Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Stay Away From Me

She left a potential death sentence on the fridge,

my eyes roll,

relaxing into a coffin,

because I won’t sleep for the rest of the night,

when I am gnawed at by anxiety,

over what all this vagueness means,

and…

Christ,

what if I die?

What if she’s left the death on the towels in the bathroom,

or the pile of washing up that waits on the side for me,

from her dinner last night.

Is it a death sentence?

She tells us all to stay away,

but I can’t tell if she means she is a viral villain,

drowning in the death,

that flies all over the world,

or if she means that she just means that she’s in a mood,

not in the mood to see anyone,

so wants to socially distance,

in a small house,

where we live on top of each other.

Every couple of weeks,

she sits in her Oval Office,

playing final games of football,

while we wait,

alarms aching in the air,

without explanation.

Nobody knows why.

I’ve never known,

when we went from friends,

to cruel child with a magnifying glass and an ant,

when I went from Switzerland to Poland,

and I suppose I never will,

because there are never facts to be found,

or a way to unwind mystery,

in vague four word notes on the fridge,

that could mean anything at all.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

What I Will Tell My Son About COVID-19

My eyes are staring back at me,

inquisitive and destined for exploration.

They want an explanation,

help with homework,

because a hellish phase of my life has now become history,

and I am a book,

as well as a chef,

so as I make dinner,

I don’t deny my curious companion the answers.

“Madre…”

The water simmers softly around the pasta,

a tiny hand,

that was once much smaller,

shyly pulls on my dress.

“What was the war on COVID like?”

Of course, it becomes a war,

because Britain cannot face its past,

without overdramatising.

“Overwhelming.”

My eyes meet mine again,

wide and wondering,

as I continue a lecture I still don’t feel qualified to deliver.

“I went walking in the park every day.”

He wants more.

“Your uncle made a lot of cakes.”

More, Madre.

“Grandma got a dog.”

I don’t tell him that I went to the park,

just to weep for what I was losing,

money,

my mind,

months at a time,

just wandering in the darkness,

waiting for relief that would never come.

I don’t tell him that the cakes came to pass,

because his uncle found me,

tear stained in the bathroom,

and he thought that filling my mouth with sweet treats,

would stop me saying I couldn’t stand life any longer.

I don’t tell him that grandma got a dog,

because she was locked away,

for far too long,

and she needed noise,

some warmth inside the quiet walls she called home.

I tell him about the singalongs,

weekly wailing applause,

zoom quizzes,

work from home sleep ins,

fighting back giggle fits,

when my first Covid test made my nose ticklish,

and the absurd exhilaration that his uncle and I felt,

when McDonalds was finally back on Ubereats.

I gently tell him of the loss,

how I was lucky to keep hold of each piece of my heart,

I let him imagine some of the drama,

so he can think of me as a hero,

but I never really tell him about lost,

lonely nights,

sleepless and never ending,

hospitals that became hell,

every night on the news,

pleading with the windows that stood between hearts to disappear,

how he was lucky to keep hold of his ability to exist,

because I almost lost mine.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Tired Arms

The night is late and lonely,

tired arms craving a connection,

the moon is making memories with the stars,

but I am bound for bed,

with nobody but the sheets and my bad dreams for company.

I put on a record,

bracing myself for the barrenness of the cold air around me,

dancing in darkness,

with tired, trembling arms,

that are hungry,

hysterical,

halfway to giving up all together.

I hold it together,

for a second,

then I am crestfallen,

crumbling on the kitchen floor,

tears fall,

and for a second,

my arms believe that someone will hold them again,

one day.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow

Rebellious subjects,

under the stars, that sing

“Oh, how cruel is fate?”

sweet harmony,

that portrays my destiny.

“Tier 2?” I gasp,

grasping at my symptom free throat,

googling traffickers

that could smuggle me in to the plague pit that our capital city has become.

On pain of death,

or public shaming,

I hope that you’ll hold me,

when the week is over.

Breathing slow,

beside the barricades,

I curse every face that I see,

playing games with blame,

like everyone knew I would,

because I’m a smart girl,

when I’m sober,

but since I met you,

I’ve been intoxicated,

so I lash out at fate,

unclean hands,

washed but unmasked faces,

that stand between us.

What sadness lengthens Jennifer’s hours?

Not having the funds to just say “Fuck it” and risk a fine,

or the selfish streak,

that so many let loose since we found ourselves in hell.

My brain is not idle,

but has many children.

Dreaming, divine,

of you and I,

underneath the roof of the market,

across from the Campus,

with a sheet of rain,

performing on the tiles.

Sometimes we kiss (by th’ book),

sometimes I stare, shyly at your shirt buttons,

and wonder when they shall be mine to toy with,

but then I am awake,

with nobody but an old bear,

who likes you just fine,

but feels a little envious that I spend more time with another.

A bear (who grew tired of pursuing) sits on my lap,

as we stare at the stars,

the inconstant moon.

I wonder,

if you could see the same picture,

if it weren’t for all the air pollution.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Smashwords – Authors Give Back Sale

Hola amigos,

Smashwords is currently holding the Author’s Give Back Sale, in which customers can purchase ebooks at reduced prices, with some books also free, for a limited time.

Digital copies of my two most recent poetry collections, Ol’ Brown Eyes Is Back and Deus Ex Machina are both available in the sale, for free, and the sale runs until April 20th 2020.

ol-brown-eyes-is-back

Download Ol’ Brown Eyes Is Back For Free

deus cover

Download Deus Ex Machina For Free

Besos,

J x