growing old
Winter has came, summer's been sold

Give me my warm pajamas, summer's been sold
With the hand of cards I've been dealt, I just want to fold

Give me my warm pajamas, I need to fold
In this world, I never fit it's mold

Give me my warm pajamas, I'll never fit the mold
By my past, my future has been foretold

My warm pajamas won't be why they find my body cold

©Pauline Russell

The castle kitchens had big fireplaces, where the oxen and the meat
Were roasted on spits. The cookies were baking, roasting by using the heat.
The pantries were hung with birds, swans, pigeons, rabbits, mutton, ducks,
Venison and wild boar. Suddenly, the spring life became a luminous flux.

Everywhere on the tables, there were berries, nuts, and other fruits.
In the rooms, there were pottery, glass, fabrics, jackets, dress coats,  
Sweaters, bodices, pants, petticoats, silk, music, joy, pewter utensils,
Jewelry, purses, shoes, hats, ties, powders and eyebrow pencils.

‘The guests will arrive and the food is not ready, yet’, whispered Pauline.
'You can hurry a little’, said Frieda, ‘Guess, who's coming!’ ‘The queen!'
Anne tasted all the fresh food and drinks and found them well prepared.
'After you finish, open the windows, because the rooms are not aired.'

Queen hurried away, leaving behind a whiff of perfume and stress.
'Do you see her through the window? ‘What a splendid wedding dress!'
"Jezebel is beautiful. I heard that the marriage can change the doom.'
'Yes, the bad fortune of the bride can bring a bad fate for the groom.'
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

(At the monastery, Clara and Mary were preparing their luggage to go to the wedding.)

'I'm talking about this false teaching, which left me confused’, said Mary.
'No one is sinless perfect', said Clara, ‘we’re God's children. Be wary!'
'She hates her sisters; she walks in the darkness, while being so blind.'
'But God is Light, and the prayers have the power to change her mind.'

'She's not truly in fellowship with God, because she can't love her sister,
But I can't compare her with Surah, who is a real incurable blister.'
'Surah hates her sisters, she's a murderer, and doesn't need eternal life.
She's an ignorant, she needs power, and she lives only her life of strife.'

‘Is it true that whatever we ask, we receive from Him, because we fight
To keep His commandments, while doing what is pleasing in His sight?'
'It's true.' ', I asked Him to save my niece, but I didn't receive any response.'
'You must teach Surah how to love, and she will destroy her magic sconce.'

(It was three o’clock in the morning, and Surah entered the passage of the cave.
She entered the castle, and climbed up the stairs to be in the room of the tower.
There, she put two goblets on the table containing a beverage used to induce a coma.
After that, she came down from the tower to enter the Jezebel’s room.)

'How is my sweet niece, who will be a bride?' ‘I’m a little scared.'
'Every bride is scared knowing that her feelings in bed must be shared.'
"How was your first moment in bed?' 'Well, I started with a little kiss;
I gave it to the loveliness I was wallowing in. I felt the radiance of bliss.
(Surah smiled being a little tender while looking at her niece.)

‘Let me show you my wedding gift. Let’s go into the tower to see it.'
'This is a joke!' Surah took her hand. 'I have the key.' 'Does this key fit?
My mom can hear us, and you know that you're not allowed to enter here.'
'She cannot wake up early in this morning. Did you forget that I'm a seer?'

(Surah and Jezebel climbed up the stairs of the tower. They entered the room of the tower. Jezebel sat on a chair to marvel at the beauty of the altar and at the golden spindle. Surah took out a medallion from her pocket and put it into the Jezebel's hands. The medallion had two miniature portraits. One of them was the portrait of Frederick, and the other one was the portrait of a very beautiful woman.)

'I want you to know that this portrait belonged to his former dead fiancée.
He had abandoned her for another one. His love was only a flight of fancy.'
'Give me something to drink, my dear aunt, I really don't feel quite well!'
"Sure', said Surah giving her to drink the beverage having an interesting smell.

Deaths Of 2013

My third year doing this.

Paul Walker, Texas ranger,
driving fast leads to danger.
Matt Osbourne was Doink The Clown,
Paul Bearer always wore a frown.
Dennis Farina and James Gandolfini,
always played a mobster meany.
Peter O'Toole, famous actor,
Prime Minister, Margaret Thatcher.
President Nelson Mandela,
Dennis Burkley, was a famous fat actor fella.
Lou Reed, is now on the wild side,
took all the colored girls for a ride.
Conrad Bain and Bonnie Franklin,
tv actors who had white skin.
Paul Blair and Stan The Man,
playing baseball, when they can.
Marcia Wallace and Lisa Robin Kelly,
both had ***** that bounced like jelly.
Tom Clancy wrote famous books,
not much on having good looks.
Cory Montieth and Patti Page,
one died young, other of old age.
Jean Stapleton, was Edith Bunker,
Archie always put her in the dumper.
Pat Summerall and Deacon Jones,
played football and broke some bones.
Dr. Joyce Brothers and Pauline Phillips,
they both gave good and bad tips.
Ray Manzarek, from The Doors,
Jeff Hanneman knew all Slayers chords.
Chrissy Amphlett, liked to touch herself,
Caleb Moore's trophies are on his shelf.
Mindy McCready and George Jones,
both hit those country tones.
Chris Kelly from Kris Kross,
Ed Koch is a New York loss.
David Frost and Roger Ebert,
always had words to insert.
Anneitte Funicello from Mickey Mouse Club,
Eydie Gorme almost got a snub.
Jonathan Winters, was very funny,
to come from Mork's egg, made him money.
If you don't know who these people are,
look them up, internet not very far.
For the ones that I missed,
please don't get to ******.

Seven forty five we start to arrive
To tea coffee water or squash
We’re all there by eight and no one is late
Not without a good reason or ten
There’s Barry, and Michael (his brother) and several others
And Sharon and Karen and Ken

Keeping it neat in our stocking feet
We find ourselves somewhere to sit
We all bring a bible and some bring a bottle
And some come with paper and pen
There’s Anita and Jill and some others still
And Sharon and Karen and Ken

Breaking the ice with something nice
That’s happened to you in the week
We go round the room and each takes their turn
Telling what happened to them
There’s Geraldine, Barbara, and others we’ve seen
And Sharon and Karen and Ken

Now the serious bit we listen to it
From a tape or on D.V.D.
Then we split to discuss not shouting too much
Taking care not to deafen
Hosts Pauline and Paul and that’s not all
There’s Sharon and Karen and Ken

From heated debate before it gets late
We gather our thoughts and pause
We offer a prayer for those who aren’t there
For the world and for the church Amen
From Wendy and John and I should mention
Sharon and Karen and Ken

Then a choice of drink what do you think
Of squash or coffee or tea
Now a glass of red wine that would be fine
It’s hard to know when to say when
For David and others I won’t mention (the brothers)
Or Sharon and Karen and Ken

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

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

Gunga peas calypso
Madly
in my cooking ***
gradually I pour canned coconut milk
into the swirling flavors
of cilantro, garlic and onions


Staring into the rich brown
stew
I can see my Mother grating
coconut meat and hand squeezing
the milk like teats from a cow
(Too much work for me)
creating a traditional coconut rice and peas
dish


She was raised on a farm in St. Elizabeth,
Jamaica
early hours, rugged, hard labor were natural
for the family which included nine siblings
Pauline was a kind big hearted Soul
with ample soft *****
perfect for children
to lay their heads upon
and skin that always seemed
to smell of curry


Burnt sienna Indian complexion
wavy black river hair
and colorful patois accent
painted a portrait
cavorting over the dandy, rolling
goat hooved hills of
Jamaican village peasantry


The Moravian church of England formed
beliefs woven inextricably through
the fabric of her simplistic
innocent existence
our Mom instilled a love of
God in us that was pure and hearty

"Sonya stop your daydreaming"
my Mother's clarion voice interrupts
my avid reverie

"Bumba!" I cry aloud
"I haven't had bammy in eons"

Quickly my fingers Google
Another tasty native recipe

chock full of memories
and cassava root