i.

I think meetings are like satsumas;
the skin
can peel
off in
tiny pieces,
your fingers will get covered in the juice
and you can spend hours picking off the white stringy bits
and then the fruit will taste sweet and it will be all worth it.

Or it peels off in one easy motion and it’s all full of pips or it’s dry or it’s bitter and that’s like meetings.

Meetings are strange because they can go on forever or they can be over in a minute.

Some people you meet everyday.
Others you meet once and never see them again.
My parents had the second type of meeting.
They met at a bus stop and my mother complained about the weather and my father agreed it was too hot and then he gave her his number and then she called him.
He became her window cleaner.
He moved in.
They lived in the same house.
They never saw each other.

Everything was terrible.
They never met again.
They drew up different lists:
Frankie, Rae, Teagan.
Genevieve, Emily, Jessica.
Somehow it became something else that neither particularly liked and the outside world didn’t much like it either. They locked the doors and I watched from the window.

Why don’t you go out? Don’t go out.

Everything was terrible.
Mother saw it on the TV.
Father saw it through other people’s windows.
But I can seem never break the peel.
It doesn’t come off in one easy motion
and it doesn’t come off in pieces.
It doesn’t come off at all.

But I am the girl from the cobweb;
I am the spider who stopped catching flies.
From the smell of gravy and soapy water to the kebabs and urban fox.

Meetings. Where do I begin?

ii.

Adrian Wren was wondering how many leg bones
it would take to build a wall around his house,
or rather round his old house.
The bones would have to go around the neighbour’s houses too
so he supposed it would take quite a lot of bones to go round all the houses.

He was writing an article about a murderer who kept the leg bones of his victims.
This was not a crucial element.
It was supposed to be about the murderer’s childhood,
in which the murderer was the victim.
The childhood did not answer the question: why leg bones of the victims?
The bones were building up in his head.
How would you glue bones together?
Adrian began typing;
the isolation and loneliness of being a middle child, the least favourite son.
The problem with being the victim.

It was actually kind of funny, when he thought about it.
Why a leg bone? Why not something smaller, that could be hidden?

Adrian wondered if the girl in the red boots thought about things like that. The girl who had knocked on the door of the too small flat to use his shower and borrow a cup.

Her shower,
she said,
kind
        of
            just
                   dripped.

iii.

Sometimes, I tell lies. Or not quite lies. Half truths. For example:
• These shoes belonged to a dead woman.
• Sea cucumbers can use their internal organs as a defence  mechanism.
• My cousin nearly died whilst attempting to eat a match.

I just want to tell something to someone but I don’t always have the real story, so I tell a not quite story. Or ask a not quite question. For example:
• What would life be like if humans had shells?
• Do we have shells?
• What do people living on mountains do with their faeces?

Right now, I’m looking at the flecks on the carpet, trying to find faces. Once, there was a house built above a graveyard and faces appeared on the floor. I wish there were faces on this floor. I wish I lived above a graveyard.

I live on the ground floor, above the bins. It’s interesting to watch what people have to put in the bins.

If only you’d concentrate on something important as much as you concentrate on that window.

But here’s the man from four floors away, putting his ******* in the bin. His clothes frown, his hair frowns, his whole being frowns. Frowns are like creases ironed into clothes, but who is the iron, what are the clothes?


*iv.

Adrian Wren was still trying to solve the riddle.
Most people thought they gave cryptic clues
about themselves but they were actually
just the conventional ones reworded.
This was a real riddle.
It was about her and it wasn’t about her.
It began with a J and ended with an I.
Anything could fit in between.

Jaci? Jessi?

She had a habit of appearing,
maybe at the bottom of the stairs.
Adrian was somehow angry at her,
just for being there,
sitting on the stairs,
picking a spider out of her hair,
walking out then coming back in as
if to test she really knew the code.
He was trying to write up an argument about people
on benefits but the space bar
keptgettingstuckandthewordsgotclumpedtogetherintonewwordsthat­noonehadanysuggestionsfor.

Jenni? Jodi? Juli?

Sometimes, he was certain she was trying to steal something.
Other times, she was one of those strange specimens
who attached themselves to another, because of an accidental look.
Mostly, she was just the girl in the boots without a name.

Jerri? Josi? Jani?*

Adrian found that the riddle hung
                                                             on
                                                             the edge
                                                              of­ the mind,
an itch which wasn’t really too itchy.

There were other things to worry about:
• Work
• Old things reopening
• Work
• Ignoring the phone
• Work
• A knocking at the door.
• Do you mind, if I come in – it’s just there’s this programme on telly and-

v.

Just tell me your name. He didn’t want to play this game.
Only, it was addictive, now he’d got started.
Now, it was a matter of having to know.
I gave you all the clues I’m giving, she grinned.


Joni,
Adrian said finally,
looking back at the screen
of his laptop.

vi.

Joni-Rae.
It was hyphenated because they couldn’t decide,
because they never really met.

Sometimes, people will call me Joan if they hate nicknames and Johnny if they can’t pronounce it.

Joni-Rae, but actually only ever Joni.
Begins with a J and ends in an I.
Does that still count, if I amputated part of it?
His middle name was nearly Ray too.
Adrian Ray Wren. Too many Rs.

I’m still looking for my middle name though. Does it mean I’m missing a bit of my meaning? Is there a bit of me I haven’t met just yet? Can we meet ourselves or only other people?

Shopping :o)

one bag of flour
the self raising kind
a pound of bacon
without the rind

a loaf of bread
a jar of jam
remember the pickle
to go with the ham

dog food and cat food
cheese and coffee
don't forget raisins
and nuts for the toffee

tomatoes, sundried
get those if you're able,
if you're not sure
it will say on the label

toilet rolls, eggs
shampoo and stir fry
get rolls without seeds
heaven knows why

salad and butter
hot dogs and sauce
get reduced fat, low sugar
and lo salt, of course

chocolate and sweetcorn
chicken and stuffing
a chocolate chip, walnut
and blueberry muffin

pizza with pineapple
ham and some cheese
fairy and cookies
ariel fabreeze

turkey, satsumas
not oranges with pips
tin foil and razors
and food bags with zips

nutella is best
it's the one we like most
so get a big jar
to spread on our toast

boys, thank you for helping
It's a great deal to me
oh, and don't forget cake
and biscuits and tea

i'll leave it to you
if there are things that i've missed
Just get what you think
if it's not on the list.

Lasers on my lunch
Greedy golden dog covets
Even satsumas

Fluid rivers, their white noise and chilly inhaled lace
ease my mind's labyrinth, catching deep breaths
dancing in dreams of forest filled landscapes
like a child's security blanket, mother nature's embrace
we awake to marsh mellows and sticky coat hangers  
the dull, orange embers reignite purpose flames
as sunrise and coffee breaks the plains
a guitar lies naked near **** bottles of wine
reclaiming its tuning, strumming life into souls
and once the satsumas and the coffee's devoured
we bask in the sunshine, winding down hours
delaying the inevitable Watch Full Moon Tower

I dont remember the first time we spoke,
or the last but I remember all the times in between,
I remember my birthday in Pre K when you came to visit me for lunch because my mother couldnt,
I remember when you first taught me the "hambone song" and every easter egg hunt, every ripped open christmas gift, I remember every picture on the walls and the smell of your cologne,
I remember the first time I heard you had cancer,
I didnt know what it meant,
but I cried,
I cried because I also remembered my moms best friend being the first death I wtinessed because of whatever cancer was,
I remembered her skinny body getting thinner and thinner as the cancer weathered her away and I remember my mom crying at the funeral but I was too confused and scared to cry,
now hearing that this disease was inside the only respectable male figure in my life at the time was terrifying,
then I remember learning it was only in your finger and they simply removed it and that was that, I wasnt sure why it didnt work that way with Darlene.
I remember all the jokes you used to make and how everyone had a nickname,
I remember how you made the best breakfast anywhere ever,
I remember your cataract surgery, I remember every hopsital visit I was present for and i remember the pain you went through when your wife of 55 years died of a heart attack, the wife you fed cleaned and clothed because her mental capacity had been severly hindered by annurisms and strokes past, and who you loved till the very end.
I remember that funeral making more sense and the whole death thing being alot easier to grasp,
I cried at that one.
I remember the second time I heard you had cancer,
in the same finger,
and they removed it the same way.
I remember you driving an hour from new orleans just to bring us satsumas and make my mom laugh,
I remember the third time they said you had cancer and it was something worse,
in your lungs,
and it was some monster with a name I was familiar with from tv,
mesothelioma, I remember them saying you had no more than 6 months to live and I was only a freshman then with no respect for authority and no understanding of the importance of appreciating your time with people,
I remember the law suits,
I remember you paying off our house,
and our land note,
and I remember you being so sick at one point you couldnt leave your bed,
there was liquid pooling in your lungs and weighing them down on your spina nd I can only imagine that feels like having glass shoved throgh your back from the inside out,
you layed and bore it for days with the pain medication,
you took so much you couldnt really function, just to avoid the pain, and it want really working..
I remember my aunt walking in on you trying to load your revolver and having to wrestle it from your hands,
my aunt told me in tears that you asked her to let you **** yourself,
I remember you getting better when they put some talc in your lungs to absorb the liquid,
and you got better.
well for a couple months,
and things seemed to be looking up,
but then it came back in full force,
and I guess at this point you deserved the rest,
i remember looking at your body in the casket and thinking
"this is the last time ill see you?  thats not fair"
I remember looking around the room at family and friends I had never met and thinking of all the people you were leaving behind and sobbing because it was not ******* fair,
I remember your mother having to bury you in her 99th year on earth,
I remember your casket being closed and the poems my cousins read but I was too shy to write,
I remember riding in the limo on the way to bury you and how we all joked to keep our mind off it,
and I remember wanting to ***** as my stomach twisted watching your coffin be placed into your grave next to the wife you married as a ahandsome young man with your whole life ahead of you,
I thought in that moment if you knew all the lives youd effect or create,
I just wanted to say thankyou because I never did and now I couldnt ever.
like I said I dont remember the first time or last time we spoke but I remember everything in between and not even death can take those memories from me I will drag them to the bottom of hell with me if I have to.

Adolf ****** may have been an evil *******...
In fact he was without a doubt.
I don’t need to remind us all but the things he said and did is kinda what this is about.
I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s imagined....
What if ****** and the Nazis won?
What would the world we live in today be like?
cos the powers that be have still got us under their thumb.
Some say some Jew called Rothschild has taken over,
But like a 4 leaf clover,
I’m not going to let that conspiracy get to me
cos I already worry too much about my own life
as stress can sometimes cut me open
and feels just like a blunt knife.

So getting to the point....

I have no issues with America and her people,
I’ve been to Montana, Washington, New York and even Seattle,
It IS a little too big for my liking,
But that’s not the point in this rant that I’m writing,
I do wanna cite though that for the record I loved Obama,
Despite the air strikes upon Syria he ordered he didn’t cause too much drama,
Maybe certain Americans just love starting wars,
Who knows? maybe cos of their ridiculous gun laws
Every country has their own patriotic flaws,
and eyesores in the dilated pupils of foreigners.
I tell you what though....
Satsumas...
I look at those differently these days,
I used to love the taste of them but now they just remind me of a certain pig headed face,
Calling him a disgrace is an understatement,
it seems like everything he does is just for his own entertainment,
I can understand why the red necks voted for him,
cos he knew what to say to get his puppets on a string,
and the thing is
is that this all feels like a Hollywood movie,
Rudely perverted, ****** and *****,
with no happy ending,
bending their laws
Of what is right and what is wrong
we’re either longing for another saviour or the end of the world,
at least for now

(C)

My silver lining's changed to jet.
Developed wings and flew away.
The cloud's filled up with tangerine,
A scent of orange fragrant rain.
I hate oranges, unless of course they're Christmas time satsumas.
My eyes sobbed aquamarine tears,
Never a boring shade of blue.
My heart became a tennis ball after playing many games.
And did those feet walk upon England's green and pleasant land.
Like hell they did.
These feet danced on the hilltops, if the mood was right.
Paddled in river's and slipped on stepping stones.
They fell,
Fell in love.
Got picked up by the lover.
The one who surrendered to my love without even trying.
My feelings for him fell into the stream,
together our smiles are dying.
Now she's the one.
Who's sometimes still crying.
Not as much anymore.
All done and dusted.
Two ice cubes drifting away down the river of dreams.
(C) Livvi

Because Mondays are
bulging bowls of satsumas,
first nugget of sunrise
or an apostrophe of flame,

and Tuesdays are
a row of blooming hydrangeas,
tall glasses of blueberry juice
or a last swatch of sky before night,

then Wednesdays are
a chubby lavender bush,
Parma Violet streaked teeth
or punnets of plump plums,

so Thursdays are
a pile of squashed rubber ducks,
frozen smile bananas
or the hemorrhage of an egg,

but Fridays are
a grass clippings mountain range,
eczema-skinned avocados
or skinny grasshopper limbs,

whereas Saturdays are
a ladybird’s speckled coat,
spoonfuls of pomegranate blobs
or a mushroom umbrella,

while Sundays are
a snowman’s **** belly,
globes of vanilla ice-cream
or a candle’s last word.