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Mezzanotte's (Mezzanotte on UKA) UKArchive
66 Archived submissions found.
Title
Submersa (posted on: 12-02-10)
Back again after more computer probs... 🙁 ... HO HUM... anyway, here are a few words inspired whilst thrashing it all out at the local pool.

Sommersa Back-stroking the dew-loved blades reaching through the green. Fluorescent lighting stars my sky to guide my liquid dream. I'm in the swell, I am the wave of peace which parts my line. I'm forming gills, a siren's tail slick Speedo skin hugs mine. In ultra-sound my world is mute inside this chlorine womb. A diving dart of glossy light - I'm a silver, spinning moon. I am the scissors, slicing through a silky, satin sheet - it folds back seamless on itself to smooth behind my feet. Bubbles fizz my crashing arm, my breath a swollen sail, my legs are rudders spinning out an effervescent trail. Flying through infinity my wings a spraying arc, a plunging, soaring swallow - in tempo - I'm a lark. Breast stroking the dew- loved blades reaching to forever my rhythmic splash may hypnotise and trance me here forever.
Archived comments for Submersa
stormwolf on 12-02-2010
Submersa
Just great to see you back, Jack!
Hey, that rhymes...got a poem starting 😉
Anyway, this got me right in the mood for a swim. The pure joy of it came through and the images were so original.
I could almost see you there whizzing elegantly up and down while more clumsy bathers lingered in the shallows!
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Haha, I don't know about the 'whizzing elegantly' bit, but I do enjoy a good swim. I'm REALLY happy that you liked this one, I enjoyed writing it.

Thanks for the warm welcome back.

Love Jack

sunken on 12-02-2010
Submersa
Hello Ms. Jackie. Good to see you back. A strong sub and no mistake. I is a weak swimmer. I am, however, very good at drowning. Hence the name. Nice work missus.

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dear sir, i am duty bound to inform you that the vacancy for pillow plumper to the stars has been filled....

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunky,

thanks for the welcome back. I'm sorry to hear that the sunken is literal...that sucks. I hate to think of you drowning, so I think maybe you should get Bernard to teach you how to do the Doggy Paddle.

Love Jack

Beth on 14-02-2010
Submersa
I liked the imagery here and the flow of this poem. The metaphors have a lot of originality and evoke the sense of swimming in a unique way. An inspirational poem. Regards Beth

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 16-02-2010
Submersa
How great to see you back and writing so well. I can't believe this wasn't nibbed! You've got some fantastic lines and imagery throughout and the whole poem is just top shelf in my opinion! So so good, Jackie...

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 28-03-2010
Submersa
Hi Jackie - the last stanza fell a little below the standard of the others with a repeated 'forever' but a good thythm was sustained throughout. All that was missing was the hearty slap of armbands - nope, that's just me not waving but drowning. Mitch

Author's Reply:


Broken Diet (posted on: 12-02-10)
Ooops! 🙂 I accidently ate a Chocolate Orange instead of a pickled onion...yeah, I know it's an easy mistake to make, but it made me feel like this all the same.

Broken Diet Slit open, prostrate on the floor - suite skinned, saliva-rich - craving artery clogging mass. Globules of gelatine-discharge excrete from a wide-gashed will. Insatiate greed swells florid lips, heavy thighs yawn apart, cellulite rippling a tide of drooling lard. Distended pig tongue of dirty desire slavers for more sticky-stained sin - sleazy lickings bloat it obese. Yellowing membrane, soured and foul, splays to be split, by a hardened fat thrust then drippings of lust.
Archived comments for Broken Diet
e-griff on 12-02-2010
Broken Diet
Good god, woman, what are you on?

Author's Reply:
Chocolate Orange 🙂

Andrea on 12-02-2010
Broken Diet
Whatever it is, can I have some?

Author's Reply:
Sorry, I ate it all!

Ionicus on 12-02-2010
Broken Diet
Hello Jackie, nice to have you back. I never imagined that a chocolate orange could have such effect.
Your description of 'heavy thighs yawn apart' was for me more suggestive than a digestive. All I could think was 'naughty but nice'.

Luigi xxx

Author's Reply:
Ciao Luigi,

I was trying to write a dark and dirty poem that might disgust more than entertain. I've noticed that it's been nibbed, so am going to have to eat another chocolate orange to see if I can do something similar again...haha any excuse for chocolate.

Love Jack

stormwolf on 12-02-2010
Broken Diet
I might have known Luigi would beat me to mentioning the naughty bits 😉 anyway, this was a veritable feast of imagery and descriptions. I use the words 'feast' intentionally as it is packed full and totally highlights the wicked pleasure of this sin against the diet with equal measures of self loathing and hedonsitic heaven.
A pure conglomeration of excess...yummy!!!
I also like the exaggerated way you describe the body for the above reasons so all in all a very well crafted poem quite apart from the funny side of it.
Now...away and get down to the swimming baths and work it all off.
Alison
rated 9

Author's Reply:
Dear Alison,

as I said to Luigi, I was trying to write a dark and dirty poem. I wanted to express the effects of performing a purely hedonistic act, and yes, the self-loathing. I'm really happy that you completely 'got' what I was trying to do.

I'm really looking forward to reading some more of your brillliant poems...I'm holding my breath.
Love Jack

Jolen on 16-02-2010
Broken Diet
holy hell, now that's gooooooooood! A very well sustained metaphor, dear Jackie and congrats on the well deserved nib!

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen, I'm a bit of a sucker for that sustained metaphor...but hey!!! so are you, and you do it much better 🙂

sunken on 17-02-2010
Broken Diet
Ahem. I may never look at a Terry's chocolate orange in the same way ever again. Did you know that Terry's also made a *limited edition chocolate carrot in 1997? It's true. Well done on the nib.

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*this is a lie

Author's Reply:
I think that sucking a chocolate carrot has got to be much easier than sucking a chocolate orange. I'm sure Mr. Terry would probably find it more satisfying too!

PLease do not infer any sexual implications in this comment...really...no, really!!!

e-griff on 17-02-2010
Broken Diet
I don't believe that - but there ARE Lindt chocolate carrots

sorry forgot how to do link here

http://gigi-reviews.blogspot.com/2009/02/lindt-chocolate-carrots.html

Author's Reply:
Now, this must be an Easter thing right? To give the Easter bunny something to munch on whilst he's delivering all those eggs.

Beth on 18-02-2010
Broken Diet
Distended pig tongue
of dirty desire
slavers for more
sticky-stained sin -

Wow! I'll see chocolate in a whole new way now! This poem is full of emotion and the poetry is immediate and draws the reader in. Now I think I'll just wonder down to the corner shop...

Author's Reply:

pdemitchell on 28-03-2010
Broken Diet
I need a good rub down with a twix and a tub of lard after that. Very visceral are one's guilty pleasures. Does what it say on the chloresterol pump! Mitch

Author's Reply:


(posted on: 23-11-09)
😉

In The Barren Region It lies between them at night - as a sweating child, heavy and fevered it kicks and claims all space its own. But the sheet between them is cold and flat and as vicious as her shoulder yet it scalds like the sands of the Sahara on naked feet. Like a Bedouin he used to test the breach - but now knows, that the mirage of desire withers to nothing at his touch.
Archived comments for

No comments archives found!
In the Barren Region (posted on: 23-11-09)
😉

In The Barren Region It lies between them at night - as a sick child, heavy and fevered it kicks and claims all space its own. The sheet between them is dull and flat and as vicious as her shoulder yet scalding, like Sahara sand on naked feet. A Bedouin he would test the breach - but now knows, that the mirage of desire withers to nothing at his touch.
Archived comments for In the Barren Region
stormwolf on 23-11-2009
In the Barren Region
stunning! into favs
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison...I love the word 'stunning'...excellent!

luv
jack

sunken on 24-11-2009
In the Barren Region
How sad. I hope they work it out. It's like that bt commercial or the one for nescafe before it. So come on, Ms. Jackie, what are you trying to flog us? Coffee or Broadband? Hello? I got it wrong again didn't I? Very well written and no mistake.

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please sir, can i have a kestrel?

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunky,

I think I'm trying to flog Kestrel...cheap larger right?

Luv
Jack

RedKite on 25-11-2009
In the Barren Region
This is a very clever piece of work and cannot understand why it has not been commented on a lot more this also deserves a high rating Daniel

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daniel,

your words are very kind and I appreciate them LOADS!!!

luv
Jack

e-griff on 27-11-2009
In the Barren Region
this is very good. I had a little niggle with 'sweating' - I'm not sure it conjured up the appropriate image and you have fevered as well. I think the 'But' after that is not needed.

In fact, I'm not sure how well the juxtaposition of cold and heat works here - I'm imagining it without the heat references and it seems to work as well if not better. .. ho hum.

see? it got me thinking 🙂 G

Author's Reply:
Dear John,

I had a little play with this poem, what do you think of it now?

Jack

e-griff on 27-11-2009
In the Barren Region
mind if I have another go, just for fun? 🙂

It lies between them at night -
a sick child,
heavy and fevered,
it kicks
to claim its space.
The sheet between them is dull and flat
and as vicious as her shoulder…
…yet scalding, like Shara sand
on naked feet.


A Bedouin, he would test the breach -
but now he knows the mirage of desire
would wither to nothing at his touch.

ho hum ... just a play ....

Author's Reply:
Thanks JohnG,

I've changed it to incorporate some of your suggestions, think it reads much better now.

Luv
Jack


Finely Chiselled (posted on: 23-11-09)
🙂

Finely Chiselled A little gloss to make her shine, tinkle, glow. Though she was well polished she couldn't see her reflection in the eyes of others. A bit more varnish, a drop too much, still couldn't hide her kindling imperfections. So she took to sanding away, the knots and notches. But ceaseless smoothing wore her flat. Against the grain she started to plane - charming a silhouette out of something almost been erased. Still in the vice, though splintered and hollow she chipped and trimmed at herself until there was nothing left except the tool she had used to shave herself away shaped like an empty wine glass.
Archived comments for Finely Chiselled
stormwolf on 23-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
Pity you chose not to have rating as this is excellent work...
I sense and empathize with the person in the poem. So many of us fall short of the supposed ideal that is really non existent and seek comfort elsewhere.
Just raw and power-filled. I so enjoy your work Jack, you never disappoint.
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison,

I enjoy writing it, and thank God others enjoy reading it.

Luv
Jack

barenib on 23-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
Hi Jackie, a nicely observed piece that indeed paints a rather forlorn picture. One suggestion if I may - 'So she took to...' suggests that the verb should end in 'ing'. As sandpapering doesn't scan, how about 'So she took to sanding away'? A good read, John.

Author's Reply:
Dear John,

you are right. I've changed the line to 'sanding away'. Thanks for pointing this out. I really hadn't noticed, and I teach English too haha. I think sometimes, if you read the same poem a million times you become a little snow blind.

luv

Jack

sunken on 24-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
I don't blame you for turning the rating off. It's the worst feature of uka. Anon rating shouldn't be allowed. It's gutless. I love this, Ms. Jackie. There's a moral in there but I'm still trying to work it out. It makes me think of these girls who stride for perfection by adding fake this and that to themselves. In the end they just look cheap and nasty and completely unattractive (to my sunky mind at any rate). A tip top piece. You don't need rates. You don't need hit counts. It's all bollocks. Since when did poetry need logistics? Blahhhhhh. Well done and no mistake. Have a Bernard, more a hindrance than an accolade.

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Author's Reply:
Dear sunky and bernard,

thanks for dropping by. I think I will keep the ratings button off, I never used to really look at it or use it anyway...well, not until it started being abused.


Thanks for the Bernard sunks

luv
Jack

Ionicus on 24-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
Women, women. Never satisfied with their looks! Let the men be the judges. We read that girls starve themselves to achieve a fashionable skinny look. Who wants a stick insect as a girlfriend? Not many I suspect. Still, the girl in this poem could have fared worse and ended up with an empty wine bottle than just a glass.
A good piece Jack. Don't you ever change.

Baci, Luigi.

Author's Reply:
Grazie Luigi,

Glad you liked it...and yes, I have to agree, an empty bottle is a rather pitiful sight...especially when it's blurred and multiplying..haha

Luv
Jack

RedKite on 25-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
Have to agree with Alison this piece of work deserves a rating, this is a true poets piece of work, to be congratulated Daniel

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daniel,

I like the 'true poet' bit...haha

luv
Jack

macaby on 25-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
An outstanding poem. A fitting metaphor you have used and may I say well crafted also. I disagree with Luigi's remark about women never being satisfied with their looks. A lot of men tend to go in this direction also, like Tom Cruise or Stallone and even your ordinary Dick or Harry. The mans section in "Boots the Chemist" is larger now than it was years ago, sometimes I stand there , confused, wondering which creme suits my particular skin . It isn't easy you know. I saw Mickey Rourke on tv the other night, that is a perfect example of too much "chiseling" IMO.
Good poem, deserves the Bernard, better than a rating if you ask me.
cheers
mac


Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac,

You make me laugh. I'm just imagining you looking all puzzled in Boots...haha. Hope you found the right cream. As for Mickey Rourke...good lord, he used to be soooo hansome, what the hell has he done to himself. Axel Rose is going the same way I think.

Glad you liked this Mac.
Luv
Jack

PamLamppa on 25-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
This is an old story, time and again, we use whatever vices we can to escape our real selves as we try to fit the mold of what others expect us to be.

Sometimes, we try to escape our own short comings, when that simple sip of self acceptance and forgiveness would work wonders.

Your subject matter is one many will relate to. I may have chosen different line breaks for greater emphasis in certain areas though which would help to smooth the flow a bit.

Really a nice piece. ~Pamela

Author's Reply:
Dear Pamela,

thanks for un derstanding and commenting on my poem. What line breaks would you have chosen, I'd love to know, it's never too late to change a poem if someone else has a better suggestion.

Thanks
Jack

Pughguy on 26-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
A classic poem about our vanity. And a lot more people (than will admit) are just like that. Back when I was kickin it, I spent more time in front of that mirror, than most any lady. Went through hair spray like ah wild fire through dry brush. Very nicely written Jack.

Author's Reply:
Haha, I bet you had fun when you were 'kickin it'. Glad you liked this.

Luv
Jack

Jolen on 26-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
Jackie:
Congrats on the nib. A clever piece that shows just how different things can appear from what they are in reality. Well done, you!

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Dear Jolen,

yeah, I haven't had a nib in ages, I'm really relieved to see this one here,

Luv
Jack

stormwolf on 26-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
yeah!!!
well done on the nib so richly deserved
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the congrats, I haven't had a nib in ages, I was beginning to wonder if I were lsoing my touch! haha

Luv
Jack

e-griff on 26-11-2009
Finely Chiselled
Though she was well polished(,)she couldn’t see...

A bit more varnish, a drop too much,
could never hide her kindling imperfections.

So she took to sandpapering away ...
So she sandpapered away...
She took to sanding away..
the knots and notches.

The ceaseless smoothing wore her flat.

Against the grain
she began to plane -
charming a silhouette from something
that was almost erased.

Still in the vice, splintered and hollow
she chipped and trimmed
until there was nothing left

- except the tool she had used -
shaped like an empty wine glass.

good thinking here .. 🙂

just trimming ....

G

Author's Reply:
Cheers johnG,

you know your comments always have a welcome home here. Thanks for taking a look at this for me.

Luv
Jackie


Dying on the sand (posted on: 16-11-09)
It's amazing how an innocent dog walk can make or ruin a moment in time.

Dying on the Sand Dirty-dish eye half-human - all blind, stares up at the repulsion slapped across my face. From its yawning world cast out onto land - filthy pink mass, as ugly in death as in life. Said to pull fishermen from their boats down into the deep for their death. Trawled from its hollow abyss by nets meant for fish it lays discarded, to slime in the tide and disgust the shore. The thought of even poking it with a stick makes my skin retch away from its bone. But that constant eye steals my morning, pulling me down into this moment as a child into a whirlpool.
Archived comments for Dying on the sand
woodbine on 16-11-2009
Dying on the sand
This is an excellent poem that begins well, develops, and finishes with a kernel of truth which to my eyes is that what repels us most at one level can, despite our good intentions, hold a dangerous attraction for us at another. Its punch is where it ought to be, in the closing lines.
I am sure other readers will find their own truths in it.

But that constant eye
steals my morning,
pulling me down into this moment
as a child into a whirlpool.


Kind regards,
John



Author's Reply:
Dear John,

thank you for your kind words. This poem has been sitting on my computer for ages, but I never thought it was strong enough to do anyhting with. I'm so pleased that you think it is 'excellent'...heehee. I'm going to carry that word around with me all day.

It is true that disgusting things can attract us, and having never seen anything like this before, I was riveted. But I felt sad for it the same time. Down in the depths with its Giant Squid mates, it was probably considered very hansome.

Luv
Jackie

stormwolf on 16-11-2009
Dying on the sand
John said so much ....and the last verse is very powerfull.
I felt such a connection reading it...that of inquisitive children discovering the world, wondering and sometimes fearful...and as adults we are never far away from that either..
There is also something sad and profound too in a creature who did not ask to be born in that form and now lies discarded

as ugly in death as in life.

That really moved me. Into favs.
rated 9
Alison x


Author's Reply:
Dear Alison,

You are right. I felt sad for the creature too, but as I said to Woodbine, down in the depths with its Giant Squid friends, it might have been considered very hansome. All things are relative I suppose. My kids think I look like a princess, whilst the man in the petrol station things I'm a grizzled old witch...haha.


luv
Jack
Love jack

Corin on 17-11-2009
Dying on the sand
I was trying to work out what it was. I thought a jellyfish at first and then a squid. Then I thought but they eat squid in Mediterranean countries - why don't they eat giant squid then? What a waste of life to catch it and leave it stranded to die and rot. Still it is all gist for the poets mill. I like the way it finished, referring back to the legend.

David

Author's Reply:
Dear David,

I did wonder why it had been left abandoned, perhaps giant squid are too chewy or have a rancid taste. I don't know...it would certainly look rather nasty on the plate no matter how much garnish was added.

Luv
Jack

sunken on 17-11-2009
Dying on the sand
Hello Ms. Jackie. Is this about a dog wanting to go for a walk but the owner is busy doing the dishes? I got it wrong again didn't I? Hello? Jackie? Where'd she go?

s
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least likely to make sense

Author's Reply:

Dear sunky,

she's here, and she has a dishwasher...thank god, so never has to do the dishes...


love jack


dishwashers 10 chapped hands -1

RedKite on 17-11-2009
Dying on the sand
Enjoyed this well thought out piece, deserves a 10 for me, regards Daniel

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daniel,

I'm not sure that it deserves a ten, but I'll accept with open, graping hands,

thank you very much.

luv
jack

RoyBateman on 17-11-2009
Dying on the sand
I think you caught the strange fascination of the repulsive brilliantly...it's also pitiful that the creature, no matter how ugly it seems to human eyes, died for nothing. I could almost smell that salty tang of the beach while reading this. It took me right back to wandering round the rock pools below Beachy Head and along Exceat beach. Really atmospheric!

Author's Reply:
Thanks Roy,

that's great, I'm really pleased that I took you to the beach. I didn't know that my poetry could do that. Thanks so much for this great comment...made me smile 🙂

Luv
Jackie

cat on 18-11-2009
Dying on the sand
Well this is my lucky day!

Powerful and provoking, my fav bits, the 1st verse and the line 'But my constant eye steals my morning'
Definitely a 9! (9 is her 10 - always room)

My love,
Catherine Xxx



Author's Reply:
Hello again bootiful,

glad you liked it my love...when are you going to start posting again?

Love Jack

Pughguy on 19-11-2009
Dying on the sand
I've only seen giant squid on TV, and understand that it's very rare to see one alive. It must have been quite ah thrill to see one "up close and personal" Poke it with ah stick .. think I'd pass.

Your poem made me sad. Sad for tha squid, and sad for tha folks who would do that. The poem was very nicely written and put together Mezz. Thanks for tha sweeet read.
mike ..

Author's Reply:
You're welcome Mike, glad you enjoyed it. I quite often see strange dead things washed up on the beach. Two summers ago an unexploded bomb was found! That was scary, especially as only a small section of the beach had been taped off, and I wondered if the bomb would realise its imposed limitations were it to explode.

Thanks for the lovely comment.

Jackie



Still Happening (posted on: 16-11-09)
...

Still Happening So I trod on an old nail again; it sunk in deep, spewing its rust into the bloody wound. You pull it out, antiseptic and dress me. But we're only bandaged up babe, and no amount of antibiotic is going to clear up this infection.
Archived comments for Still Happening
stormwolf on 16-11-2009
Still Happening
Enjoyed the comparison and deeper meaning here Jack.
If only life wounds could be so easily treated as a potentially septic foot ;-(
Alison x

Author's Reply:
Yep!!!

You're right! Sometimes I think a real rusty nail would be much preferable.


Luv

Jack

Corin on 16-11-2009
Still Happening
This sounds serious 🙁 I hope there is no tetanus in Italy or that at least the antiseptic did its job. Perhaps you should tell him to get his hammer out and bang in all the old nails - or is that the problem, not enough banging going on?

Anyway I wouldn't worry too much about the rust - a bit of Fe2O3 never did anyone any harm, though I suppose that the powdered surface creates a lot of places for the nasty germs to hide. You'll just have to rely on the antibiotics - or else face amputation - I hope it doesn't come to that:-(

Warm Wishes

David


Author's Reply:
Dear David,

I'm feeling a little intellectual today, and gather that Fe203 is rust, right?

Face amputation??? That sounds awful, where did that come from? I watched a documentary the other night about this guy in China who had had his lower face scratched out by a bear, he was the second person in the word to have had a face transplant, but didn't take his meds. so died...

I don't want to lose my face...Wow...glad my rust nail was metaphorical...or do I need metaphorical antibiotics?

Luv
Jackie

Ionicus on 16-11-2009
Still Happening
Dear Jackie. Good effort and a nice idea. Am I allowed to point out little niggles? I believe that the second line's opening should be 'it sunk in'. Also I am not to keen on the 'babe': it sounds too much like teen-speak. Otherwise fine.

Ciao amore, Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Caro Luigi,

grazie tanto per quello che hai detto. Lo sai che ho letto questa poesia 100,00 volte e non ho mai visto questo errore, sono un stupida!:-) Qualcuno nuovo qui me a criticato per mezza di questio spaglio e non é stato per niente gentile come te! Ansi, so pensando di non rispondere a lui proprio. Mi devi scusare per come scrivo italiano, ma non devo fare speso 🙁

baci ed abbracci come sempre.
Jackie

sunken on 17-11-2009
Still Happening
Hello Ms. Jackie. Have you considered Germolene. I considered it once over a packet of midget gems. There's no moral to this tale, or even any sense to be made of it. I only mention it in passing as I feel that sometimes midget gems don't get enough attention. I trust this comment has been immensely useful? Hello? Jackie? Ahem. I did like the poem, honest. Hello?

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midget gems 3 2 jelly babies

Author's Reply:
Dear sunky,

I remember the name midget gems but can't place them, I think I was a jelly baby kind of girl... now I'm a jelly belly...

luv
Jack

jelly bellies 10 jelly babies 9

RedKite on 17-11-2009
Still Happening
Poignant write, got the couple of braincells turning over Thanks Daniel 10 I liked it

Author's Reply:
Hey thanks Daniel,

I haven't gotten around to checking out your stuff yet, but don't worry, I'm on my way.

Thanks for reading it.

Jack

Bikerman on 17-11-2009
Still Happening
Further to the comment by Ionicus: I'm sorry, but for such a small piece to have any mistakes at all is, for me at least, unacceptable. If the author can't be bothered to read his work back, how can he expect readers to bother? In a long piece, maybe it is understandable, but not for seven lines! And 'spewing its rust'?

Author's Reply:

Pughguy on 18-11-2009
Still Happening
I'm just an old country boy, but do know ah bit about, rusty nails, and bangin. I found your poem confusin, and funny as hell. Thanks for tha laugh !


Author's Reply:
I found it confusing to. I find a lot in life confusing, I guess that's why I try to write poetry. Glad it made you laugh.

Thanks for reading and commenting.

Jack

cat on 18-11-2009
Still Happening
Hey lovely *hugs* how are you? And your handsome little men, are they well?

Oh Jack I loved it. Short and to the point and full of raw emotion, sarcasm. My fave line 'But we're only bandaged babe'
Hmm... I wonder how many can relate? I'm betting lot's!

Ok my love to you and yours,
Catherine Xxx

Author's Reply:
Welcome back my lovey, I've missed you. How the hell are you???

Are you still writing, what are you up to? EMAIL ME!!!

Love Jack

macaby on 18-11-2009
Still Happening
I have to admit I had to read it twice , then " I got it". Good metaphor, short and straight to the point. I liked it.
cheers
mac

Author's Reply:
Cheers Mac,

I had to read it a couple of times too...haha. It's one of those "written under the influence poems", so only my drunken subconscious really gets this one.

Luv
Jack

barenib on 19-11-2009
Still Happening
Hi Jackie, a nice little vignette that says it all beautifully I reckon and it made me chuckle too! John.

Author's Reply:

Zoya on 22-11-2009
Still Happening
Dear Jack, A good metaphor!
All wounds of love, need the beloved to heal them. At times a smile is enough. At times a lot more therapy is required, depends on the nature and duration of the wound/hurt, right?
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:


War Games (posted on: 13-11-09)
A little poem about one of my little boys.

War Games Heat seeker - cruise missile eyes lock on and target. Firing white light, your misery cuts through the playground to explode in my maternal wound for you. Object achieved, secure in my suffering, you turn away - a little soldier behind enemy lines.
Archived comments for War Games
stormwolf on 13-11-2009
War Games
On my! I remember those times so well. My son had the dubious honour of being banned from the ultra posh playgroup for brandishing a sword (plastic of course)
He then went to a wonderful playgroup recommended to me by a very precious woman Sister Anthony, a gifted catholic nun and inspirational teacher. He thrived there....

your mother's love shines through the poem and onto my screen...just so lovely
Alison x'

Author's Reply:
Dear Alison,

what a beautiful and precious comment to send to me. I treasure it and thank you very much.

Thank you
Jackie


sunken on 14-11-2009
War Games
Hello Ms. Jackie. This reminds me of my first day at nursery school. I cried like a baby. A similar thing happened on my first day at MacDonald's. It's a funny old world, but I wouldn't like to return it without the proper packaging and a legitimate receipt. Ahem. I'll shut up. Hello?

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Author's Reply:
Hey Bernard,

thanks for dropping by, have you finished having a go at that naughty little poodle down the road? I know it's none of my business, but I hope you practised safe sex. I'm sure sunken won't be very happy if he has to make a trip down the old clap clinic with you...haha.

Anyway, thanks for the top bark, Bernard you are a star and I really appreciate it, and tell sunken that if MacDonalds upsets him so much he should try Burger King, I don't know if they still have Wimpys...I seem to remember them to be a quality eatery.

Luv Jack

Corin on 15-11-2009
War Games
I gues that (surprisingly) Alison mis-interpreted this.

When I was a teacher I had a lovely little girl in my class who was a bit of an isolate, it is not always clear why some children are shunned by the others. There was something about her voice and some social immaturity as she ended up always playing with the younger girls.

Anyway she lived right opposite the school playground and when I spoke to her mother about the problem she said, like you that she felt the pain " explode in her maternal wound"

David

Author's Reply:
Dear David,

how strange that this girl's mother said the same thing!!! Maybe I've hit on exactly the right description for a common emotion. My boy is very timid compared to his twin brother who is a complete extrovert. When he is at school, he suffers as I have had them put in different classes, and he stares out of the window watching for me all day. It is very sad...but something that I have no control over unfortuntely.

Thanks for reading and commenting.
Jackie

macaby on 15-11-2009
War Games
Yes kids can be cruel. A touching little poem full of meaning.I had a little lump in my throat imagining my son in this scenario. I would have nibbed this one.
I really enjoyed this poem.
caio
mac

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac,

us parents are sure on the cross and that's a fact. I'm glad that it provoked a strong emotion...that's good right?

Thanks for your lovely comments.

Luv
Jack

Albermund on 15-11-2009
War Games
The little bugger. Nice wee cameo. cheers, Albert 🙂

Author's Reply:
He is a little bugger when he's at home...haha. Glad you liked this wee one.

luv
Jack


Being a Cow in a Field of Angels (posted on: 13-11-09)
After reading Stormwolf's "Woodville Revisited", I had a little think about myself and my position in this whole universe place, and came up with this poem. It's another attempt at iambic pentameter, "attempt" being the key word here.

Being a Cow in a Field of Angels It's enough to make your cream curdle up. They stretch the expanse of their crystal wings And then smooth at their pearly crown halos - I crap down my leg, leak milk from my tits, whilst flies chew at my conjunctivitis. Gliding the grass, weaving colour and light- their laughter chimes notes, thrilling and magic, making my cowbell clank in its discord. Yesterday's shit and old mud clothe my hooves, my chipped horns are crumpled to sepia - it turns my stomachs, my cow mood made mute. Yet on the other side of the M25, there is an angel in a field of cows. Her plumes are limp and her halo hangs grey, as her cows chew grass, my seraphines play. And I wonder if it's really so bad - being a cow in a field of angels.
Archived comments for Being a Cow in a Field of Angels
stormwolf on 13-11-2009
Being a Cow in a Field of Angels
Loved it Jack.
It was well written and very funny but also holds much to think about.
There is a depth to it that speaks to me. I see a lot of the 'New Age' movement like this....although I suppose I am part of it in a way..but seems to me I never quite got the hang of all the fluffy stuff so i reckon I am a bit of a cow an' all 😉

Although the poem was written in a light hearted manner it also holds the key to contentment ie to be appreciative of where we find ourselves in the scheme of things and not to envy the neighbours because we never know what they have to contend with. I reckon I would settle for being a cow in a field of angels;-)

Alison x
rated 9

Author's Reply:
Alison,

I wrote my reply to you in the comment box, sorry. You'll have to open up my poem again to read it, I'm such a loser...haha.

Mezzanotte on 13-11-2009
Being a Cow in a Field of Angels
Dear Alison,

thanks for commenting and understanding. I think I've been reading too many Easop's Fables and morality tales to my children...haha. I think in this day and age it's easy to feel like a cow. So many beautiful and successful people are thrown at us everyday through the media and our own lives (my uni. friends are all roaring successes within their chosen fields...excuse the pun, and I'm a bit of a drop out...haha)

Yet sometimes, living in a small town, with some small minded people who will always consider me the 'foreign woman', I can also feel like the lone angel.

Thanks for inspiring me to think about this with your original poem, I had fun writing mine and apart from the dodgy meter, quite like it.

Luv Jack

Author's Reply:

sunken on 14-11-2009
Being a Cow in a Field of Angels
Oh fer god's sake! I was just about to eat. You certainly don't leave anything to the imagination with regards to your descriptive passages, Ms. Jackie. I'll be frank, I could almost smell the cow shit. You continue to be an absolute disgrace, but I suppose your work is consistently good. You'll just have to stick around I suppose, a bit like a bad smell. Do you think people will get that I'm joking? Hello? Jackie...?

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he became optional in 2005


Author's Reply:
Dear sunken,

my mum used to say that cow poo was good for the lungs, and whenever we went passed a field of cows, not every day obviously, she'd make me breath in deeply. So of if I stick around like a bad smell, lets hope it's a cow shit one...haha

Breath in deeply, I'm not going anywhere.

Luv
Jack

Corin on 15-11-2009
Being a Cow in a Field of Angels
Lovely Jackie - amusing and philosophical at the same time and in iambic pentameter too!!

Why did you write "Yet on this side of the M25, "
rather than "Yet on the other side of the M25, " ?
as that would have emphasized the difference in the two situations? And what is with all this intellectual stuff about cows having 4 stomachs?? 🙂 I enjoyed that detail.


David




Author's Reply:
Dear David,

you are right. In the intial write I did have 'the other side' but wasn't sure that it scanned well. However, if you think it works, I'm going to make an intellectual decision and edit the poem appropriately haha.

It's lovely to see you here commenting on my stuff. Let us not be strangers...

Jackie
ps. Perhaps I'm not that clever, I actually thought that cows had three stomachs...haha.
pps. Thanks for your pm, it was much appreciated.

woodbine on 15-11-2009
Being a Cow in a Field of Angels
This would be perfect fit with the Farside, Gary Olson cartoon of a cow reading her poetry to a class of other cows.

You have got it wonderfully right. Cows are not ladies, particularly in the milking shed where they are likely to shit on you at very short notice.
Sod the iambics, this is a very good poem.
Best wishes,
John

Author's Reply:
Dear John,

no cows most certainly are not ladies. Our neighbour down the lane has a rather extensive cow shed, and sometimes in the summer I take the kids down to see them. POOOOWEEEEE. It stinks and we get bitten by the big mosqitoes...Horse Flies perhaps??? I'm not sure, but it's something I prefer not to do, especially when my children race around and go flying in all the stuff...OOGH!

Luv
Jackie


True Love (posted on: 09-11-09)
...

True Love At first it was tremendous, flying into her arms like born-again faith, she couldn't put it down. Holding it up for all to see she took it everywhere. wrapping it in promises, and dreaming it perfect during flickering nights of candlelight. Worrying for it constantly she carried, clasped, clutched it close whispering her passions into it, feeding it kisses and vows. Bestowing her futureforever she made it believe in itself. Until one morning, it began to feel heavy aching her limbs indolent as a harsh winter flu. With guilt she wrenched her eyes from its bloating infirmity, the knotted cord of her words tightening around neck. She longed to put it down, but feared the guilt of breaking the fragility her reckless assurances had bequeathed it. The taste of others' envy, now souring her throat, she fits her smile into his, and they beam away, like parents cradling a newborn. Only when he blinks, does she scream for herself, and the enduring corpse latched within her arms.
Archived comments for True Love
stormwolf on 09-11-2009
True Love
wow..powerful poem and beautifully written. A story that many may identify with also.
So many stark images and the relentless progression from one way of being..up in the clouds then down to the pit of hell...

Really enjoyed reading it
rated 9

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison,

I'm glad you liked this, although the more I read it, the more I still want to fiddle with it, so not too sure that it's finished yet.

Luv
Jack

sunken on 10-11-2009
True Love
Hello Ms. Jackie. Isn't it cold? I do like this line - 'she fits her smile into his,' - It's one of those poems that takes a few reads. This is usually a good thang. I've a feeling Bernard will like this. I'll read it to him later and see what reaction I get. I can't right now as he's sniffing around next door's poodle. Hello?

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raised on a diet of pot noodle

Author's Reply:
Dear sunken,

I'm really pleased you liked the line about fitting the smile into his, it's my favourite too! I think the poem still needs some editing though.

Say Hi to Bernard, and tell him to wear a condom, that poodle is a slut.

Luv
Jack

Ionicus on 10-11-2009
True Love
I am with sunken on this: it takes a few reads to understand its true meaning. It is one of those poems with which a woman, rather than a man, can empathise.
Well written nonetheless.

Baci, Luigi.

Author's Reply:
Sorry you didn't like this so much Signor Luigi, as usual I love your honesty.

Sempre Baci per te.

jack

macaby on 12-11-2009
True Love

she fits her smile into his, .......An original line Imo, I bet this happens a lot with married couples after the bubble bursts.

the knotted cord of her words
tightening around neck. ..............Marriage, tying the knot, till death depart us?

Overall some really good descriptions in this poem, a bit of a helter skelter feeling I 'd say.Well penned.
cheers
mac






Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac,

I'd never thought of the knotted cord being, 'tying the knot', wow, my subconsious is really clever...haha.

Luv
Jack


Chemical Castration (posted on: 26-10-09)
Hooray! I finally have my computer back again after it was whisked away for a month by a couple of rather nasty Trojan horses. Anyway, here is a light-hearted poem about a much heavier subject matter...drug addiction. I'm not sure, but perhaps this isn't a poem for everyone's tastes... I got quiet caught in the rhyme and pattern of this poem, and would appreciate any advice on escaping its over used refrain.

Chemical Castration Cocaine Head, dear Cocaine Head, how come you never dread if I see you in the kitchen sniffing all that filth in, with your cocaine head? Cutting that white line, speeding through our time, thinking all is fine - but you're in decline. Your balls are sagging empty, like withering balloons - but your flurry trails run plenty, like rivers in monsoons. Cocaine Head, dear Cocaine Head, you're behind white bars now you've made your bed. You're a bloody testy patient, when coming-down all day, you moan that there's no money, but still you roll your notes away. Cocaine Head. dear Cocaine Head, your nose has gotten gout it's been so well fed. This chemical castration. keeps your bedroom skills at bay - your plastic card the scalpel, used to cut your life away, Each sliced up line, shaves down your prime. Now you can only shine when on borrowed time. Cocaine Head, dear Cocaine Head, your toothbrush is pink where your gums have bled. Your limbs whip up a rhythm to your private rocking beat, your eyes are glaring full-beam, but they do not see the street. This powdered fascination makes your brain cells shrivel dry, in disassociation, you cannot remember why you're a cocaine head. Dear Cocaine Head, ''but one more line'' you always said. Then your nose fell off, your balls went bang, and that poor taut ticker just went twang. Those feral eyes you could not tame, until coke-white lilies spelt your name. Cocaine Head, dear Cocaine Head, I feel so low now you are dead. I see a tiny packet, left in your effects, I think I might unwrap it, sample your defects But that pure-cut urn of ashen you is cornering my eye, so I mix you with your lover - now together you can fly.
Archived comments for Chemical Castration
sunken on 26-10-2009
Chemical Castration
Hello Ms. Jackie. What is it with you and that computer? Will you please sort yourself out! This is a serious writing site for serious writers. No one wants to hear of your constant battles with trojan horses. Ahem. Now, your poem - It made me squirm. The content I mean, not the execution. I hadn't realised that drugs were so detrimental to well-being of testicles? This is surely enough to keep anyone away from such substances? It's good to see you back on uka. Can you please hang around a little longer this time please? You treat the place like a hotel! Disgraceful behaviour (-;

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where there is maggie, let there be dementia

Author's Reply:
Dear sunken,

I have to treat this place like a hotel, as I never get the chance to go into a real one. Now as for balls and drug addiction, not having balls I'm not sure what affect drugs have on them. I think I just like writing about balls maybe...or I just write balls, that's much more likely.

Thanks for the welcome back. I'm hoping to be around a little longer this time, but this is my aspiration every time...ho hum.

luv
jack

Romany on 28-10-2009
Chemical Castration
Absolutely love these lines:

your plastic card the scalpel,
used to cut your life away,

Excellent!

As for me, I would keep the refrain. It echoes the monotony and inevitable repitition of a user's lifestyle. It's always going to be the same, and I believe that somewhere in the fug of drug induced oblivion, even the worst user can still recognise that they are not what they once were, nor what they could or should be. Tragic. I wonder if it is this, as well as the physical and chemical dependency, which makes them continue to abuse themselves. A stark look at the effects of drugs, and in particular your reference to the effect they have on sex and sexuality. Good work, if not exactly a 'light read' - but then, who says poetry should be?

Romany.

Author's Reply:
Dear Romany,

thanks for the detailed comment. I'm really pleased that you liked the refrain. I really wasn't sure about it and didn't know what to do, but it's encouraging to know that it is appreciated. Thank you very much.

best wishes
Jackie

stormwolf on 28-10-2009
Chemical Castration
Phew! very intense writing and I liked the repetition too. I could not pick a weak spot, every line was packed with wry observation and you captured brilliantly the decline and oblivion to other's suffering (including their own) of a drug addict.
loved it.
Alison

Author's Reply:
Dear Alison,

I'm really pleased that I'm getting some helpful comments about the repetition. I really wasn't sure about it, but it seems to be going down well. Thank you for your comments, I'm glad that you think I've captured the suffering, I was trying to do this in a sort of light hearted way, if at all possible...thanks again.

luv Jack

Ionicus on 28-10-2009
Chemical Castration
I nearly skipped this one Jackie. The word 'castration' gave me a shiver. I am a bit sensitive when it comes to the 'bottom line'. I needn't have worried, it is about drug taking and the effect on one's sexual performance. Phew! I shouldn't have any problem on that score: I don't do drugs.
On the other hand age might be a factor for non-conformance but that is a different matter and it could be the basis for yet another poem.

Luigi xx

Author's Reply:
Come on Luigi,

you are an Italian right? You have a reputation to uphold as that eternal 'stallione' haha.

Baci
Jack

macaby on 29-10-2009
Chemical Castration
Well observed piece on the ups and downs of an addict, well written with a touch of dry humour.

your plastic card the scalpel,
used to cut your life away,

Very clever lines.

Enjoyed
ciao
mac

Author's Reply:
Hey Mac,

how are you doing? Long time no hear. Glad you liked those lines, they are my favourites too!

Thanks for dropping by,

luv
Jackie


R.I.P. ( for a wile at least ) (posted on: 28-09-09)
A poem about a surprising custom which is alive and kicking in many cemeteries in Italy.

R.I.P. ( for a while at least ) From pristine lines of marble cross they raise her from the dead, yet Nan's not for the world again, but demoted back instead. She's had her ten years in the front, for those left to plant a tear, now there's fresh death for her plot, she's got to take the rear. They want to raise and shake her bones brush out those sated worms, the first row's for the tepid now, the dead take it in turns. She was such a modest lady, wouldn't want to be seen rotten, but respect for Nan has passed away and they've bared her brittle bottom. In this cemetery of tranquil light do we respect those perished, or is the time-share front row pew, for those whose Euro's cherished?
Archived comments for R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
Mimi on 28-09-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
Mezzanotte,

In my parents' hometown, they still follow these customs. Good read. Especially liked the third stanza. "the dead take it in turn."

Mimi

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mimi, where is your parent's homw town?

Griffonner on 28-09-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
Yes, it seems to be such a strange custom, doesn't it.

But each to his own. Each culture has a right to their uniqueness. It's something that mankind (and particularly us in the "west") must come to understand.

My take is that Nan is well beyond this now, so what harm?

An interesting and rewarding read.

Allen

PS: I also liked "the dead take it in turns".



Author's Reply:
Thanks for reading this Allen

You are so right about each culture's individuality. I believe it's the Madigascan's who regularly dig up their dead and dance with them...imagine that! One would have to be buried in sparkling boob tube, or Travolta pants!

At least I'll be spared THAT when I pop my clogs...unless I move to Madagascar, and it's not lookiing likely.

Best Wishes
Jackie

silversun on 28-09-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
Hey Jackie,

I agree with the two previous comments that 'the dead take it in turns' is the moral highlight, as it were, but for lyrical flow of the poem I kind of like the fourth stanza: the perished/cherished rhyme works because of the appropriateness of 'cherished', a popular headstone/eulogy word that. A couple of other things brought a smile - 'time-share front row pew' and, possibly a little bizarrely, 'fresh death for her plot'.
It strikes me as at least a half tongue-in-cheek poem so I don't really want to start offering edit suggestions, but, since I liked the last stanza, I might change the 'tranquil light' of its first line. Personally, I would have something a bit more sinister.

I like this.

All the best,
James

PS The missus will groan, but I "counted", it's just out. I can't help it, sorry. She'll probably explain.

Author's Reply:
Dear James,

yeah, you're right about the 'tranquil light' line. I threw it in, as I did most lines here. I didn't count it at all, which is rare with this type of poem, so the fact that it's 'just out' is brilliant haha. There is nothing sentimental to this poem, as I am not emotionally attached to any of the deceased here, thank goodness. But on hearing of this custom, it made me shiver, and I think I'll tell all of my family that I want to be cremated before I pop my clogs, not that I suppose it matters what happens to those old bones.

Thanks for taking the time to read and comment.

Love to the missus

Love Jack

sunken on 28-09-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
What the fuc...? Ahem. What custom is this then, Ms. Jackie? You're not telling me that those Italians go around digging up the dead? Why would they do that? The worlds gone mad - Well the Italians have at least. I hope Luigi doesn't see this. Hello?

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it wasn't me, it was Luigi

Author's Reply:
Dear sunken,

you know Luigi will see this...at least the Italians aren't like the Madigascans...give them a Google to see what THEY do with their dead!!!!!!

Luv
Jack

it's wasn't Luigi it was sunken...with a small 's'

stormwolf on 29-09-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
Well the custom is alive and kicking...even if the subjects ain't 😉
great poem told in a humerous fashion.
each and every stanza a treat
Alison


Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison,

I'm trying to writre a more serious one about the same graveyard, but it's as bloody rigid as a corpse, and when it's finished I don't think it will smell too good either...haha

Best wishes
Jackie

Andrea on 29-09-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
Actually, they do that here in Holland, as well. - you get your allotted span under the sod, too, then up you're dug! Space is at a premium, y'know 🙂

I loved 'they’ve bared her brittle bottom.'

Author's Reply:
Dear Andrea,

you're right about space, the world is getting smaller all the time and we are getting bigger...well, I am anyway. I think I'll be cremated. It is sad though, to think that all those old graveyards with so much history and character are dying out. All those mossy, tilted stones and chipped and broken angels, such a source of beauty and inspiration...

I'm happy that you liked 'brittle bottom', I had 'boney' at first, but then found it really wanted for expressing something fragile, hollow and consumed.

Thanks for commenting,

Jackie

Ionicus on 29-09-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
Since this has been brought to my attention by Sunken I feel that I have to to give my two-penny worth.
I knew that you had to pay rent for burial plots but didn't know that there was a ten year limit after which one had to be moved. Could it be that space is getting scarce?
An interesting, if unusual, topic.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Dear Luigi,

I had a trip to the graveyard with my mother in law, and found it so uniform and sterile, it was horrible, and then when she pointed out the plot where her sister had been, and commented that there was a new man there now, I couldn't believe it.

You can buy a small family vault if you have enough money, otherwise, you eventually get shoved underneath the church without any scratch even to mark that you had once existed. It's sad that even in death, money is so important.

Thanks for reading

Baci
Jack

sunken 9 - Luigi 10

teifii on 29-09-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
Very amusing poetic take on a custom that isn't really so odd in view of how choked churchyards are getting. Here we don't have a specific time limit but we do dig up the grave stones and lean them against the graveyard wall in some places.
I suppose since the time is specified one could say that they don't buy a plot but buy a lease on it.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff,

I suppose at the end of the day it doesn't matter what happens after one is dead and buried, it's just a shame that this way, nothing can age gracefully and develop character and personality, as all is essentually only ten years old, there are no mossy stones, or chipped angels.

I don't think that I like the idea of being moved around a graveyard, I'd rather go to medical science or even be a meal for a wild animal...no, maybe the last part isn't true...haha

Best wishes
Jackie

Jolen on 02-10-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
As usual you bring us something different and with style. I don't 'count' as James does, but I do know if I like something or not and I liked this very much. Another reason why this old hag's bones will be served up extra crispy.

Well done, Madam.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:

macaby on 03-10-2009
R.I.P. ( for a wile at least )
What a strange custom, here in Germany you "rent" the plot for 25 yrs, after that and if you have no relatives who will further the lease they dig you up. I like the lighthearted take on the subject, especially the dead take it in turns.

Madigascan's who regularly dig up their dead and dance with them.................... Now that is even stranger.

cheers
mac


Author's Reply:


In Clay (posted on: 21-09-09)
You can't escape your memories...

In Clay There's a feather buried in a ton of clay. I rest my head, but it won't go away. The wings of a sparrow have flutters so slight but my fossilised down is too laden for flight. Its wisps are as barbs to pierce a dense hide. Its quill is a coil that's twisted inside. Its spine is a crack, a canyon, earthquake. It's shiver a tremor I can't shuck or shake. There's a curl light as air which won't move aside. It's been quarried and mined but still smarting inside. It stings and it worries a sore wound its plume. But this is one corpse which I cannot exhume. I buried it deep now it won't go away. You can't scratch an itch which is buried in clay.
Archived comments for In Clay
Jolen on 21-09-2009
In Clay
Jackie,

One of the things I enjoy most about your work is the relative ease with which you go from free verse to rhyming and then the different schemes you use for such. I envy you that so much.

I really enjoyed this piece and some of the stand out lines for me were these:


Its wisps are as barbs
to pierce a dense hide.
It’s quill is a coil
that’s twisted inside.

and

Its spine is a crack,
a canyon, earthquake.
It shiver’s a tremor
I can’t shuck or shake.


and the ending!!! DAMN!

I buried it deep
now it won’t go away.
You can’t scratch an itch
which is buried in clay.

That's about as perfectly true as it gets! Well done, Beautiful!

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen,

but the poem chooses how it will be, it has little to do with me, well, except for the pen or keyboard that is. I try very hard, but there's this bench mark which I can't quite reach. My mentor is a genius you see, and it's very hard to write anything that could minimally compare to her poetic abilties... you see she's a witch and casts these spells...I think I'm really a frog, but am not too sure...ribbit..(oops!)

Luv Jack


e-griff on 21-09-2009
In Clay
very complete image which leads you along to a small revelation - good idea, well executed.

a few little whiffles from me:

The wings of a sparrow
HAVE flutters so slight
but my fossilised down
IS too laden for flight.


Its spine is a crack,
a canyon, earthquake.
ITS shiver’s a tremor (or It shivers a tremor)
I can’t shuck or shake.

There’s a curl light as air
which won’t MOVE aside. (for smooth reading)
It’s been quarried and mined
BUT still smarting inside. (implied 'it's' from start of sentence) OR 'still smarts inside'



Author's Reply:
YOU'RE GOOD MR. JOHN G...I didn't spot those errors at all. ( Tutting and shaking head ) what would I do without you?

Love Jack

e-griff on 21-09-2009
In Clay
oops

and 'it's quill' should be 'its' !

Author's Reply:

sunken on 21-09-2009
In Clay
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me, sunks. Have you finally managed to pack the kids off to school? I've spoken to Munky about your plight and he advises that you move house in their absence. Ahem. I never said his advice was any good. Hello? I'm a sucker for rhyme. I don't care what poetry snobs say, I likes it. You do it well. Now, furniture removals...

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why ya wanna play that song so loud, billy piper?

Author's Reply:
Ciao Mr. sunky

tell munky that as much as I appreciate his advice on the moving house etc, I've already tried it, and the midgets always manage to find me. Are Amy and Bungle still working at the advice office? Maybe they know what I can do. By the way, the next time you see Bungle can you tell him that I used to be his greatest fan during the Rod, Jane and Freddy days, and I'd really appreciate a paw print.

Luv Jack.

She's no longer with Chris Evans so I guess that makes her cool again.

hoopsinoz on 22-09-2009
In Clay
Hi Jacki - lovely last stanza - very telling and full of double meanings and inherent truths 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thank you Mr. Hoopsinoz,

that's very kind of you. I got a little confused about what I wanted to say and how I was expressing myself whilst writing it. Sometimes I don't think even poetry can express certain feelings.

Best wishes
Jackie

stormwolf on 22-09-2009
In Clay
but my fossilised down
it’s too laden for flight.

LOVED it
Alison

Author's Reply:
Thanks Alison


macaby on 22-09-2009
In Clay
I think you have expressed yourself clear enough through your images. The build up from the begining to the end " revelation" is clever and well worked out. I particularly liked the last 2 stanza's.Another good poem from your pen.
mac

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac,

It wasn't really that worked-out. I was trying to keep the rhyme going really whilst sort of trying to stick to what I had to say. I think I may have been a bit drunk during the writing f it too! haha
Luv Jack

barenib on 22-09-2009
In Clay
Hi jackie, You've rendered well here the effect that particular memories can have at times, playing on you like waking dreams. Trying to go about everyday life but being, as you suggest, bugged by the past. I go there too! Good stuff - John

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment John,

Though I have to say that the older I get, the more forgetful I become. I lost my car this morning, completely forgot where I'd parked it, and you know that Sorrento isn't the most difficult place in the world to navigate. Just one road really, I think I must have walked passed it about five times...

Usually I blame my scattiness on the kids, but they were at school...haha.

Best Wishes
Jack

sunken on 23-09-2009
In Clay
Hello again Jackie. Just to let you know that Bungle is indeed still working for Munky. Said primate took on the bear after he spotted him in Asda scoring drugs off Rod (from Jane and Freddie fame). Life can be tough when fame fades and Bungle was finding it very hard to cope. He's kinda become Munky's little project. He's now off the drugs and reporting worldwide news events to the best of his abilities... Ok, he's crap at it, but at least he's clean. As for Amy Knitwear, I've not heard from her for a while. I suspect she's having bigger breasts knitted. I trust this has helped. Thanks for your interest regarding said employees. Hello?

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he often wakes up in the discovery position

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

are you sure that's true? I don't think Rod would have dealt drugs. Maybe Geoffrey, he always looked a bit dodgy to me...or perhaps Zippy, I think he was definately on some kind of class A.

Luv
Jack

siskin on 28-10-2009
In Clay
I love the creative tension between the apparent simplicity of rhythm and rhythm and the very unusual imagery.It just seems to convey perfectly the feeling of fretting anxiety that can go on inside ones head.
Rose

Author's Reply:


For The Birds (posted on: 14-09-09)
...

For The Birds Sidewinder, weave your river in shifting sands of kiss-cross deceit. Indelible trails of you crumple my face like an old paper bag or a well-fucked sheet. No more your coat of many colours, in self sacrifice to cancerous light, my thirst has me faded. Shabby from neglect, my fight worn dull by the drag as you slip away. Shed for this other, she's raw - still green and for now 'al la mode.' Whilst I, that faded sleeve of armless skin am laid bare on the vulture table.
Archived comments for For The Birds
Jolen on 14-09-2009
For The Birds
Holy Hell!

Jackie, you do conjure up some intense images and this one is filled with them. Each line takes the reader deeper into the piece and when it finally shakes you loose, you're dizzy. Wow!

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Wow to you too!

What a great commnt thank you very much. Not too sure if it's accurate though, but I keep reading it and love every word.

Thank you Jolen.

Love Jack

hoopsinoz on 14-09-2009
For The Birds
Ummmm, I am speechless, typeless - this is so powerful - I have read it and reread it 10 times now - truly amazing imagery. The meaning is personal for me and may not even be close to what you wrote it for but isn't that they key.

Author's Reply:
Dear Hoopsinoz,

Thank you so much for such a lovely comment. I'm reallly very pleased that it meant something to you, as you say, that is indeed what it's all about.

Again, thank you

best wishes
Jackie


stormwolf on 14-09-2009
For The Birds
Incredible writing..too many great images and phrases but of course

Indelible trails of you crumple my face
like an old paper bag
or a well-fucked sheet.

this is bold, raw and in your face totally in keeping with the agony inherent in the poem itself.

Powerfully expressed and skillfully executed.!!!
Alison

Author's Reply:
Thanks so much Alison,

I'm soooo happy that you liked this poem and indeed chose it as a hot story. Thank you so much. I'm not very good at judging my own work, and am often surprised by poeple's reactions...I didn't really rate this poem much, but people to seem to like it, and for that I'm liking it even more...haha

Thanks again.

Best Wishes
Jackie


sunken on 14-09-2009
For The Birds
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me, sunks. Now if I called a poem 'For the birds' I'd get done for sexual wotsit. As you're a woman I guess it's ok tho. Hello? I do like your use of the word 'fucked'. I'd never of thought of that with regards to sheets... Probably because it's that long since I got fucked. Ahem. I like your poem by the way. I also like the following - The Blue Peter garden in winter time, dayglo orange socks and Norman Tebbit. This comment must have helped you immensely, no? Thank you.

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ford testicle gtx fuel injection

Author's Reply:
Dearest sunken,

what can I say? I'm so sorry to hear that you haven't been Fu*ked for such a long time...that's just too bad. You really need to ask Munky's advice there and see if he's got any tips on how to pull the birds. But then again, if you do take advice from someone who poos in front of his friends and family, and eats his own fleas, then you really are fuc*kd good and proper...haha.

Perhaps Bernard could help out! Though he's probably too busy licking his own testicles...Hey, perhaps you could try that instead! Much cheaper than a date, and definately a sure thing...if you can reach!!! Hope this was helpful.

Luv Jack

sunken on 15-09-2009
For The Birds
What the fuc...? There's no way I'm getting Bernard to lick my testicles! You ought to be ashamed of yourself and no mistake, Ms. Jackie! Good day!

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his default setting is 'sleep'

Author's Reply:

Dear Sunken,

please accept my totally humble apologies. You're right, I'm completely ashamed of myself. How could I have even suggested such a thing...In retrospect I can see things much clearer. You should lick his... Now if you will excuse me please, I'm a gentle lady, and have gentle lady things to do...

With the best of gentle lady wishes
Jackie

macaby on 17-09-2009
For The Birds
Strong poem indeed, packed with really hard hitting images, it is not a poem about shedding your heart, more like shedding your guts,and fits perfectly with the mood and the theme of the poem.I thought the ending was brilliant, and the metaphors, well you know how to use them in your work, I know that. Well penned.
cheers
mac

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac,

it's just so great that you think these things about the poem. I did want to try to make it hard-hitting and express pain. But I do think it got lost a little somewhere along the line, but I really appreciate your thoughts about it all.

AND, if it was you who nominated me, thank you very much, but I don't think the poem really deserved it, and if it wasn't you who nominated me, don't worry that you didn't because I don't think the poem really deserved it.

Sending a big hug over to you in Germany,

Luv Jack


NOT 39 (posted on: 11-09-09)
🙂

Not 39 Now I'm not thirty-nine, the wrinkles come fast, and I cling to the vine drinking too much red wine, but the glass doesn't last now I'm not thirty-nine. With this weakening spine, all my best's in the past and I cling to the vine with a spreading waistline wearing smalls which are vast, now I'm not thirty-nine. Since that dance floor's not mine I've found knitting a blast and I cling to the vine searching for a slight sign that I'm not an outcast - now I'm not thirty-nine and I cling to the vine.
Archived comments for NOT 39
sunken on 11-09-2009
NOT 39
Jackie! You is back. I do believe you treat this place like an hotel. It's a disgrace! Having said this, it's good to know that you're still around. Are we to take it from your poem that you've just hit 40? They do say that life begins at 40. I find this quite peculiar as I swear pampers don't do nappies that big. Ahem. I may tweet that later. Hello? It's good to read you again and no mistake. And now, if you don't mind, I have washing machine practise. Good day.

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she fell to earth, not only with a bump, but also with a rash

Author's Reply:
Yes Siree,

I's is back, and if yous believe that I've just hit forty, you'll also believe that I wears big knickers. This I cannot accept. My knickers is small and I'm 41 - '39' rhymed with 'vine' and anything which rhymes with wine is always a winner for me.

Have you mastered your washing machine? If not I'd give up! They've defeated me for twenty years, and my white surrender flag turned pinkish-grey a long time ago.

Luvs ad stuffs
Jack

Yes, but a special tube of cream sorted the rash out within five days.

e-griff on 11-09-2009
NOT 39
very nice. I know what you mean. 🙂

one suggestion. I didn't like 'I hang from the vine' in the first verse I greeted it with disappointment, it kinda fell flat. Could be just me, but I'd prefer ' I cling to the vine' - which actually, I realise, introduces some additional overtones of desperation which seem to fit.

best JohnG

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

CRIPES! You never let me down, and as usual you are right! Thanks so much. I totally agree with you and am off to change the poem now.

CLING...it's so much better.

Luv Jack

Jolen on 11-09-2009
NOT 39
Hi Jackie,

As I told you, I don't know how you do these but envy your ability very much. I never thought about it, but I do like Egriff's suggestion in this case, as it does ring with a certain desperation which fits well. But trust me dear, you're a baby compared to some of us old hags! (me)

This was a most enjoyable read.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Hey You!


I've seen the wedding pictures and the DVD....in fact I watched the DVD again just to search for the hag, but I think you must have forgotten to invite her as she definately wasn't there. The bride though...wow weee, she was something else...


Luv jack

niece on 11-09-2009
NOT 39
Jackie, looks like we are in the same boat...I'll be hanging from the vine next year tho'...same thing, actually... and I have taken up crochet...Good poem all the more since it strikes home...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Dear Neice,

I wanted to put crochet in my poem, but I wasn't sure how to spell it. I took up knitting when I was 16 but gave up after a few terrible over and undersized jumpers. I wish I were 40, but I hit 41 in July.

Glad you likes the poem,

Best wishes Jack

e-griff on 11-09-2009
NOT 39
ere, you daft biddy! it's CLING TO the vine!

*mumbles and mutters* (old singing group)

Author's Reply:
Hey you!!! not so much of the old....just a bit pi**ed...haha

e-griff on 11-09-2009
NOT 39
By the way, girls - you can have an awful lot more (different kind of) fun over forty - kids out of way (eventually) bit more cash in the bank (usually) don't knock it! And even at fifty, and sixty, more horizons appear and more opportunities, it's not bad, I promise ...

Author's Reply:
How old are you JohnG? I see no grey hairs in your avatar.

e-griff on 11-09-2009
NOT 39
I'm coming up for 64. My head hair is still dark brown. I have grey sideburns, and in my beard and moustache. I dye my beard etc, now and then, cos the hair just below my nose is still dark, and if I let the rest go grey, I look like Hitler!

If my hair went grey, I wouldn't dye it - I'd look like Gandalf! Magic!

Seig Hwyl!

Author's Reply:

macaby on 12-09-2009
NOT 39
I know the feeling, a poem that us "oldies" can relate to,
like the old saying goes- life begins at 40, I turned 40, six years ago and I am still waiting. Nice to see you posting again, you havent lost your touch, the rhyming and your humour is still there.
mac

Author's Reply:

stormwolf on 13-09-2009
NOT 39
well I feel friggin ancient now lol
Yes, I am hurtling towards old age at a rate of naughts..
I am 56 and hoping there is life before death...
just keep clinging to the vine...;-)

one minute climbing trees...the next wondering where it all went..oh well 😉
Alison

Author's Reply:

pombal on 13-09-2009
NOT 39
Im 39 in two months - teetering ..mmm - might have a drink tonight ....

Author's Reply:

Ania on 14-09-2009
NOT 39
Fabulous! I loved it - I 'm not 39 either and haven't been for a while! It reminded me of the lovely poem by Maya Angelou about wearing skirts with elasticated waists! Do you know it?
I read the 'cling' version which I agree is better! That's why it's so great to have positive feedback.
And yes, life over 39 can be fun!
Ania

Author's Reply:

Romany on 15-09-2009
NOT 39
I turned 40 in July so I can absolutely identify with this poem too! Although I don't so much cling to the vine as have a good mate called Jack (as in Daniels...)
romany.


Author's Reply:


Meltdown Mummy (posted on: 17-08-09)
Summer...it always does it!

Meltdown Mummy Screaming in the kitchen speeding like a train, the box of pills is empty - mummy's melting down again. There's no water in the bathroom the dog has gone insane, the computer's full of pop ups - mummy's melting down again. With her friends across the ocean each day's a bloody strain, she has no one to talk to - mummy's melting down again. The heat just makes her crazy its pureeing her brain, the happy pills aren't smiling - mummy's melting down again. She says her muse has left her, like Plath, she's on the wane. She wonders what it's all about. And she's melting down again.
Archived comments for Meltdown Mummy
e-griff on 17-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
oh poor mummy!!!

if you wanted to fiddle with it a bit, the only things I'd mention are the two 'again' rhymes which would be improved if you had different rhyming words rather than the same. and the line 'that she feels like....' although probably okay for many, may be difficult foor some, and taking out 'that' would fix it I think.

other than those small things, it rollocks along 🙂 just the thing for a monday morning.



Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

as i posted this I just knew that you would pull me up for using again again. But i couldn't think of a word which rhymed with again, and which meant again, so I had to use again again.

I'm feeling hot and lazy and thought that I would wait for some of your suggestions. I like the dog/lane, but not too sure about the Plath/insane bit !!!

I love that you think it 'rollocks' along - you could have said something a lot more disparaging...now what rhymes with rollocks ????

Thanks as usual for you great suggestions...

luvs and best wishes
jack

stormwolf on 17-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
The brevity of the lines highlights the feeling in the poem. I get the humour but also the frusrtation of it all. No wonder you long for cooler climes 😉

Really enjoyed
Alison

Author's Reply:
Dear Alison,

Yeah, the frustration is defintaley there. I often ask myself what I'm doing in the South of Italy when I'd really get on much better in Siberia.

best wishes
Jackie

ruadh on 17-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
Oh I can relate to this so well lol. Gave me a chuckle.

ailsa

Author's Reply:
Dear Ailsa

I think if you have to scream the kitchen is the best place to do it. Glad you can relate to this, I think we all have minutes, days, weeks or years like this...haha.

Best wishes
Jackie


e-griff on 17-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
I can only think of 'the dog's run up the lane'
and 'she feels like Plath - insane!' hah ha! that last one's daft 🙂

Author's Reply:

sunken on 17-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
(-: Looks like your muse returned, and big time. A tip top piece, in my sunky opinion. The beagle named Bernard, he say, 'Get off the bloody computer and get my dinner on... And give that Jackie a Top Bark while yer at it.' Ahem. It's not nice being ordered about by a beagle ya know?

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Author's Reply:
Hey Mr. sunky with a small 's'. I really wasn't expecting Bernard to drop by for this. Has that slut of a poodle up the road given him time off for 'really good behaviour?'.

I am used to being ordred around by a beagle too, my mum's beagle had his own armchair and used to growl and snap at anyone who was foolish enough to sit on it...well it was really hairy and smelled of bad-beagle.

If women did run the world they wouldn't argue over shoes and chocolate at all. I resent the inference. They would argue over shoes, chocolate and the merits of brand named lash thickening and lengthening mascara too.

Get those facts straight sunky.

jack

e-griff on 17-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
hey, I said I liked it! I guess 'rollocks' is like rolling along in a jolly way... but you KNOW those rhymes need upping, don't you? You don't need to portray me as a nemesis. I'm just a handy target *sobs* . Miss Lazy!

rhymes: Spain, inane, pane, pain, cane, crane, drain, mane, elaine, sane, bane, dane (great), gain, Jane, jain, Kane, nain, rain, vain, vane, wain, wane, Zane.

dog is down the drain.
dog has gone insane
dog's run off to Spain
dog has bit elaine
dog has bitten Jane
dog is on the wane.

'Plath' is a bit difficult

like Plath, she's on the wane.

or you could always change the dog and Plath to even more hilarious lines .... with fresh rhymes.

Your guardian and guide, Uncle Griff (as was). Amen.

Author's Reply:
Yes I'm dreadfully lazy! It's the heat honestly!!!

You could never be my nemesis, anyway, I'm no superwoman, and I don't think you have any Kryptonite in your garage....or do you????

Sorry i haven't got back to you until now, but am having major internet connection problems, telecom Italia inform me that they are coming around on Saturday morning, but haven't specified which Saturday morning of which year, and knowing the southern italian as I do, I'm guessing january 2010.

Thanks for your suggestions. I like the dog has gone insane, and Plath is staying.. perhaps with a wane.

Thank you uncle Griff, guardian and guide to this poor, lazy, and apathetic poet.

Luv Jack

Emerald on 18-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
I did enjoy this, funny how extremes in weather can really affect how we feel

Emma


Author's Reply:
Dear Emerald,

a lot of people suffer with seasonally affected disorder, and fear the cold and dark, I'm the otherf way around I'm afraid, and have no idea what I'm doing in the south of italy. haha

Best wishes
Jackie

barenib on 18-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
Hello Jackie - so you did agree with my 'Summer Kills' poem after all 🙂 I like the relentless feel of the rhyme and pace of this which fits in well with the pounding heat. I really empathise (and sympathise) with you on this - John.

Author's Reply:
Thanks John, yes 'Summer Kills' indeed...I'd forgotten...oops.

Glad you like this one.

Best wishes
Jack

Leila on 18-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
ha ha... went out this morning and was like the M25 here then realised kids gone back to school today!
The dog could have gone insane and Plath in pain...Leila

Author's Reply:
Yeah the dog has gone insane and 'like plath is on the wane'...are the kids rfeally back at school in England. wow.

Thanks Leila
jack

macaby on 18-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
who was it that said "if you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen"
I liked the pace and the rhythm in this one, the short lines just like our nerves in a heatwave. Good to see you haven't lost your humour or your muse.
mac

Author's Reply:
I'm clinging onto the humour and the muse with bloody torn nails, but I'm still here...just.

Glad you like it mac.

Luv Jack

Ionicus on 20-08-2009
Meltdown Mummy
What do you mean: 'she has no one to talk to'. I am always here to lend you a sympathetic ear and a shoulder to cry on or any other parts you may care to mention.
Joking apart, a good poem which can be improved with some slight editing.

Baci (come sempre)
Luigi xxx

Author's Reply:
caro amico,


lo so che tu se sempre qui per me. E l'estate, mi fa impazzire ogni anno.

Glad you liked the poem.
Baci ed abbracci
jackie

Griffonner on 13-09-2009
Meltdown Mummy
I just didn't want to let you get away with thinking that it is only Mummy's who have this sense of "Whoah...!" I get it too. Maybe for not quite the same reasons, or in the same place (I'm in France), but your poem rang true and I fully empahised with you.

Here is a fine example of repetition working admirably. Super effective, meaningful and yet frothy on the top. Lovely poetry. 🙂

Allen

Author's Reply:
Wow, what great compliments, thanks Mr Griffoner, I think I like 'the cut of your Jib' haha. Yeah, I know that men get a rough deal too, if hubby is left alone too long with the 'short ones' he goes into a kind of a dazed shock that only three large bottles of Heineken can eleviate...haha.

Glad you liked the repetition, sometimes it can grate, at other times jog along nicely, it depends if that poetry fairy has been sprinkling her pixie dust on my keyboard.

Thanks again Allen

Best Wishes
Jackie


Looking in the Birthing Box (posted on: 03-08-09)
About my dog Harry, when looking at the Cats newborn litter.

Looking in the Birthing Box Gentle monster, those tics don't flee, that smell won't sweeten. Your saliva stains my sterile world. This unvintaged moult is my Sysophus rock. Yet when you wag your tail at those sticky, weak lives, your generosity and understanding embarrass my superiority.
Archived comments for Looking in the Birthing Box
e-griff on 03-08-2009
Looking in the Birthing Box
interesting development about a dog.

First. I think it should be Sysyphus, and I'm not sure 'embarrass my superiority' is quite right.

the main thing for me is he first verse is rather confusing. I liked the flee/tic joke. It's hard to tell whether the third line is part of the first two, independent, or an intro to line 4. in line four, I initially read 'saliva stains' with stains as a noun, until I went back over the punctuation. Could be just me of course ...

I liked the thought behind this. Just had the few niggles I've described.

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

Happy that you liked the poem, I like the embarrass/superiority line as it's fairly true. I'll have another look at the first verse though.
Best Wishes
Jackie

sunken on 04-08-2009
Looking in the Birthing Box
Hello Ms. Jackie. How are you? Hows your pc? Is it any cooler there? What's the capital of Spain? Ahem. Hello? Have to say, I think the final two lines of this are pure class -

your generosity and understanding
embarrass my superiority.

I suppose you're a bit classy too... in certain lights. Thank you. Oh, it's me by the way - sunks with a small 's'. I blame hot water.

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you don't bring me condoms anymore

Author's Reply:
Dear sunken ( with a small s)

I'm too hot, my computer is sometimes really happy, and at other times most cantankerous and unfathomable - I think it must be a female. I'm still melting with a deep fried brain, and i think the capital of Spain is Madrid...or Barcelona...no, Madrid.

Glad you like the last two lines, I feel better about them after your comment.

luv Jack

When I asked them to send you a pack of three, the woman at Interflora put the phone down on me.

Jolen on 15-08-2009
Looking in the Birthing Box
Hi Jackie,

I love your observations and that you take something others wouldn't even pay mind to and give it voice. I enjoyed this and pictured the scene quite well.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks dear Jolen,

it was a little idea I had. I think that I observe my dog too much and write more about him than I do my own kids...haha.

Luv Jack


Both in a Bowl (posted on: 03-08-09)
An old one.

Both in a Bowl It seems disrespectful maybe. We empty you out into the world again. Strip you of your dark, silent wombs. But no mother's arms to embrace you this time. Just a plastic bowl awaits you this time. We mix you together in a plastic bowl. A metal spoon, merging, making you one. We're making a cake, a mum and dad cake. But no candles for you two. Your wishes have been blown out. So we scatter our wishes, into the bowl where once there were dishes. There. A share each. Put you safe away, somewhere sure to stay. I lost you though. Youth, my friend and enemy. I had no place to put you. No garden with a favourite tree. No special sea to swirl you, whirl you away you see. No cemetery to plant a tear or flower. I'm sorry that I lost you both, so sorry that so soon, we lost each other. By Jackie Blissett
Archived comments for Both in a Bowl
sunken on 05-08-2009
Both in a Bowl
A sad, and possibly tragic poem, Ms. Jackie. Unless of course I've read it all wrong, as is often the case with a sunks. Nicely done and no mistake.

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the mysterious case of the missing drawing pin

Author's Reply:
Yeah, I lost my portion of my parents ashes, crap eh???

Sorry I haven't written back soon, but the sun shines in my bedroom all day and I can't sit at the computer too long. I'm sweating like anything now. A good thing I'm not around too! By the number of hits my poetry is getting lately I think i should make a graceful exit...haha.

thanks for reading it anyway,


By he way, i trod on a drawing pin the other day, I think it might have been yours.

Luv Jack

sunken on 11-08-2009
Both in a Bowl
Dear Ms. Jackie, We'll have less of this talk about graceful exits! You couldn't be graceful if you tried! Hello? (-; August is renowned for being quiet. It happens every year. It's a summer holiday thang. Kids are off school for god knows how long and I think looking after the brats eats into people's time. Some of them don't even have time to Twitter! Imagine that? I'm glad I haven't reproduced... I suspect a lot of people are glad I haven't reproduced. Ahem. Anyway, less of this exit talk! I won't allow it. Good day! Hello?

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he suspects the colour of love to be similar to that of the stain on his ceiling, the one above his bed

Author's Reply:
Dearest Sunken

No, don't worry, I intend to hang around and be disgraceful for a long time yet. Yeah, kids, heat, lost routine and crappy computer (it's an ACER), combine to drive me insane. But I'll sub something this week. I've been reading a bit of Sylvia Plath to inspire me, she usually does the job...how are Diana and Elvis by the way?


Love jack



sunken on 15-08-2009
Both in a Bowl
How rude! My pc is an Acer and it's been no trouble at all... Ok, maybe the odd glitch, but that's more a sunk thang. You've only been back for five minutes and you're already trying to upset me. And don't think I haven't noticed you talking in code again to that nice Mr. Luigi. And how many times must I tell you that the Lady Diana thing is private! Please stop bringing it up. The last thing I need is people talking about my 'apparent' involvement in her demise. And now, if you don't mind, I have a Fiat Uno to dispose of. Good day!

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elvis! come er elvis... come on, that's a good boy... i've got hamburgers...?

Author's Reply:

Griffonner on 13-09-2009
Both in a Bowl
I'm sorry I didn't get to this sooner. You may have heard I've been sulking.... I said sulking not sunking!

Look, this is really really good. I loved it.

Allen

Author's Reply:
Dear Allen,

Thank you so much to taking the time to check out this poem. As you can see it had very few comments - in fact only one really as it was dear old Sunken each time.

It means a lot to me that you liked it, this is a personal poem that took quite a lot of emotion to write - and I have had very little feedback as not many poeple have read it, in fact only three poets, comprising Jolen, sunken and yourself.

Again, thanks so much Allen,
Best Wishes
Jackie


At The Bus Stop (posted on: 27-07-09)
.-.,

At The Bus Stop The three-fifteen was running late when he came along. She, a hollowed out trunk, as rigid and faceless as the pole she leant against, he, still crooked with cravings, too dear to keep or lose. The baby was down the drain; he couldn't kick her heavy belly, it made him mad. He needed a drink - had to place a bet and pay a debt. The wedding band was still in place. As his need twisted and wrenched around her joint, the ring clinched on into a tight contract that rage couldn't break. One last spit-slap to spew in her face and he was gone - the albatross of failures hanging from his neck, dragging him further down and away. Back home, his vow slid easily from her finger and chinked into the back of a drawer.
Archived comments for At The Bus Stop
cat on 27-07-2009
At The Bus Stop
Dearest Jack, hi 🙂

This is, well it's, ok I couldn't possibly do it justice so how about I just ramble? No? No good either huh? Well then, I shall pick a number 1-10 in the hope that, as inadequate as I am you will at least have some idea of how much I appreciate you and your STANDOUT talent.

Love to you and yours as always, your freind Catherine xxx

Author's Reply:
Hi Cat,

thanks for the 'STANDOUT talent' bit. Wish it were true. The poem's based on something that happened to someone i used to know, I think the incident took place at least 50 years ago, but I've always remembered the story.

But I'm glad you liked it,
Love Jack

Ps. it's on the neck again...sorry

sunken on 28-07-2009
At The Bus Stop
Brilliant stuff, Ms. Jackie. Where's the nib? In the absence of the real thang, here's a smelly Bernard. He has swine flu by the way. I blame that poodle down the road. She puts it about a bit and no mistake. He's only canine after all. Hello?

s
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Author's Reply:
Hello Bernard and Sunken,

lovely to hear/see you both. I'm sorry to hear that Bernard has swine flu. When he encountered that naughty poodle he should have liberally applied that sticky NHS soapy stuff to his area of contact, but like you say, he is a canine after all.

Glad he liked the poem though...just off to wash my keyboard.

Luv Jack

e-griff on 28-07-2009
At The Bus Stop
why is the baby down the drain? why can't he kick her heavy belly? is she gravid? if she is, why is the baby dtd? If not, why can't he kick her?

all this and Uri Geller too ..... 😉

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

For me, she was pregnant, but his physical abuse made her lose ther baby. Is this not very clear...I'll have another look.

Luv
jack

Ionicus on 28-07-2009
At The Bus Stop
Can I be honest, Jackie, and say I didn't like this? Not up to your usual standard as far as I'm concerned.
Others seem to like it though, so don't mind me.

Luigi xxx

Author's Reply:
Dear Luigi,

I'm really glad that you didn't like it, as this means that when you do like something of mine you really mean it. Thank you so much for your honesty, it's really appreciated.

Ciao Caro amico
luv
Jack

Mezzanotte on 28-07-2009
At The Bus Stop
Dear Luigi,

I'm really glad that you didn't like it, as this means that when you do like something of mine you really mean it. Thank you so much for your honesty, it's really appreciated.

Ciao Caro amico
luv
Jack

Author's Reply:

hoopsinoz on 28-07-2009
At The Bus Stop
I like this a lot - but (and this isn't a mimic for your comment to me) but this line

the ring clinched on into a tight contract that rage couldn’t break

is exceptional - in fact it is a poem and story in and of itself...
Well done....

Author's Reply:
Ha, ha, and this is not a mimic of your comment to me either, but that particular line was the most worked over part of my poem too. Here's a lesson for us: banging heads on keyboards, chewing pens and going GRRR!!! pays off.

Thanks for reading it
Best Wishes
Jackie

macaby on 28-07-2009
At The Bus Stop
I read this last night and I also wondered about the lines ...
he couldn’t kick her heavy belly, it made him mad.
I thought that the woman had lost the baby, but these lines kind a threw me. I think the poem is really good, some great lines....He needed a drink - had to place a bet and pay a debt. ......Gives the reader a clear picture of this guys personality.( sounds like someone that I grew up with)


a lot happening between the lines also. I don't know maybe you should re word the one line or leave it out altogether, IMO opinion it isn't needed, the poem is fine without it. Infact I really liked the poem.
Well penned
mac


Author's Reply:
Thanks loads Mac,. gonna have to rewrite those dodgy lines though.

Love jack

niece on 29-07-2009
At The Bus Stop
So it happens there too...tho' you do mention this is an old story...very touching, Jackie...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Sorry if this brings up some unpleasant memories. I didn't think that this was something that happened all that often.

best wishes
Jackie

shackleton on 30-07-2009
At The Bus Stop
The subject matter is bleak and horrible, but such poems need to be written. Good poetry!

Author's Reply:
thanks Shackleton,

it's nice to be told that this is a good poem, some think so, whilst others don't, but I suppose that's the subjective nature of poetry.

Best Wishes
Jackie


In the Heat of this Moment (posted on: 20-07-09)
🙂

In The Heat If This Moment. Dare I drag my arid thoughts to the pen, or bore into the page of a book, trawl my eyes over the curves, bumps and spikes of each drowsy letter, raise an arm to haul a page, or towel at the effort on my brow and neck? Maybe Facebook, Ebay or UKA, might distract my boiling thoughts away, but the heat from the screen, makes my face slip and run like wax between my breasts - sliding, like these fingers which melt and gloop between the keys of this congealed keyboard. Could I shower off my nettle coat when each icy reprieve promises to make that shimmering wall more absolute than before? No, I'll lie still like the dead with flies buzzing around my head. The ceiling swimming up and down, around in a Dead Sea of flaking salt, whilst blistered whispers, cracked but true, vow to dry me before my years.
Archived comments for In the Heat of this Moment
sunken on 20-07-2009
In the Heat of this Moment
Hello Ms. Jackie. It sounds like the heat is getting to you. Is it unusually warm over there, or is it normal to be baking at this time of the year? I must admit, it would totally do my head in and no mistake. The only good thing about hot weather is that it makes me balls decend lower and thus gives the appearance that I have a big packet. Ahem. Was that too much information? Enjoyed the piece.

s
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k
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michael caine - 10 / michael jackson - dead

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

it's really hot here...well for me anyway. I too, prefer English weather, bring on the socks, jeans and thermal vests...that's what I say.

Luv Jack


She doesn't know how to pm on Twitter, her trotters get in the way

niece on 21-07-2009
In the Heat of this Moment
This is beautiful, Jackie...as one word flows into another and one thought leads to the next...I loved the imagery, esp of the face slipping like melted wax...is it the heat or sheer lethargy? I go through the latter very often...feel I've wasted half my life like that...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Dear Niece,

I suffer from terrible lethargy. I always have. I don't think it's laziness, as I get done what has to be done, but it's still an effort...the heat...well, that just makes things ten times worse.

Thank you for the lovely words
Jackie

macaby on 22-07-2009
In the Heat of this Moment
I read a poem yesterday by niece about rain seems like you could be doing with some over in Italy. Although being affected by the heat, you have captured that feeling/ moment with a good chain of thoughts that lead up to the conclusion in the last stanza, my favourite part actually.
mac

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac,

I have a pool in the garden now, so dunk myself in that whenever it gets too much.

Love Jack

flyboy on 22-07-2009
In the Heat of this Moment
I love this it made me think of Dali's melted clock - the whole sureal imagery. Then it made me think of the thought fox by ted hughes, it had that sort of metafor/simmily thing to it. The structure was a bit much for me, because I'm a primitive ancient romantic.

But by reading it once with out trying to understand its full meanings alows me to enjoy it without feeling too inept - very good!



Author's Reply:
Thanks flyboy,

it's funny thatyou mention Dali's clocs, I included them in a previous poem I subbed here called 'the morning after'. I've never been compared to a poem of Ted Hugh's before. What a compliment.

Best Wishes
jackie

Jolen on 26-07-2009
In the Heat of this Moment
What a GREAT poem. So many good lines and images. Very effective work all around. I found myself more and more intrigued and impressed with each line. You're on fire right now, my dear.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:


Scent and Shoes (posted on: 13-07-09)
Here's the story so far... Cat made a comment to Macaby about kissing strangers and buying new shoes, I thought that this sounded like great poem fodder and challenged her to write one on said subject. She threw the challenge back at me and so, two months later I have finally come up with this poem. It's a Villanelle...well meant to be, and the first I've ever written, so be gentle with it. This one's for you Cat...I wondered off of the subject a little due to the line and rhyme restrictions, still I hope you like it.

Scent and Shoes Today I wake up crazy and dance around the room. I crave to kiss a stranger and buy some sexy shoes I want to be stripped naked of all but lust's perfume. Free my budding, open flesh to lighten up my gloom, Lick my lips and touch a man, caress him where I choose. Today I wake up crazy, and dance around the room, I'm born again and vital to life outside the womb, Let the light undress me, I've a crimson blush to lose. I want to be stripped naked of all but lust's perfume. My open limbs are petals, a pure white rose in bloom, Plucked throughout a swollen day of lying flesh made true. Today I wake up crazy and dance around the room, A brazen bride who aches for the firmness of her groom and sexual inspiration from a musky, solid muse. I want to be stripped naked of all but lust's perfume. Clothed in heels, my secret skin - the only true costume. I close the night and rouse the day to take all that ensues. Today I wake up crazy, and dance around the room, I want to be stripped naked of all but lust's perfume. With help from EGriff Today I wake up crazy and I dance around the room. I crave to kiss a stranger and to buy some sexy shoes I want to be stripped naked now of all but lust's perfume. So free my budding, open flesh to lighten up my gloom, To lick my lips and touch a man, caress him where I choose. Today I wake up crazy and I dance around the room, I'm born again and vital to a life outside the womb, I let the light undress me, I've a crimson blush to lose. I want to be stripped naked now of all but lust's perfume. My open limbs are petals like a pure white rose in bloom They're plucked throughout a swollen day of lying flesh made true. Today I wake up crazy and I dance around the room, A brazen bride who's aching for the firmness of her groom And sexual inspiration from a musky, solid muse. I want to be stripped naked now of all but lust's perfume. I'm clothed in heels, my secret skin - the only true costume. I close the night and rouse the day to take all that ensues. Today I wake up crazy and I dance around the room, I want to be stripped naked now of all but lust's perfume.
Archived comments for Scent and Shoes
cat on 13-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
Way hey you finished = happy me 🙂

Well omg you I love it !! Really I do, how very clever, how talented you are. How'd you know about the dancing lol. No seriously though well done and thank you. The challenge was certainly met and then some - wow! Didn't tell you but I had a go myself, not at the vanilla ice-cream thing. I mean talk about complex and the form how very much like algebra *wtf?* Couldn't get past the whole kissing strangers thing though, as far as I ever got was... 'mmm' lol.

Especially loved these lines: My open limbs are petals, a pure white rose in bloom,
Plucked throughout a swollen day of lying flesh made true.

Oh you know it's a 10 you blow me away missus!

Love, love and more love to you and you're beautiful family X







Author's Reply:
Haha,

Thanks for your fab comments...you are very funny. I think I too understand vanilla ice-cream much better than Villanelles. But both have their pros and cons. Vanilla icecream doesn't drive one insane and cause headaches, whilst Villanelles don't go to your thighs...well, I don't think so anyway.

I'm really glad you liked it. I've spent soooo many hours on it I can recite the blooming thing in my sleep...did you finish your atempt at the kissing strangers and buying shoes poem? If so I'd love to see it.

talk to you later
love Jack

SugarMama34 on 13-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
Hey Jack,

Wow missus!! What a poem. It's fab and I love it, love it all. The flow to this just well...umm flows, really well. Your word choice as always is great and the story to boot.
I think my fave lines are:

Let the light undress me, I’ve a crimson blush to lose.

and

I want to be stripped naked of all but lust’s perfume.

So beautiful and with a deep meaning. Another good write from you which I have very much enjoyed...again.

Love Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Lis'

I found writing in the persona of a virgin a bit of a challenge though...(hee hee!*!!)

Love jack

Ionicus on 13-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
I say, missus, steady on!
"I want to be stripped naked of all but lust’s perfume."
My mind is already working overtime.
A lovely erotic poem, dear Jackie, and though you were a virgin regarding villanelles you have passed the test with flying colours.

Luigi xxx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi,

it's really hard to find things that I'm still a virgin at nowadays.

I'm waiting for JohnG to drop by and tell me what he thinks...not about the virgin thing, I mean the villanelle thing...of course...haha

Ciao Caro Amico.
E bello che ci sentiamo di nouvo.
Jack


e-griff on 13-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
I've been saying on another site that it is a cop-out to merely say something nice when being honest (politely) could help the writer, unless of course, you know they are sensitive to crit and don't want it. However, you have asked me for 'the truth', so I will give you my honest opinion:

The structure of the Villanelle is fine, you have all the rhymes and repetitions in place. I did have a problem with 'true' though ('truth' might just do it).

A general problem I had was that the rhyme chosen for the second line rhyme (b) has an 'oo' sound a little too close to the 'oo' selected for refrain 1 (A and a). This tended to blur the effect of the line rhymes, which come across better when distinct, IMO.

But, the main thing for me is the metre. No, I know the metre in a Villanelle doesn't have to be a specific one, but I do think it should be consistent. A nice rhythmic metre would complement the rhythm of the rhymes and improve this no end.

analysing this:

the first 3 lines use the same metre
- / - / - / - - / - / - / (metre X) 6 beats iambic with a central twist

the fourth and fifth lines have a different metre
/ - / - / - / - / - / -/ (metre Y) 7 beats
which have quite a different sound because of the anapaestic start.
This line then inevitably clashes with the repeated (6th) line

line 7 reverts to metre X
line 8 is metre Y. The tendency is for the ear to follow line 7, forcing three syllables: ‘me, I’ve a’ to simulate the two unstressed syllables of metre X.
(you should be hearing the clash between those two lines when you read it out loud.)

The next lines (10-12) have a similar problem.

Lines 13 and 14 revert to metre X and work well, despite a little ‘squeeze’ in ‘… ion from a …’

Lines 16 and 17 again are a mix. 16 is a metre Y, but line 17 is metre X with an extra foot. This maybe makes it sound better against line 16, but isolates the last two metre X lines in 18 and 19.


er, hope that all helps. As you've seen, many people will enjoy the story in this poem (as I did) and the spirit of it, but thse are the nuts and bolts as far as I can see them.


Author's Reply:
Gee, JohnG,

Dear JohnG

Thanks for that. I agree totally that the two rhymes were a little close in sound, and that there would have been greater effect had I chosen a completely different sound for the line which was not a refrain. But once in, I couldn't get out. I think also that had I gone for a pentameter, the poem would have been tighter and easier to control.

Thank you so much for taking the time to look at this. Tomorrow I'm going to look at it a lot closer with your comments in mind.

Thanks JohnG
Best Wishes
Jackie

e-griff on 13-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
here is a version with some insertions to even the metre to an iambic septameter. I'm not claiming it now makes sense, or you'll like it, or that the inserted wrds are all strong enough.

Some of the edges I complained about could be 'rolled over', I would agree, but at least two, I think, caused big hiccoughs ...

Today I wake up crazy and I dance around the room.
I crave to kiss a stranger and to buy some sexy shoes
I want to be stripped naked now of all but lust’s perfume.

So free my budding, open flesh to lighten up my gloom,
To lick my lips and touch a man, caress him where I choose.
Today I wake up crazy and I dance around the room,

I’m born again and vital to a life outside the womb,
I let the light undress me, I’ve a crimson blush to lose.
I want to be stripped naked now of all but lust’s perfume.

My open limbs are petals like a pure white rose in bloom
They’re plucked throughout a swollen day of lying flesh made true.
Today I wake up crazy and I dance around the room,

A brazen bride who’s aching for the firmness of her groom
And sexual inspiration from a musky, solid muse.
I want to be stripped naked now of all but lust’s perfume.

I’m clothed in heels, my secret skin - the only true costume.
I close the night and rouse the day to take all that ensues.
Today I wake up crazy and I dance around the room,
I want to be stripped naked now of all but lust’s perfume.


Author's Reply:
Yeah, I like this. It scans better. I've added it below the original submission to have a look at tomorrow with a fresh head. It's really too hot here, and I've had two glasses of ice-cold white wine, and the head is a little bit blunted now.

Seeing as you hate Villanelles, I appreciate even more the time you've put in on this. Cheers JohnG.

Best of best wishes
Jack
ps. What happened to Laura in the end...or does she return like Jaws?

e-griff on 13-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
actually, I was surprised to find that 'Do Not Go Gently' by Dylan was a Villanelle - it works so well you don't even notice. Brilliant! I've tried to write them in challenges here, but I'm not very good.

laura? well there is a Laura VIII, which I've circulated to my 'random poem' e-mail list of friends and relatives (every one or two weeks - now on poem 68).

I decided not to publish it here, as some may take it amiss, and I don't want to upset them 🙂 but I'll PM it to you as you are not one (who might take umbrage)

cheers

Author's Reply:
Good morning JohnG,

I've read your additions to my poem with a fresh head and it does scan much better now. Again, thanks for your time and help.

Jack X

e-griff on 13-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
sorry - Laura IX!

Author's Reply:
Yeah,

I couldn't believe that ' do not go gentle' was a villanelle, I used it as my model. That's the sign of a good poem right? When the rhyming scheme doesn't intrude on its beauty/meaning. Look forward to reading your work

Love jack

niece on 14-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
This is lovely, Jackie...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Thanks a lot. My opinion of the poem has changed a lot with all of this positive responce.

Best wishes
Jackie

sunken on 15-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
Ahem. I know why it took you two months to write this, Ms. Jackie. You've been busy lusting around and no mistake! Ya know, I'm smelling of lust myself today. I just went for a pee and all I can smell is musk. It might be my aftershave (munky musk). I can get it cheap with knowing munky. I wonder if other blokes splash aftershave on their privates? Ahem. Anyway, yes. A pleasing write and no mistake. I hope this has helped. Well done on the nib. Thank you.

s
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best before deal or no deal

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

I'm quite partial to a bit of Munky musk myself. But whenever I give myself a liberal spray I get chased by a Bonobo. Munky isn't descended from one of these is he?

Love Jack

macaby on 16-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
I think you have done a great job here. A villanelle is quite a hard thing to do, tried myself and gave up. Dylan's is a classic one that I have read many times, and heard recited by himself and Richard Burton, must be the Welsh voice's that does the trick. Yes I liked yours also, erotic, enjoyable , very sensual . Well done on the nom, you deserve it.
cheers mac

Author's Reply:
Dear Mac,

Yeah, I didn't realise that 'do not go gentle' was a villanelle until I googled how to do one on the internet. You shouldn't have given up on your attempt. A Villanell is its own reward really. I'd love to see one of your very visual poems in a structured form. I know that you could do it...it just takes a bit of perseverance and a lot of doughnuts.

Love Jack

teifii on 17-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
Amazing poem. Talk about rising to a challenge! I must admit I do like villanelles and thought this a really good stab at one. Certainly John's improvements to the scanning help, but I only really fell over one while reading the original
Let the light undress me, I’ve a crimson blush to lose. But it's a wonderful line.
Congratulations on the well deserved nomination.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff,

thanks so much for the positive comments. I really hadn't known what to expect regarding response to this poem. Having never written one or read many, I wasn't sure at all about the quality of this Villanelle. But the response from UKA has been really great and has given my confidence an incredible boost.

I think I'm going to try another really soon...well...within the next month or two...haha.

Thanks again for such lovely comments.
Best Wishes
Jackie

pombal on 19-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
Dear Mezzanotte

This made me blush.

Cool and congrats on the Nom 🙂

Author's Reply:
Dear Pombal,

If this made you blush, you'd better not read some of my past erotic posts. Well, they're not so erotic, just a bit rude. Thanks for reading.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Jolen on 26-07-2009
Scent and Shoes
Dear Jackie,
I apologize for being so late to the party, but I did get a chance to read this earlier and just love it! I am elated to see it getting the recognition it deserves and think you not only met the challenge, but exceeded it splendidly. Congrats!

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:


Running to the Rapist (posted on: 06-07-09)
I'm back again with a healthy, if unreliable computer. I've posted two poems, but I don't think they work independently, let me know what you think...thanks Jackie.

Running to the Rapist I say no, but you take me anyway. An afternoon, an evening fighting your strength, but once you grab hold, you have me at your will. Naked and open, I'm wet to let you to fill me over again. In self loathing I reach for you, draw you home, drinking you deeper, pried apart beneath the weight of your sour breath. Until sated in my weak gut, you leave a stinking wreck behind. Bloated with your bloody stain, I can't shower you off, or erase the broken memories of us. And as the empty relics of you crack and snap against each other, my eyes slide towards another headless neck with swollen chest and those loose knots of resolution unravel before you once more.
Archived comments for Running to the Rapist
barenib on 06-07-2009
Running to the Rapist
Hi Jackie - I've now read both and it doesn't strike me that they need to be necessarily shown together - I'd think they work separately aswell. I take it that the idea is to show two sides of the same coin? If so, maybe you could think of a title to suit both pieces and show them as separate stanzas on the same page. Anyway, interesting and rather perturbing poems - John.

Author's Reply:
Thanks John,

I agree that maybe they don't need each other, but I sort of wrote them during the same sitting, and in my mind they are twins. I wouldn't put them on the same page though, as I think 'In my lover's arms' is a really weak poem that, in retrospect, I'm a bit embarrassed about.

Nice to hear from you.

Jackie

Sunken on 06-07-2009
Running to the Rapist
"...Oh Nikita you will never know..." Oh balls. I have another song by Elton in my head now. I think said song is called 'Dave'. Anyway, yes. I agree with Mr. Nib of Bare fame. Both poems do indeed work as separate pieces. You have a dark side, Ms Jackie. Have you consider concealed lighting? Hello? "...I'm still standing..." Oh fuck! I don't even like Elton John. I hope this has helped. Good to see you back. Oh, by the way, I found the most pleasure was gained by reading your poem from a 54 degree angle. Thank you.

s
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k
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god it looks like elvis, must be the way his quiff is lit

Author's Reply:
I am an anti-christ, I am anachist. Don't know what I want, but I know how to get it. I wanna destroy the passerby 'cause I wanna be anarchy...Barry told me that these were originally Manilow lyrics, but he swapped them with Malcom for 'The Bermuda Triangle'.


Missed you and that crazy Munky.

Love Jack

Ps. The doctor assured me that those happy tablets would get rid of the dark side...doesn't seem to be working... By the way, 54 Degrees is my favourite angle!!! Thank you.

Jolen on 06-07-2009
Running to the Rapist
Hi Jackie,

I've read them both as well and I'm not sure what to make of them but feel this one is about wine. 😉 I liked them both, but am going to read and reread and see if I can figure it all out.

Welcome back, it's great to see you on site again.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
That means that they're crap right?

Jolen on 06-07-2009
Running to the Rapist
WHAT? HELL NO, THEY'RE NOT CRAP!~ I am just not smart enough to figure out what they're about is all. It's been a rough day. Quite the contrary, me dear, I loved your poems. I am just a shit commenter today. Where on earth did you get that they were crap?

Author's Reply:

macaby on 06-07-2009
Running to the Rapist
I think this is about realising that the drink has taken a hold over you. Frightining poem in a way.

my eyes slide towards another
headless neck with swollen chest

I think this is quite an original description for a bottle.
After we have had a few ourselves, our chests swell a bit also.
caio mac



Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Mac,

sorry my response is late, but the summer is upon me with a vengeance. Can't wait for september.

Best Wishes
Jackie

fitbin on 10-07-2009
Running to the Rapist
Very good, I like them both.
It is an interesting dualistic comparison of how the same event can be so different from another perspective.
I often like to look at events from different sides.
I think 'Running to the Rapist' does improve the first piece, when taken together, as the contrast makes the darkness even deeper compared to the original pleasant sentiments.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for your comment. I've been lately trying to write poems in 'pairs', looking at things from different angles. Well, lately I haven't been writing at all...it's too hot...haha

Thank you very much for your comments

best wishes
Jackie

teifii on 17-07-2009
Running to the Rapist
I had to read both several times to be sure I knew what they are about. But in the end I liked both. Don't think they need to be together just because you wrote them in the same session. I've certainly done that with poems that would make absolutly no sense if put on one page.
Daff

Author's Reply:


In My Lover's Arms (posted on: 06-07-09)
Hey all at UKA...back again after a desperate month of MAJOR computer problems...GRRR, but everything seems to be back on track now...HOORAY !!! :-)) I'm subbing two poems but I don't think one works without the other, so I'm afraid you have to read both to 'get' the meaning...I think. Let me know if they don't work...thanks Jack X.

In my Lover's Arms I'm running to him, ardent, fast I know that he'll be waiting, and how my desperate kisses last to provoke rampant mating. I slip my hand around his waist, and pull him deeper in, his liquids flow a sensual taste but this good thing's a sin. He murmurs that it's all okay and tells me that I'm sane. He keeps the truth again at bay, and cotton balls my pain. He pours his fog to ease my fears but liquored whispers lie. I've drank him in for all these years - he blunts the question 'why?' That spirit's stronger than my own my need is often mad. He makes me feel I'm not alone - though our loving makes me sad.
Archived comments for In My Lover's Arms
Sunken on 06-07-2009
In My Lovers Arms
"Daniel is leaving tonight on a plane. I can see the red tail light heading for spa a a ain, oh and - I can see Daniel waving goodbye. God it looks like Daniel... Must be the clouds in my eyes..." Ahem. Sorry, Ms. Jackie. For some strange reason I have an Elton John song stuck in my head. I think said song is called 'Alan'. Anyway, that's not important right now. Sorry to hear you've been having pc probs. Aren't they the most unreliable piece of equiptment in the home? I hardly go a week without some problem or other. "God it looks like Daniel..." Anyway, yes. Good to see you back. I've read your piece from various angles. I think my favourite was 37 degrees. I'm off to read the other that you've subbed now. I can't promise that my comment on that will be any better than this. I do apologise and no mistake. "...I can see the red tail light..." Hello?

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god it looks like elton, must be the clouds in my eyes

Author's Reply:
Her name was Lola, she was a showgirl, with yellow feathers in her hair and a dress cut down to there. She could Merengue and do the Cha-Cha, and while she tried to be a star, Tony always tended bar. Across the crowded floor, they worked from 8-4. They were young and they had each other, who could ask for more.

Best Wishes Jack

Barry follows her on Twitter, or does she follow him?

Jolen on 06-07-2009
In My Lovers Arms
I still can't help but feel these poems are about drinking. Great job, regardless.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Dear Jolen,
this poem is actually a load of old rubbish, but it goes with the other, so had to be subbed regardless. Thanks for reading though.

Love Jack

macaby on 06-07-2009
In My Lovers Arms
Hi Jackie, nice to see you back again. Well I have read both poems a couple of times and I actually prefer this one.I think it's the rhyming that makes it work better IMO. If I understand it correctly , it is about " drowning your sorrows".I liked these lines here

He keeps the truth again at bay,
and cotton balls my pain.

He pours his fog to ease my fears
but liquored whispers lie.


Yes that is how I interpretated this one. I enjoyed the read.
mac


Author's Reply:
Wow, I thought I'd responded to this.

Must have been pissed again!*!

Haha
Thanks for understanding

Love jack


Those Things That I Walk on For You (posted on: 01-06-09)
🙂

Those Things That I Walk on for You It's always hot coals when you're livid. And egg shells when you're feeling stressed. You strew broken diamonds when you feel remorse. Rose petals to see me undressed. It's splinters of glass when you call for my guilt. Scalding white sands for my pain. And dewy fresh lawns for a fleeting relief. Then my road's made of hot coals again.
Archived comments for Those Things That I Walk on For You
barenib on 01-06-2009
Those Things That I Walk on For You
This is short and sweet and very effective - a great idea well executed. The only thing that would improve it is if the metre was a bit more even on the first verse, eg.

It's always hot coals when you're livid.
And egg shells when you're feeling stressed.
Broken diamonds when you feel remorse.
Rose petals to see me undressed.

Enjoyable poem - John.

Author's Reply:
Thanks John,

I completely agree with your comments and have changed the poem appropriately. Thanks so much, it reads much better now.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Jolen on 02-06-2009
Those Things That I Walk on For You
I'm with John all the way!

love,
jolen



Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen
Love Jack

Sunken on 04-06-2009
Those Things That I Walk on For You
Blimey. Is it 'two for one' week, Ms. Jackie? Surely you are spoiling us with all of these pomes? I would, of course, walk on hot coals for all of my fellow ukanettes. I have even commissioned a special pair of asbestos boots for just said occasion. When exactly is poet carrying week anyway? I miss poet tossing week. Apparently that particular event was suspended on health and safety grounds. I do miss tossing poets. Ahem. I hope this comment has been helpful in some way and that we can continue to strive together to make the world a better place. I'm thinking of painting it beige. What do you think? Hello?

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where there is pastry, let there be cooks

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

it's two for one week indeed. In fact, these two poems were just one, but when I saw that the poem was begining to split, and go off in different directions I became flustered and confused, so decided to seperate the twins. haha. That's the story behind the submissions, I doubt very much if it had you riveted to your computer screen, but hey...you know us women can waffle on.haha

Anyway, enough of poet tossing, I've been kitten tossing this week, they keep sneaking into the kitchen and eating all the dog's dinner, so I have to throw them out the back door. I don't know if any animals were hurt during the filming. I hope this is helpful, am I waffling? Goodbye

Jack

e-griff on 04-06-2009
Those Things That I Walk on For You
I didn't see the original of this. I think it is a very good concept (with resonance of your other poem). but it has a problem for me.

the first two lines are strongly 'tum te tum' (anapaestic), as is the last line of verse two. the last line of V1 is slightly less so but okay. the first three lines of V2 start with a stressed syllable, so I was rather caught out with that switch after V1. The main problem for me is the diamonds line. Although it's fine when read with four beats (BRO-ken DIA-monds when YOU feel re-MORSE), the established rhythm at that point encouraged me to read it with an unnatural stress ( bro-ken DIA-monds when YOU feel re-MORSE) to match the first two. The same rhythm in the verse two line 3 with four beats works fine (as you can't possibly say dewy FRESH (note typo there)), so it's a matter of picking alternative words to avoid the present ambiguity of that line. You still have the unstressed line start contributory problems in V1 though. It might be a thought to make the first two lines begin on a stressed syllable to match the second verse (maybe by dropping 'It's' and 'And' ) Phew! best johnG

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 04-06-2009
Those Things That I Walk on For You
Not sure how clear I was (and sadly I can't edit it to improve it). so, in the hopes of illustrating what I mean, here's an amended version (not definitive, simply indicative of a couple of changes in rhythm which might help).

It's always hot coals when you're livid.
And egg shells when you're feeling stressed.
You strew broken diamonds when you feel remorse.
Rose petals to see me undressed.


It’s splinters of glass when you call for my guilt.
Scalding white sands for my pain.
And dewy fresh lawns for a fleeting relief.
Then my road's made of hot coals again.

this starts on two 3/3 lines, then continues 4/3 throughout the rest, which is consistent. I think the potential anomalous reading of 'broken diamonds' has been fixed (the strong 'strew' naturally steals the stress from 'bro').

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

you know my largest flaw as an apspiring poet is to read my words again and again, until I make them fit the metre of the others. I try not to do it, but somehow I manage to convince myself that that all scans and reads well.

Thanks for pointing out the errors. In retrospect I can see exactly how it is improved by adding the stressed syllable...it reads so much better. I know you say it's not definative, but I like the way this reads and am more than happy to keep it if that's okay with you.
In fact I'm going to take the liberty of changing the poem now.

Thanks JohnG
Best Wishes
Jackie

macaby on 04-06-2009
Those Things That I Walk on For You
A highly visual poem. Hot coals, rose petals, eggshells. One that a lot of us can relate to. I am not good at metre myself, so I won't say anything in that direction. Like barenib said, great idea and well executed. Much enjoyed.
mac

Author's Reply:

Romany on 06-06-2009
Those Things That I Walk on For You
I didn't see the original. I have no problem with the rhythm at all, I think this is excellent and original and should be a great read - 'cos it is!

Romany.

Author's Reply:


Obstacle Course (posted on: 01-06-09)
I'm not too sure about the ending of this poem. Any suggestions as usual are welcome.

Obstacle Course I slip on your whispers, and trip on your lies, fall into your promises - crawl from your sighs. I sneak through your silence, climb over your shouts, wade through your worries and dodge your dark doubts. I hang on your words and dance to your whims. Yet I'm envied by all as I'm so fit and trim.
Archived comments for Obstacle Course
Sunken on 01-06-2009
Obstacle Course
Hello Ms. Jackie. This is a cheeky little number and no mistake. Much like the author I suspect? Good to see you back. You look pretty fit & trim in your piccy btw. I hope this helps. Hello?

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persil 3 - bacofoil 3

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

you are such a tease!!! You say that about all the girl's piccies, but I'll say a big 'shucks' and blush accordingly. I think I look like a horse, the upload has made my face all long and out of focus. Talking about faces, I saw Munky on a young girl's t-shirt the other day, do you know that he's flashing his image all over Europe, well Sorrento anyway?

The kids are home from school now, and rarely let me get on the computer AGHH! I've just had to bribe them with sweets and the playstation, to get an hour of computer peace.

I'd give bacofoil 4...it can't be replaced whereas persil can.

I hope this has helped.
Jack

Sunken on 02-06-2009
Obstacle Course
Ahem. How rude. I can't say anything right! I was merely being civil. I suspect that might be an alien concept to you and no mistake. Now, Munky - Yes, I've seen his face all over duvets and curtains and t-shirts etc. He says it's an impostor, but I'm not so sure. I've a feeling he's making a mint and not passing any of it onto me for his upkeep. He, like you, is a bloody disgrace. And now, if you don't mind, I have ablutions to take care of. Good day! Hello?

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persil 3 - bacofoil 4 (score modified due to an interfering woman)

Author's Reply:
If I'm so rude and uncivil why waste your time on me?

Mezzanotte on 02-06-2009
Obstacle Course
If I'm so rude and uncivil why waste your time on me?

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 02-06-2009
Obstacle Course
I'm a sucker for hopeless cases (-; Good day!

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vimto 3 - barrack obama 3

Author's Reply:
Me too!

I'd give barrack obama 4, vimto can be replaced.

e-griff on 02-06-2009
Obstacle Course
well, to get back to your question.

yes, the last line is completely off beam (maybe the two last lines) You really need a meaningful statement to make the whole thing work, throw the rest into perspective, otherwise it's pointless. 🙂

In a milder way, I didn't like 'all of the time', and I'm not sure about 'sharp' doubts either.

you've typo'd you/your twice, BTW.

best, G



Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

I liked 'all of the time' myself, but I agree on the 'sharp' doubts, I see doubts as being blunt, don't know why. Anyway, I've changed them to dark, but this may be temporary.

Even with crappy last lines, I don't think the poem is pointless though. 🙂

Best wishes

Jackie
It was Roger right?

Sunken on 02-06-2009
Obstacle Course
To get back to bacofoil, I'm pretty sure it can be replaced. Tesco do their own range. I imagine many other superstores do too. I hope this helps.

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generic hard drive recorder 3 - smurf 2

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

you are very funny. Back to Bacofoil, now we could open a whole debate here whether generic products do indeed posses the same quality as their brand named brothers. For example would a Somerfield's can of baked beans be as reliable as Heinz? Would a pickle be a pickle by any other name than Branstons? Would an Asda version of an original Pot Noodle taste as sweet?

A few questions for you to ponder whilst Munky is off being photographed.
Best wishes
Jackie

surf 1 - smurfs 3

Albermund on 02-06-2009
Obstacle Course
I wish I'd thought of this! Lovely, cute bitter sweetish stuff. I like "all of the time" - makes the first 4 lines read real nice. I thought perhaps you could use "yet i'm envied ... for being so fit and trim" but I'm not sure that your obstacle course is unpleasant enough for that to work. cheers albert 🙂

Author's Reply:
Dear Albert,

I like 'all of the time' too. Thank you for your lovely comments, yeah, the last two lines suck, but I wanted to get it done to post Sunday night before I collapsed into bed. Goes to show that you can't rush poetry. haha

Best Wishes
Jackie

e-griff on 02-06-2009
Obstacle Course
sorry, you are right. (pointless)

I apologise - careless words. What I meant was it is less than it could be because there is no final punch (the 'point'), so it's a bit like telling a joke and fluffing the punch line.

D ark D oubts ? 🙂

Author's Reply:

e-griff on 02-06-2009
Obstacle Course
actually, I hadn't realised it was D odge your D ark D oubts, that's quite 'active' and dancy - fits the mood of you jumping through hoops.

I think the problem for me with 'all of the time' now I think about it is all the other lines are actions, with a witty twist of expression. 'all of the time' just seems to slump flat like a filler.
something like 'react to your sighs' (not that specifically) - with the same pattern of leading verb and unusual object, would be better, je crois.

and the end? dunno really - needs some unexpected twist.

hmmm and 'you're envied by all, cos I'm ,,,' or 'and I'm envied by all cos you're so ...' doesn't really do it either ... hmmmmms


oh - 'dance TO your whim' might sound better 🙂



Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,



I had a good look at the poem again, and you are quite right, 'all of the time' isn't an action as in the other lines. I had noticed it when writing and then in my haste to post this Sunday night completely forgot, until now that is. 'React to your sighs' is a good liine, but not a visual action as the other verbs which you could do during an obstacle course. Perhaps 'Crawl from your sighs'.



Yeah, I still agree the end has to be changed even more, but now I have to find something which rhymes with whims instead of whim...see what I mean?



Thanks for your help.

Jackie

Jolen on 02-06-2009
Obstacle Course
Well, as usual, a day late and 9 comments short, but though it's all been said before, I too liked your poem and could relate to it as well, which is always nice. Good Job, Jackie.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen
XXX

e-griff on 04-06-2009
Obstacle Course
Hah hah! I think we should have a competition in the poetry workshop ...

Here goes!!!! (BTW, you spelt 'through' wrong)

I slip on your whispers,
and trip on your lies,
fall into your promises -
crawl from your sighs.
I sneak through your silence,
climb over your shouts,
wade through your worries
and dodge your dark doubts.
I hang on your words
and dance to your tune.
But then you shout ‘Cut!’
And I’m over the moon.

I slip on your whispers,
and trip on your lies,
fall into your promises -
crawl from your sighs.
I sneak through your silence,
climb over your shouts,
wade through your worries
and dodge your dark doubts.
I hang on your words
and dance to your beat
But let’s face it, Gordon
You’re out on the street


Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

Me? I don't spell words wrong ever! haha
Your last lines are great and made me laugh. But I don't want a flippant ending. Like you said before, something of a more serious nature is needed to validify the rest!

Come on, you can do it...I'm stuck

Best Wishes
Jackie

macaby on 04-06-2009
Obstacle Course
I really liked this one. short lines ,nice rhythm and sound. I know what you are saying in the last two lines , but I think you could say it better. How? I'm not sure.
take care mac

Author's Reply:
Hi Mac,
sorry for the late response, summer has hit Sorrento big time, and now time is not my own.
Discopants has given me a couple of lines that i like, so i might go with them.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Rupe on 05-06-2009
Obstacle Course
I think this poem flows along very well until the last couple of lines (as e-griff says). The problem is that everything up to then seems to be hinting at the the problems of communication between a couple (to put it really prosaically) - and does this superbly - but the reader can't quite see the connection between this theme and being 'fit and trim'. There might be one - I think there probably is - but it needs to be a little clearer.

So I suppose the solution is either to change the last couple of lines so they fit in with the theme of communication & provide some sort of conclusion or twist - or to find a way to link being 'fit and trim' more clearly with the communication theme. The title might provide a clue - where is the obstacle course leading?

Rupe

Author's Reply:
Dear Rupe,

thanks for the comment, I really appreciate it. You are right, there is no connection between fit and trim and the rest of the poem. In fact, Discopants has come up with an ending that I love. Something which fits in more with the psychological angst of the voice in the poem.

Best Wishes
Jackie

e-griff on 05-06-2009
Obstacle Course
good thought from Rupe - what is the result of an obstacle race - you are free and clear! the winner.

I hang on your words
And share all your fear
At the end of it all
I'm out of here/Free and clear/...

or summat.



Author's Reply:

cat on 06-06-2009
Obstacle Course
Oooo loved the dark doubts (hi by he way) luv, luv and more luv to you xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Author's Reply:
Hi Cat,

how are you doing my love? Glad you liked the dark doubs, they were a late edition.

Love jack

discopants on 07-06-2009
Obstacle Course
The poem flows really well- a good rhythm with smooth rhymes but I'm with the others in respect of the last 2 lines. I have thus put forward my suggested last 4 lines (as I couldn't find a good rhyme for 'whims'):

I jump on your words
And dance with your hopes
Until you leave me hanging
Suspended by ropes.

It's a bit darker, I'd say, but I tend to finish things off on a darker note more often than not...

disco



Author's Reply:
Dear Disco,

I like a rather dark ending too. And this one has left me glowing, it's great, can I have it please.


Best Wishes
Jackie

discopants on 08-06-2009
Obstacle Course
Can you have it? Of course you can- just don't say I never do anything for you!

Author's Reply:

niece on 10-06-2009
Obstacle Course
Interesting, Jackie...the poem as well as the comments that followed...a nice poem, good flow of words and thoughts, much like a smoothly slithering snake!!!

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:


Fruits of My Garden (posted on: 25-05-09)
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Fruits Of My Garden On one side of my garden you'll find lush, firm-fleshed tomatoes bending velvet vines and plump, juicy peas in seductive summer greens. Those round blueberries shimmer with morning dew as ripening crimson grapes swell with fragrant juice. Veiny, thick leaves grow longer, taut to the touch. On the other, the promises - secure in shade, unfurl to gather liquid pearls on their rigid, dark leaves. They spread their knuckled roots far beneath the treacle earth, lift engorged purple heads into the sultry air, offering their sticky, honeyed syrup to my pursed lips. But the promises are stubborn - and won't be taken from the vine or uprooted from the earth. If I'm bold enough to prise one from its soiled bed, it withers and dies as soon as I take it into my hands.
Archived comments for Fruits of My Garden
SugarMama34 on 25-05-2009
Fruits of My Garden
Hi Jackie,

What a beautiful way to describe your fruit garden! I loved the imagery and your creative descriptions of the 'seductive summer greens'.
I think my favourite stanza has to be the secind one, although I loved the whole poem, but this for me really stood out.

On the other, the promises -
secure in shade, unfurl to
gather liquid pearls on their
rigid, dark leaves.
They spread their knuckled roots
far beneath the treacle earth,
lift engorged purple heads
into the sultry air, offering
their sticky, honeyed syrup
to my pursed lips.

Beautiful imagery and wonderful descriptions. I love this one.

Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:
Dear Lis',

I like that stanza too. I'm feeling suitably summery, and have a wanton eye cast in the direction of my neighbour's strawberries. It's his second home, so he isn't here often, so I'm going to hoist myself over the fence later...haha. Well, it's a shame to waist them right?

Love
Jack

Jolen on 25-05-2009
Fruits of My Garden
DAMN! Now, that's a Garden ! Seriously, Jackie, a great concept and I love the idea of a garden of promises. Brilliant, that! But the sad thing is that often they do not come to 'fruition' and so we're left sitting empty-handed, just as your clever poem says.


Beautiful descriptive language...Very sensual stuff, and you know I love that!

love,
jolen


Author's Reply:
Dear Jolen,

I'm glad you liked the concept of the poem, I prefer the content myself.


Love
Jack

e-griff on 25-05-2009
Fruits of My Garden
what a fruity poem! enjoyed it. G

Author's Reply:
Thanks JohnG,


Sunken on 25-05-2009
Fruits of My Garden
Ahem. Is this about your Lady Lawn then, Ms. Jackie? Ya know, your neither regions? It's not really about fruit is it? Have I read too much into it? Surely I'm not this perverted? I think you're playing with our minds and no mistake. I mean, come on... What about this bit -

'Those round blueberries
shimmer with morning dew
as ripening crimson grapes
swell with fragrant juice.
Veiny, thick leaves grow
longer, taut to the touch.'

It's quite obvious to me that you are referring to a tit wank. I'll be frank, I'm a little shocked. After all, I am very innocent kind of person. All of this said, I did enjoy the read. The fact that it gave me a semi is just an added bonus. I hope this has helped. Good day! Hello?

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inventor of the automatic clothes peg retriever


Author's Reply:
Dear Mr. Sunken,



you are so sensitive and insightful. You have this amazing ability to read any poem, and understand immediately the implicit meanings within...and yes, you are right, this poem is indeed about a tit wank.



But I find your comments offend me a little... I mean, this poem only gave you semi? Not a detached...come, come Mr. Sunken. That's not good enough!



Breast wishes

Jackie


AHEM! MR.Sunken. I've just read somewhere that you are 'redressing the moral balance of the site'! Can this be right?

Sunken 0 - Oliver Cromwell 10

Leila on 25-05-2009
Fruits of My Garden
A sensuous feast of words...personally I'd like to see the last line as
it withers and dies.

If I'm bold enough to
prise one from its soiled bed
take it in my hands
it withers and dies

perhaps even another word required before withers...
I'm so picky I know, sorry...Leila



Author's Reply:
Dear Leila,

Thanks for commenting, you can be as picky as you like with me, I'm always open to suggestions, more often than not, others can see that which you are too close to realize. I'll certainly consider your commets.

Thanks Leila
Best Wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 26-05-2009
Fruits of My Garden
Blimey, if it became detached I'd be in real trouble, Do you know that's a recurring dream of mine. I discover it's detachable and then can't get it back on. Are we talking about the same thang? Hello? Thank you.

s
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heatwave my arse

Author's Reply:
I think we are on the same page dear Sunken.

Now if you want some intuitive female advice, it goes like this: eat your greens, be nice to Munkies and don't choke too many chickens, and then your so called 'detached member' will always find its way home.

By the way...why are men so obsessed by their willies?

What's going on here, am I missing out on something?

Best Wishes Jackie.

ps. Hope Munky doesn't mind me treading on his toes with the advice thing.

Ionicus on 26-05-2009
Fruits of My Garden
Ah, the forbidden fruits, dear Jackie. Much more sought after and enjoyable once those promises are fulfilled.
Like Sunken, I can't help reading between the lines even if there is nothing there.

Love, Luigi xxx

Author's Reply:
Grazie Caro Luigi,

ti ho mandato un messagio Privato spiegando tutto.

baci e abbracci

Jackie X

macaby on 30-05-2009
Fruits of My Garden
A wonderfull poem, full of the fruits of passion and the forbidden ones too. I thought, hey this is a very descriptive, visual poem about your garden in Italy. Then I read sunkens remarks, a diddy ride indeed. but then again, sunken remarked on my poem that he hasn't slept with a woman since january ( somehow I believe him)so I reckon he gets excited over the slightest of things. So don't worry about the semi, maybe you raised more than there was to raising.
ciao mac

Author's Reply:
Ciao Mac,

nice to see you, it's been a while. I had fruit and veges in my garden last year, but it was too much hassle weeding and watering etc, and if I see a slimey bug on my letuce I don't want to eat it anymore.haha

Just off to read your submission. I'm a bit behind this week, what with the kids being home from school, and the beach...I can't seem to get near the computer.

Aufweiderzein and all that...
how's my spelling?

Jack
ps. How do you know Sunken was refering to January 2009...haha, hope he doesn't read this


Like Too Much Red Wine (posted on: 18-05-09)
...

Like too much Red Wine Like too much red wine, this dream of him leaves me sluggish and swollen with shame. Head-banging irregular beats, simple actions symbol-clash, skew my eyes - splinter my sight. He ages my joints and bruises my senses. Sitting shotgun in the car, he disapproves my profile as I drive. His shadow slides like an oil slick down the isles at Tesco as I drag my limbs though congealed space, throw frozen, processed gloop into a trolley then get the kids from school. Their shrill chatter chirps little beaks peck away for attention, but don't draw blood today. Weighed down under kilos of fat thoughts and frigid blocks of long-ago, I wade through the gel of Dali hours. And later, paralyzed in the arms of the man who loves me, the clocks melt, and my tired thoughts are fastened to the past and the man who doesn't.
Archived comments for Like Too Much Red Wine
e-griff on 18-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
oooh .... dark or what? hope this isn't true for you.

people often say 'meaningful' but this one genuinely is.

I liked the image of the kids as baby birds demanding attention ...

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

Yeah, I'm afraid this one is true. I think most of us have got 'the who got away' lurking somewhere in the past. I don't dream or even think about him often, but when I do it leaves me feeling crappy for the rest of the day...ho hum, broken hearts a great source of poetic inspiration though.

I'm glad you liked the image of the kids as baby birds. They break up from school soon, and will turn into vultures picking my bones and wallet clean.haha

Best Wishes
Jackie

Ionicus on 18-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
Dear Jackie, I agree that broken hearts can be a great source of poetic inspiration even if it is a distant memory and time has proved to be a great healer in that respect.
I liked the imagery in this poem and loved the opening lines.

Love, Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Luigi,

Yeah, who'd have thought that that broken heart would have been an asset.

Luigi, vorrei sapere un cosa, da dove viene e perche sei nel UK? Sono un po' curiosa.

Jackie

Zoya on 18-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
Very interesting!
You know this feeling of sluggishness, is so typical of after- minutes and even the thought of someone you love, brings it to you...
It is really a delicious feeling... Isn't it?
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:
Dear Zoya,

He dumped me and broke my heart so it's a totally crap feeling, but good for poetic inspiration. The people I love now are little, they're my children, and they make me feel dizzy with happiness, more delcious than nectar.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Jolen on 18-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
I think this may be my favorite poem of yours, and that's saying something. Your descriptions are brilliant, your lines work well for me and over all the feeling of 'nostalgia' and the guilt one feels over such a lost love (for want of a better word) is spot on. Super work, Jackie! And a fave for me.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen

Holding your cherished words close to my heart with one hand, and a glass of cherished wine in the other. Your words make me more giddy though.

Love jack

Sunken on 18-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me, sunks. Have you considered shopping online? Tesco dot com are very reliable. I refer you to this line -

His shadow slides like an oil slick down the isles at Tesco
as I drag my limbs though congealed space,

This will always happen when you take a man shopping. I'm telling ya, home delivery is the future. Hello?

I got this wrong didn't I? Ahem. I'll shut up.

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keeper of the cordless drill

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

I know this guy who orders sock online...you think I'm kidding right? No, i'm deadly earnest. Not sure if it's from Tesco's or not, but these socks are the type that sit snuggly under the ankle when he wears trainers. He thinks they are cool. What do you think?


Best Wishes without knobbly bits
Jackie

cat on 18-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
Agree with Jolen - definitaly a fav for me too!

Hope the 'one that got away' is now repenting as he so rightly should! Keep smilin (-:

Right ... I'm off to return you're email now - and of course it's a yes! Will be a pleasure and would love to 😀

Love, love and more love xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx



Author's Reply:
Glad you like the poem Cat,

sorry it's taken a while to get back, but have been busy doing mundane things. I am soooooooooooooooooo happy that you want to start sharpening your pencils. YOU are the star.

loads and loads of love and stuff
jackie

macaby on 19-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
I really like this one, especially the theme, a love that got away or wasn't meant to be. I know the feeling, but I don't think I could have described it as wonderfully as you have. I think it's one of your best poems that I have read.
mac

Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac,

that is so very generous. The relationship would have probably finished within a couple of years anyway, but i never had the chance to tire of it...hence, it grew and grew...into a muse, of sort. This is good right? or have I drunk too much wine tonight? I think I'm going to have to write more poems about things that really matter, it seems to bring out the lazy poet in me. haha

best wishes to you Mac
Thanks for commenting
Jackie

Elfstone on 19-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
Much to admire in this - a 'thinking' poem that says a great deal in a few words - as poetry should. If I may though, the layout is not perhaps all it could be ( I know - record stuck in a groove!). For your consideration. Elf.

Author's Reply:
Dera Elf,

I'm always open to suggestions if you have the time...really, I'd love to hear them.

Thanks so much for taking the time to think about this poem.


Best Wishes
Jackie

SugarMama34 on 22-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
Hello Jackie,

what a truely beautiful write this is. It is so creative in every single way. I like the way you described your kids like birds and them chirping for attention, it gives out great imagery and has a good contrast with the meaning you have conveyed. I think this has to be one of my favourites by you. I love the way you have written it all, sometimes having a past love and a broken heart has it's good points, even though we never think so at the time.

Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 22-05-2009
Like Too Much Red Wine
Ahem. I think ankle socks are more than acceptable for the young man about town, Ms. Jackie.

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incidentally, I told you about my socks in the strictest of confidence! You're a disgrace and no mistake. Good day! Hello?

Author's Reply:


Hairy Harry Adonis of Hounds (posted on: 11-05-09)
Something a bit more light hearted...but true!

Hair Harry, Adonis of Hounds Toffee-brown dog, sweet caramel eye. My second shadow, a face which can't lie, A pin-up for Crufts though half pedigree. In my car, at my feet, he's always with me. I bask in his praise, I'm a bit of a show-off, Until he does an incredible blow-off. Embarrassing dog! Such a rotten egg stink. I shuffle away, as all wince and blink. We creep to the car, and I'm desperately wishing, That I could vanish just like a magician. But as Houdini's scarves would run from his sleeve. Harry's poo refuses to leave. It trails on the floor, attached like a rope, He pushes and strains, but I fear there's no hope. I don grimace and glove and I pull from behind. But this chocolate-brown snake simply will not unwind. I tug and I yank, like never before, until quickly it gives and I fall on the floor. Oh beautiful dog, my sweet faithful friend, Why do your farts and poos never end?
Archived comments for Hairy Harry Adonis of Hounds
Sunken on 11-05-2009
Hairy Harry Adonis of Hounds
Dear Ms. Jackie, Both Bernard the communist Beagle and my good self are at loggerheads with regards to your poem. I personally feel that you have portrayed dogs in a genuine and heartfelt fashion. Bernard on the other paw feels somewhat insulted by your insinuation concerning canine related poo and fart incidents. You have driven a wedge between us, Ms. Jackie. A wedge that I fear could last until... teatime. I've tried talking to him, but he's not having any of it. This is a bad start to the week and no mistake.

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he's put a claim in for porn

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

gosh, I'm so sorry to have made you both argue. It wasn't my intention at all. You'll have to tell Bernard to get over it though, he's still got his balls and a cute litttle cap right? This afternoon Harry has an appointment at the vet's to have his balls off, and he never even had a little cap to set off his doggy good looks.

Perhaps I should buy him one, do you think it will compensate for the castration?

Best Wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 11-05-2009
Hairy Harry Adonis of Hounds
Jeezus! I was just about to log off (that's not a euphemism) when I saw your reply. There can be no compensation for what you are about to do to that poor dog! Disgraceful behaviour! I've lit a candle and will be praying that something scuppers your evil plans! Bernard is currently cowering in the corner of the room. To be frank, he rues the day I ever started talking to you (-; Good day!

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he's putting in a claim for jaffa cakes

Author's Reply:
HAHA HAHA,

Yes, I'm feeling a bit mean about it, but I've convinced myself it's for the best. He tries to hump everything that moves, and it's really embarrassing when I'm having a coffee with a friend and he's giving the waiter's leg his best shot behind my back. He also terrorises my neighbours, and rips at their trouser legs.

He needs calming down.

Hey, I know how to upload photos now, I could send some pix of the op. to Bernard
if you like.

Best Wishes
Jackie of cruel and nasty fame.



teifii on 11-05-2009
Hairy Harry Adonis of Hounds
Heavens! Thank goodness my two manage pooing without help. I hope Hairy Harry doesn't make a habit of that. And I hope his little op will stop his waiter assaulting ways.
Dyfi says to tell Bernard that he's had the snip and doesn't feel any way impaired.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff,

poetry aside, did it make Dyfi a calmer, less sexy dog. I mean, if it's really worth while, I'll shell out the cash although €140 does seem a bit much. The Italians here don't believe in castration...well they all pride themsleves on being Romeos, even their dogs. What do you think?

Help!

jackie

Sunken on 11-05-2009
Hairy Harry Adonis of Hounds
I just couldn't do it to him, Ms. Daff. I imagine it being done to myself and it makes me want to cry. I mean really, it's one of the most pleasurable things in the world. It's free and it's not even bad for ya (tho give it a week or two and I' sure some sad scientist could tell ya that it increases your chances of getting cancer. It seems everything can give you cancer these days).

Jackie - Keep your bloody photos to yourself! Dusgraceful (that was actually a typo - but I kind of like it - It's like disgusting and disgraceful all in one word, ahem) behaviour!

Good day!

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sitting with his legs crossed for the remainder of the day

Author's Reply:
Well Mr. SZu ken...oops, that was a typo but I quite like it. I think you and your naughty Beagle have poxed the whole thing for me.

I was quoted €70, and then when I turned up with nervous hound they wanted €140!!!
'Man Alive' I cry, you only need a nip and a tuck right?

Anyway, Harry is really grateful to you both, as he still has his crown jewels and, at that price, is likely to keep them. Dusgusting I say! So you and Bernard can un-cross your legs again. The balls are still in play.

Jackie

RachelLW on 11-05-2009
Hairy Harry Adonis of Hounds
Ha ha....yes, my colleague has a new dog. She brings it in to work. We share an office. She says it's a therapy dog. It pooed under my desk the other day. I didn't find this therapeutic. I've also moved my bag to the filing cabinet in case he cocks his leg up against it. Very funny, even if it made me feel a bit squeamish. Rachel.

Author's Reply:
Rachel,

if you have babyies, poo is no longer an issue, be it animal, vegetable or mineral. I was the distracted woman with twins, hair flying wildly, a nervous twitch and fresh sick on my shoulder.

Dog poo is nothing haha

best wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 12-05-2009
Hairy Harry Adonis of Hounds
Brilliant news, Ms. Jackie! I'm so happy for the little fella. Can I blow my candle out now?

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testicles 10 - veterinarian 1

Author's Reply:
Blow out that candle Mr. Sunken, and tell Bernard to uncross his legs. Balls are off the table and dangling nicely where they should be.

I actually quite like Harry with his balls, even if he is a randy little cur.

jackie x

macaby on 12-05-2009
Hairy Harry Adonis of Hounds
Ha-ha, funny indeed. "I don grimace and glove and I pull from behind. " I felt a big eeeeeeeeeeee as I read this part. Are you sure that your husband didn't phone the vet and tell him to quote such a horrendous price? mac


Author's Reply:
Ha! Hubby, unfortunately is not an animal lover, and he doesn't care what happens to Harry's balls. As long as I don't wear them as earings, I think. Glad you liked the poem.

Jackie


All the Warmth of a Grave (posted on: 08-05-09)
This is being posted with a MASSIVE thank you to my lovely friend Jolen, for casting her spell and making my mass of confused rhymes and images shape into the poem below.

All the Warmth of a Grave The little bed is as cold as the coming night though a ski-suit keeps him wrapped up tight. His Mummy sings his favourite lullaby, her gentle notes hang in the silent sky. The blanket is precious petal-thin, she smoothes lily-sheets to tuck him in. She craves to kiss his downy head, beneath the burial mound of dread. Mummy hates to leave him, all alone at the foot of an angel-shaped headstone, in a house of warmth - her family await, the dead lie beyond the graveyard gate. She claws at the earth, her son's new bed, breasts leaking milk on which he once fed. They say this night there will be a storm, his blue ski-suit will keep him snuggly warm.
Archived comments for All the Warmth of a Grave
reckless on 08-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
This is very emotional, and very difficult subject matter, and you have done it well. I like the way the rhyme scheme, and simplicity (apparent) of the rhymes, and the diction (e.g. 'Mummy') acts as a counterpoint to the content. It renders it even more powerful, in my view. Very good.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Reckless,

Jolen on 08-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
Hi Jackie,

You're sweet to say so, but the poem you sent me was already strong, it just needed a bit of polish to fully bring out the gem it was. And I'm elated to have been able to help provide that.

This is a very emotional and difficult subject to deal with, especially in couplets but you have done it with grace and style and a beautiful insight.

Kudos to you for your bravery in presenting it to the world and in such a strong and stirring piece.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:
Kudos to you too, Poetry Queen.

e-griff on 08-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
well, you recently encouraged me to be open with you, so.

This is indeed a difficult subject, well handled overall with some nice imagery.

However, I had some local difficulties with the rhythm in places, which tended to distract me.

You appear to have written this in each verse as pentameter/tetrameter/pentameter/tetrameter. I am not sure how well this works, to be honest, but it's your choice.

V1 L1 has two instances of paired unstressed syllables (is as, as the) this is a bit uncomfortable, esp in a first line where you haven't established the underlying rhythm yet.

V1 L2 is difficult rhythmically: 'though A ski-SUIT keeps HIM ...' (no!) or 'though a SKI suit KEEPS him ...' (better, but that leaves the line as a tetrameter in a pentametric verse)

a similar difficulty occurs in 'she smoothes lily sheets..' in V2
(ps I think a comma after 'precious' would help in L1)

V3
L2 you have throughout masculine line endings (stressed syllables) except for ‘headstone’ - where we have an example of a natural word pronunciation clashing with the poem’s intended rhythm – your poem is trying to force us to read it as headSTONE but that is not the way it is said. A line like 'below a smiling angel carved in stone' would fit.
L4 - to achieve a pentameter, you need another stressed beat in this line, such as 'lie still' to remove the confusion around this point, and clarify the stress on 'dead' and take it off 'lie' so it becomes the DEAD lie STILL beYOND the GRAVEyard GATE.

V4:
L1: 'paws at the' earth is slightly difficult to read, maybe better to have 'paws the earth' (or claws the earth) which is cleaner.
L2: again 'on which he once fed' can be confusing, something like 'where HE once FED' is much clearer (see what I mean?)
L3: again 'there will be a storm' is confusing (partially because of the missing 'that' - but that would make it pentameter. so maybe 'there'll BE a STORM' (again throws the stress clearly on be and storm)
L4: here, 'snuggly' makes it a pentameter, if you delete it, it'll match the other lines.


Phew! that's all. Hope that's not too much.

Author's Reply:
PHEW indeed. I love it. Thank you so much JohnG. When I have some peace and quiet later I'll go through the poem again. I always have a problem getting my iambs right.

***** Five stars for you Sir.

Best Wishes
Jackie

e-griff on 08-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
I meant to say - reading a poem out loud should bring these small glitches out

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 08-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
Dear Mr. Jackie, This is far to sensitive a subject for a simple sunk to comment on. At least now you'll have some idea of how to shut me up (-; Thank you. Hello?

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let them eat cabbage

Author's Reply:
Dear sunky and his munky,

I don't want to shut you up, you're the funniest man in the world...well I can't really say that as I don't know all the men in the world. I'm mean it's a big place and all, but you make me laugh, I love your Munky pages and your Twittering too

Didn't love your advice about Photo Bucket, I posted some piccies into folders etc, but other than post them onto my Facebook profile, I can't do a bloody thing with them. Am I STOOPID or what?

Jackie

Bradene on 08-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
A lovely poem Jackie. Very Touching. Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val, but I had a little help from a friend.

Best Wishes
Jackie

macaby on 08-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
A very sad and touching poem that certainly got to me. Beautifully written. I am not all that good on pentamer myself, that is why I mostly always stick to free verse. As I read the poem aloud, I also stumbled a little on the " angel-shaped headstone". I read e-griff's comment, his suggestion sounds plausible. I bet you think I am getting picky.Great poem IMO.
mac

Author's Reply:
Cripes Mac,

I don't sit there and count every syllable...well not always, depends if Eastenders is on. Me and Jolen worked on it together and this is what came out. I wanted it to be a very sad poem, like your Berlin poem, stuff like this went, and goes on and sometimes you've just got to put it into a poem.

Best Wishes as always
Jackie

Sunken on 08-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me again, sunks.

So now you have a photobucket account?

Here's what to do next...

Simply upload a pic to said photobucket account.

Click on the pic after you've uploaded it.

You should now see four separate codes -

Email & IM
Direct Link
HTML Code
IMG Code

Copy the code from the IMG Code box

Paste this into your submission. That's it. Should be.

Note - Don't post the code in the 'Description box' when subbing to uka (Andrea goes a bit mad when people do that, especially if it's her time of the month)-:

Post it in the 'Main Story' section.

Hope this helps. I've tested the IMG code on an oldie of mine and it did work. Good luck.

Thanks for reading Munky's Wiki & Twitters. It's always nice to know that the little hairy fella is being read (-:

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contains traces of pasta

Author's Reply:
I've done it...


check out the Forum's prose and poetry comp!


Leila on 08-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
A truly gentle, touching poem...Leila

Author's Reply:
Thank you Leila

RachelLW on 09-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
This is a very sad and moving piece. Written with much more technical skill than I can ever muster. Some beautiful lines:

'her gentle notes hang in the silent sky.
The blanket is precious petal-thin,
she smoothes lily-sheets to tuck him in.
She craves to kiss his downy head,
beneath the burial mound of dread. '

Very nice.

Rachel x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Rachel,

like I've said, I didn't do it on my own. I'm glad you liked it, and I'm happy to see that you got a Bernard...you don't need to disinfect, apart from the odd dog hair he's quite clean really, it's the munky you have to watch out for.

Best Wishes
Jackie


cat on 10-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
Yes a hard subject and from the point of view of the mother so doubly powerful. Heartbreaking even but written with such skill, sensitivity, feeling and understanding.

From start to finish it is alway's a privilege.

Love as alway's and my very best to you and yours,
Catherine x




Author's Reply:
Thank you Cat,

Again, I have to give credit where credit is due, as from start to finish I had help from Jolen who smoothed out the rough edges and made it all hang together better.

All the best to you and yours too.

How's your Harry Houdini dog?
Best Wishes
Jackie

SugarMama34 on 22-05-2009
All the Warmth of a Grave
Hi Jackie,

I so wish I had thought of this way of writing about something that is so close to my heart. I can really relate to this, but not in the way you would probably expect me too, more in a way of understanding because I think that this is absolutley beautiful and I mean that most sincerely.
You have written it very well IMHO and it shows a different way of looking at the death of a child. The narrator explains and shows the emotions really very well. I absolutley love this. Well done Jackie and Congrats on the nib and the nom.

Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:


Seashell Words (posted on: 04-05-09)
🙂

Seashell Words Like mother-of-pearl pinks, browns, creamy oyster, your words wash into a welcome cove. And I bend to collect these perfect shells, and put them into a bucket to keep and view at leisure. Rich veneer a banquet for the eye, feasts for the flesh. I nurse them in the palm of my hand, feel the textures swirl, rivulets running, in silver and gold, soft against my skin. But like a seashell, your words are hollow. When I hold them close to my ear I can't hear the ocean.
Archived comments for Seashell Words
Jolen on 04-05-2009
Seashell Words
Hi Jackie,

Another fine piece of work, the centering works well too. I would humbly offer a few suggestions for your consideration and attention.

First verse: mother of pearl should be hyphenated as mother-of-pearl.

Second verse: I would remove the 'and' at the beginning. and the one before 'put' so that it is like this
I bend to collect
these perfect shells,
put them into a bucket to keep
and view at leisure.


Final verse: I think I'd change it a bit to something like this perhaps

But like a seashell,
your words are hollow.
When I hold them close to my ear
I can't hear the ocean.


Anyway, I like the poem, and as I said, these are just some suggestions to use or not as you wish.

love,
jolen


Author's Reply:
Dear Jolen,

thanks for your help. I've changed the poem accordingly. Can Americans be poet Laureats? And as for the centering...haha, i did it with one finger, the space bar and a squint. Think I'm gonna have to ask Sunken.

Jolen on 04-05-2009
Seashell Words
By the way, I loved this verse:


Rich veneer
a banquet for the eye,
feasts for the flesh.
I nurse them in the palm of my hand,
feel the textures swirl,
rivulets running,
in silver and gold,
soft against
my skin.

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 04-05-2009
Seashell Words
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me, sunks. Munky tells me that I wasn't very nice to you recently. Apparently he blames my mood on a lack of sex. Please ignore everything he says. Ahem. Your advice regarding loose pants has been taken on-board. Oh, nice poem by the way. It's very... shell like. Do you think I stand a chance of winning commenter of the year 2009 or what? Can I count on your vote? Hello? Sod ya then! 😉

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best before september

Author's Reply:
Dear Mr. Sunken,

I'm having a crappy time with my computer, well, not so much my computer, but my lack of knowledge regarding computers, the internet and stuff. Now, I know that you're a guy who knows his way around a keyboard or two, so can you tell me how to centre my subs, pretty please? This one I did with one finger and the space bar, and it's not really centred at all...like my equilibrium.

Can you also tell me how to download images from the internet? I'm really rubbish at this kind of thing. But in my defence, I have talents in other areas. I can cook a mean lasagna and vegetable curry, I'm wicked at making friendship bracelets , and I've discovered that I'm a very capable birthing partner for pussyCATS.

Thanks for your comment regarding my poem it was as thought provoking...sorry, provoking as ever.
Best Wishes
Jackie

She still prefers talking to monkies

PaulS on 04-05-2009
Seashell Words
I could feel the sand in this one Jackie.

Well done!

Paul

Author's Reply:
Thanks Paul,

Glad you felt all sandy, my poor shells, unfortunately have been plucked from the beach and put in a wood and glass cabinet in my lounge. They look really nice though.

Best Wishes and thanks for commenting
Jackie

Sunken on 04-05-2009
Seashell Words
Hello Ms. Jackie. To be honest, I'm not sure about centre-ing text. I think you have to sub via the html box (if it's still there?). I'm sure someone with a brain will know. It doesn't look too bad how you have it now? As for piccys, I host mine via Photobucket and then paste the link into my subs. It's free to join and upload stuff.
http://photobucket.com/
Hope this is of some help. Please don't post any nude pictures. I'm very sensitive. Ahem. Thank you. Hello?

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jesus 1 - teabags 4

Author's Reply:
Thank you very much Mr. Sunken, much appreciated and no mistake!

macaby on 04-05-2009
Seashell Words
Hi jackie, i liked the poem and the visual aspect also. Another good metaphor from you. Under the rich coated words there is very little meaning. Just a thought from me.( I am not really good at giving advice) What if you changed the wording of the last stanza, like this for example:

unlike a seashell
when I hold them close to my ear
I can't hear the ocean

I was just thinking along the lines, I know that a seashell is hollow.................
ps if you want me to delete the comment I will 🙂 tschuess mac


Author's Reply:
Thanks for your advice Mac, who says your no good at giving it? If it was your naughty tom cat, then he deserved having his balls off!

I'll consider your suggestions.
Best Wishes
Jackie

Munster on 04-05-2009
Seashell Words
I really enjoyed your poem, rivulets running in silver and gold, soft against my skin.

Tony

Author's Reply:
Thank you Munster, I always try to touch two or three of the senses in a poem, it doesn't always work though.

Best wishes
Jackie

len on 04-05-2009
Seashell Words
I think things like "mother of pearl" come under the heading of poetic lisense, myself..I find this utterly charming....len

Author's Reply:
Thanks Len,

I generally live my life in a state of confusion so I'll accept my mother of pearl in any capacity hyphenated or no...

I'm so pleased you found this charming, that's a lovely comment.

Best Wishes
jackie

RachelLW on 04-05-2009
Seashell Words
Brilliant metaphor, beautifully executed. A lovely poem. A lot of sea and the sea shore around at the moment. The first and last stanzas are perfect in my opinion. Rachel x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Rachel,

I love writing about the sea and seaside things, but it's such an awful drag when you have to take the kids to it every single day of the summer holidays...and it's nearly upon us...(shuddering).

teifii on 05-05-2009
Seashell Words
Great sustained metaphor. I really like it.
As to centring; I think if you click the centre button in word and then just paste it into your submission text box on Uka, it will come out centred. I think I've done it in the past but can't be sure as I'm thoroughly scatty.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff,

I think I tried that and it didn't work. i've been trying to post this for a couple of weeks without resorting to the 'old finger and spacebar' method, but I just can't do it, and i'm used to the poem in this shape, (a bit like the tideline, in my tired mind), so I didn't want to let it get the better of me. I'm a bit OCD, so it really annoys me to look at this poem off-centred and all skew wiff here, but there you go.

Thanks for the advice and the comment.
Best Wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 05-05-2009
Seashell Words
You're welcome, Ms. Jackie. Hello? Thanks.

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tank top 3 - cardigan 3

Author's Reply:

barenib on 05-05-2009
Seashell Words
Hi Jackie, your mind was obviously on the sea and sand as well as mine, but I suppose that's not surprising in Sorrento! I enjoyed this, good sustained metaphor as Daff said and I also like best the verse that Jolen picked. An enjoyable poem - John.

Author's Reply:
Thanks John,

Other than your lovely beach combing and rocks pools, I thought your Sorrento head cold be found only in Chaplins. haha. Thanks so much for the comment. I have to dash, my cat is lactating and is driving me mad to be fed, I didn't realise that feeding nursing cats was so blooming time consuming.

Best Wishes
Jackie (congrats on the nib)

e-griff on 05-05-2009
Seashell Words
This is nice. I'm refraining from any detailed comments. I agree that the verse quoted by Jolen and John is very good. The only thing that occurs to me (an indefatigable improver) is that 'soft against the skin' is somewhat of a clichee. Perhaps another adjective might spice the verse up and lift it?
Your choice. Make it shocking not easy!

*restrains self from suggesting* *oomph*

Author's Reply:
Cripes JohnG, as usual you are right. I hadn't even noticed. I think I was getting carried away with the alliteration.

Come on Sombre Beauty, don't restrain from suggesting, that's not like you at all. Make it good and I'll give you another star.

admin on 06-05-2009
Seashell Words
Mezz, re centering, just type
before the first word you want centered and
after the last...

so (in this case)

< center >Like mother...

...the ocean< /center >

without spaces and making sure 'center' is spelled 'center' and not 'centre' 🙂

It should come out thusly:

Like mother...

...the ocean




Author's Reply:
Thanks Admin,

I guess I should have come to you guys first, but not sure how to reach you.

Best Wishes
A very Centred Jackie

Sunken on 06-05-2009
Seashell Words
Ahem. Yes, that's just what I was going to say Mr/Ms. Admin. Hello?

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kebab pot noodle 3 - chicken tikka masala 5

Author's Reply:

woodbine on 07-05-2009
Seashell Words
I like the way the last stanza completely undercuts the poetic gentility and general niceness of the preceding verses like a parting stab with a steak knife at a friend you never liked.
Best wishes,
John

Author's Reply:
Dear John,

I left a steak knife in my bag once as there was an awful dog who used to chase me and my children down the lane. He was like a Rottweiler and i was really scared. Anyway, I forgot the knife was in there and nearly cut my finger in half. I now take biscuits, and this sorts my doggy problem out.

Thank you for your lovely comments
Best Wishes
Jackie

woodbine on 07-05-2009
Seashell Words
I couldn't give you the knib you deserve, but.... (taps nose thoughtfully)

Author's Reply:
Dear Mr. Woodbine,

are you still tapping your nose thoughtfully? I hope not as I'd love to shake your hand. Is it you Sir who nominated me? If so, I must thank you very much, but really doubt if this poem deserves it.

Thank you very much for you faith in my work and your lovely comments, I'm still smiling.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Leila on 07-05-2009
Seashell Words
Great use of language to match the idea...it sounds lovely when read aloud...I might be tempted to look at the use of 'and' three times in verse 2. Much enjoyed...Leila

Author's Reply:
Dear Leila,

Lovely to hear from you again. Looking back at the poem you are right about the 'ands', I often never notice things until they are pointed out to me. Thank you very much, your words are always welcome.

Best Wishes
Jackie


Wearing a Chain Mail Suit (posted on: 01-05-09)
...

Wearing a Chain Mail Suit It's hard to sleep in a chain mail suit. The links bite into your flesh like a thousand hungry mosquitoes. And its real hard work getting into a cosy foetal. Having a shower sucks too, soaps gets lodged in the links and the metal chaffs your wet skin. And you sure can't look sexy or cool in a chain mail suit. But that's okay, because you already know that you're fat and ugly - so his arrow-head words just bounce right back off and clatter to the ground.
Archived comments for Wearing a Chain Mail Suit
artisus on 01-05-2009
Wearing a Chain Mail Suit
Very original.

Author's Reply:
Thanks artisus, glad you liked it.

e-griff on 01-05-2009
Wearing a Chain Mail Suit
excellent thought and execution ... 🙂

Author's Reply:
Wow, i really like this compliment, if it were hand written I'd put it in a frame!

I know I shouldn't ask this here, but i'm dying to know how Prussic acid turns one blue, or is it blue as in death?

Don't tell me off Mr. Mod
Best Wishes
Jackie

cat on 01-05-2009
Wearing a Chain Mail Suit
Oh thing's we sometimes do in order to defend. Loved the metaphor and his arrow-head words.

My love and best, Catherine x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Cat,

I didn't expect this poem to get much response so I'm really happy. Thanks for clicking those buttons.

Best wishes as always
Jackie

macaby on 01-05-2009
Wearing a Chain Mail Suit
Like in your poems: fishskin wife and beautiful deformity, your use of metaphors are always original, well thought out and the poems cleverly written.Great ending too, arrow head words, I liked that. ciao mac

Author's Reply:
Cheers Mac,

thanks for the lovely compliments, they are really appreciated.

Ciao for now,
Jackie ( I know how to say Ciao in German, but have no idea how to spell it so I won't humiliate myself).

Jolen on 02-05-2009
Wearing a Chain Mail Suit
I love 'warrior' work and have used things like gauntlets, etc in my work, so this really spoke to me. In fact, I have a poem on the back burner about a cuirass and cuisse.

Your work is in top form, no doubt about that, missy.


blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen,

I'm really happy that you liked this, but you know, for every good poem there are ten crud ones. I'd love to read your back burner poem when it's done.

By the way, i've got a well over due email for you on the back burner.

Speak soon
Jackie


Frozen World (posted on: 01-05-09)
...

Frozen World A slice of sea, cut like sapphire. Fossilised fish eye stares out from its glass setting. A block of sky falls and shatters, splinters of cloud-blue spike bare feet. The needle is stuck in the groove of the gull cry. Its piercing refrain pinned to the moment. The wind's caught in a freeze-frame of branch bending sweep. Holding its breath in action-packed passivity. And the petrified earth, crayoned cement entombs the seed. Until you call and life slips into motion as if it had never stopped.
Archived comments for Frozen World
RachelLW on 01-05-2009
Frozen World
Oh my goodness....this is completely brilliant!!! I couldn't pick a favourite line as it's all so good. Perfectly written, clever.

Rachel

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much Rachel, coming from a poet like you I really appreciate this compliment. My poetry is hit and miss, whilst yours is hit, hit ,hit...
best wishes
Jackie

e-griff on 01-05-2009
Frozen World
good!

I'd consider cutting the two fish-eye lines (which are not primary, but secondary to the first two) and also the two splinters/feet ones (the shattering sky is a powerful image, don't weaken it by ontinuing it too long)

maybe look at the rest again (nothing leaps out at me at present) and sharpen it. But as it is a good poem, IMO.

Author's Reply:
Thanks John,

I really appreciate , as ever, your interest in my work. However, I'm goddam attached to that fish eye, perhaps the spikes underfoot can go, don't know, but really pleased you took the time to drop bye.
'Hi' and 'BYE' Mr. johnG.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Bradene on 01-05-2009
Frozen World
Great poetry Jackie, enjoyed. Val x

Author's Reply:
Dearest Val,

when you drop by and leave a comment like this, it's like receiving a Nib or a Bernard. Fantastic! Thank you very much.

best wishes
Jackie

cat on 01-05-2009
Frozen World
Can't beleive my luck today, another to keep and read on into the mornings.

Hi dear lovely Jackie,

Well just cut me a big 'ol slice too please! Stunning!!

Agree wholeheartedly with Rachel a Ten to be sure!

My love and very best to you dear friend, Catherine x



Author's Reply:
You know Cat, if we lived near each other, i'd be on your doorstep now with an enormous chocolate cake and a bottle of wine or two.

Thank YOU, my friend
always
Jackie

macaby on 01-05-2009
Frozen World
Well done jackie, a fine piece of poetry you have written here. Very visual, like a painting.
The needle is stuck
in the groove of
the gull cry.
Its piercing refrain
pinned to the moment. Fabulous lines. Bout time you had a nom, congratulations. I wouldn't be surprised if a Bernard got slapped on this one also. ciao mac


Author's Reply:
Thanks Mac,

these are my favourite lines too...i wouldn't say fabulous, but they'll do. I'd like to see a Bernard put on this poem too, but he doesn't seem to be around. Perhaps he's gone for a walk.
Best wishes
jackie

Jolen on 02-05-2009
Frozen World
I totally agree, Jackie, this is utterly fantastic poetry and I LOVE IT! Congrats on the nomination, it's certainly well deserved!
The lines Mac cite are my faves too, but the whole damn poem rocks!

love,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thank you Jolen, I love 'rockin'

love
Jackie

Sunken on 02-05-2009
Frozen World
Blimey. Ms. Jackie! This is a proper poem. I'll be frank, I just thought you were here to pick up men. I know we've had our differences and I know that, generally, you are always in the wrong, but I will concede, this is a fine write. I am not my usual pc at the moment and so am unable to bestow a Bernard on you. I shall do so later tho. Please don't think this is some kind of olive branch. I have still to fully decide if you are worthy of my time. You can be quite infuriating. This may just be because you're a woman tho. Ahem. Can you believe I'm still single? It's a disgrace! Good day!

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he doesn't trust pygmies

Author's Reply:
Cripes, dear Sunken,

as I'm a woman I hear exactly what I want to hear, and know that I am always right. So I'll graciously accept your olive branch and put it into a vase on my table.

Best Wishes
Jackie

PS: And you know that I'm very worthy of your time!
PPS: I've just discovered why you don't often sub poetry!!!

Mezzanotte on 02-05-2009
Frozen World
Cripes, dear Sunken,

as I'm a woman I hear exactly what I want to hear, and know that I am always right. So I'll graciously accept your olive branch and put it into a vase on my table.

Best Wishes
Jackie

PS: And you know that I'm very worthy of your time!
PPS: I've just discovered why you don't often sub poetry!!!



Author's Reply:

Sunken on 02-05-2009
Frozen World
Bernard is determined to leave his paw mark on your sub, Ms. Jackie. I've told him you're trouble but my words don't seem to have registered 😉

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Author's Reply:
Dear Unkle Munky,

there's this guy on a creative writing website who thinks that I'm trouble, when really I'm a very lovely person. What can I do to gain his friendship and trust again?

From 'confused but really nice lady from Sorrento'

Big kisses to Bernard XXX

Sunken on 02-05-2009
Frozen World
Dear Ms. Jackie, Am I to suspect that you are talking about that Sunken idiot? If so, I would take no notice. He's been a grump all day! I have not been allowed access to any of his pc's for my agony coloumn! I can only assume that he is frustrated. He's not getting any crumpet of late, and seeing all of the nice ladies walking around in their flimsy summery attire is quite obviously causing him some distress in the trouser department. When he comes out of the shower I shall have a word with him on your behalf. He's been in there for a long time? I better go now before he finds me on his precious new pc. It's one of those netbooks in white. Looks a bit gay if you ask me. Nice to speak to you.

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you haven't seen me, right?

Author's Reply:
Dear Unkle Munky,

thanks for getting back to me so soon. It's been a few hours, i think, since you posted this and i was wondering if Mr. Sunken has emerged from the shower yet, and if so, is he in a better mood?

I'm obviously not as good at giving advice as you, but perhaps you could tell him to buy some baggy pants, this might perhaps ease his difficulties, if this fails, tell him he can get an eight pack of crumpets from Somerfields.

Hope he lets you on his new pc.
Best wishes
Jackie

She likes talking to monkeys

Ionicus on 03-05-2009
Frozen World
If proof was needed that you can write beautiful poetry, this is it dear Jackie. Wonderful write.

Luigi xxx

Author's Reply:
Dear Luigi,
thanks for your lovely comment. I'm really pleased that you read this. Comments from poets such as yourself are a good bench mark to measure ones work by. So now I can relax and think that perhaps I haven't done a bad job with this one.

As always my very best wishes
jackie

royrodel on 03-05-2009
Frozen World
the line 'Until you call ' says it all

RODEL

Author's Reply:
Cheers Roy,

between you and me ( and all at UKA ) when I was twenty, I had such a beautiful boyfriend whom I absolutely adored. I would wait, frozen in time, every evening until he called unable to eat or even watch TV, then once the phonecall came, life would slip into motion again. Anyway, after two years he dumped me and broke my heart, yet twenty years later he is still the subject of a great deal of my poetry, and I'm sure that he doesn't even recall my sirname.

Thanks for reading the poem.
Best Wishes
Jackie

discopants on 08-05-2009
Frozen World
Good poem and a fine ending- only thing I'd look at is in the middle of the poem where there's 2 or 3 full stops a bit close together for my liking, where I think commas might help it bowl along a bit easier.

Author's Reply:


Heartbreak Hotel (posted on: 24-04-09)
A poem which I wrote for last week's comp. the prompt word being 'hotel'.

Heartbreak Hotel Heartbreak hotel has a tired bar where she pours her past into a bottomless glass. Her eyes, split optics, leak gin-tonic tears for the detached gaze of another bored barman. Heartbreak hotel has a bridal suite where she sits congealed in Haversham rags. Her eyes drag across the faded sheets of the matrimonial bed, and she sighs along with the indifferent snores of another bored barman.
Archived comments for Heartbreak Hotel
Sunken on 24-04-2009
Heartbreak Hotel
I've noticed that my sheets are fading of late, Ms. Jackie. It seems to be predominantly in the area where my genitals come to rest. I blame nocturnal dreams of an erotic nature. We're just like dogs really aren't we? Men I mean, not ladies. Ahem. What am I on about? I hope the woman in your poem meets someone who'll give her a proper good seeing to soon. There! I do believe that's my most in-depth crit of the week! I reckon I deserve a Pot Noodle for that? Yes, I have managed to get myself back on them. It's taken a week. Your pussy has a lot to answer for! Thank you. Hello?

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he doesn't trust paul daniels

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

you've made reference to my pussy and your genitals within the same paragraph...should I be worried? HELP! Call for Bernard to come and save the day.

Bernard where are you????????????

BERNARD!

macaby on 24-04-2009
Heartbreak Hotel
What a sad poem you have written here. I have worked as a barman/waiter and I have seen women in this state, but then again I have seen a hell of a lot more men" pouring their past into a bottomless glass."Character studies and sad stories are my favoutite themes in poetry,( I said this once already tonight, commenting on a poem by reckless)somehow they are the ones that always stick in my mind.Just like this one. I really liked it.Good titel also. mac

Author's Reply:
Dear Mac,

pleased you like the poem. It was one of those that came quite quickly and didn't need loads of labouring over. Hey, I hope I didn't offend you with my comment about the ashtray, when you were really referring to something much more serious. I'm not sure if my remarks can sometimes be a little thoughtless and flippant. I tend to write what comes into my head immediately without considering peoples feelings...still friends?

Sunken on 25-04-2009
Heartbreak Hotel
Ahem. Dear Ms. Jackie of Maisonette fame, I was talking about your pussycat, as I am sure you are very well aware and no mistake! It's not my fault that you're sex mad. You should try to be more like me. Thank you. Hello?

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he loves strokings pussies

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

obviously there is a misunderstanding between us. I also was referring to my pussycat, I have to protect her modesty you know, especially after my poem where I portrayed her wanten ways to all at UKA.

Anway, I'm a little confused, are you trying to tell me that the word pussy can have another less correct meaning? I was unaware of this, and so therefore feel a little offended at these lines quote:

"It's not my fault that you are sex mad".

I suggest that YOU on the other hand are sex mad, and that you go immediately to the bathroom and have a cold shower using some of that Lynx shower gel.

Best Wishes
from
Ms.Jackie of completely "innocent and pure as the driven snow" fame.


reckless on 29-04-2009
Heartbreak Hotel
I do like the simplicity of this, it's deceptive, and wraps up a lot of feeling and implied past in a few short phrases. Carefully chosen words too, like: "she pours her past //into a bottomless glass.// Her eyes, split optics,// leak gin-tonic tears ". I love 'gin-tonic tears', that's very good. I agree with macaby, that character studies are very engaging, and I do like the snapshot of life that you present here.

Author's Reply:
Thank you so much Reckless. i really appreciate you reading and commenting on this poem, and I give you an even bigger thank you for taking even more time to trawl through the mass of my submissions...that's seriously heavy work.

I look forward to reading more of yours.
Thank you again, and best wishes
Jackie


My Naughty Pussy (posted on: 20-04-09)
A poem about my cat, not written for my children.

My Naughty Pussy They've massed in the garden, one, two, three and four. They're creeping around outside my front door. They claw at each other, they scream and they hiss, Spraying my land with their stinking cat piss. My girl's going crazy, she begs and implores She wants out of the house, and she cries at the doors. She's purring, she's slinking, she's acting quite flirty, I'm sure that my little cat's thoughts have turned dirty. Before she was snooty, stuck-up and choosy, Now she's waving her bum in the air like a floozy. Oh no! One has grabbed her he's having a thrust He's biting her neck, she's purring with lust. So two months will pass and her stomach will double. She's had a good time and now she's in trouble. And I know for a fact there'll be more than one kitten, As dirty old Tom did not wear a mitten.
Archived comments for My Naughty Pussy
RachelLW on 20-04-2009
My Naughty Pussy
Ha ha. What a naughty cat. I remember my cat before she was spayed. She was a wailing, lusty banshee. It was quite grim. This is well written and very funny. Rachel.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Rachel,
My cat's behaviour was so extreme that I had to pick up the laptop and start typing about it. I think in England you only have to pay a fiver or something to get the op. Out here it's €120. Much too expensive. But I guess I'm going to have to fork out the cash as I can't go through another traumatic birth. Experience tells me that my midwifery skills aren't to be boasted about...or my kitten housing skills. Nobody wants one and I don't know what the hell I'm going to do with them...anyway I digress.

Thanks for the comment.
Best Wishes
Jackie

orangedream on 21-04-2009
My Naughty Pussy
I've got one of those, too! A naughty pussy ... her name is Chessie. We took her in as a stray, but fortunately, she had been 'done', so eight years later, we fortunately don't have any more naughty pussies. One is certainly enough:-)

Enjoyed your poem immensely. As Rachel says, well written and amusing.

Tina

Author's Reply:
Dear Tina,

Thank you for your comments, I just hope that as soon as my cat's milk dries up I can get her 'done' quickly enough to not have to write another poem.

Hey, do you want another cat? I've got five kittens.

Best Wishes
Jackie

cat on 22-04-2009
My Naughty Pussy
Lol! Hello lovely Jackie,

I'm sorry to here about Harry's doggy house behaviour, is you son ok? I'm hoping so.
You're naughty pussy is also very funny. Thank you so for making me laugh.

Loads of love and all of my very bestest to you Catherine x

Author's Reply:
Hi Cat,

Thanks for your concern. My son was okay five minutes after the incident, it wasn't serious, but today Harry tugged at and ripped my neighbours trouser leg, and he (the neighbour) say he's going to call the police. Ho hum, such is life...I've sent hubby around his house with a bottle of wine.

Glad you liked the Naught Pussy poem.

Best wishes
Jackie

Andrea on 22-04-2009
My Naughty Pussy
Hahaha, highly amusing 🙂 Horny pussies - nightmare! My mate's got some long-haired furry thing which was going wild with desire and she (the friend) wanted to let it have at least one litter, so she found it a mate on Marktplaats (Dutch equivalent of eBay). Meanwhile it was trying to shag her Pyrenean Mountain Dog! It could only reach a paw...

Just to give you a giggle... >>> BIG DOGGY FOR LITTLE PUSSY

Author's Reply:
Dear Andrea,


Unfortunately, one doesn't need to look on Ebay for an Italian stallion. Man, canine and feline alike, hang out on street corners all ready, indeed desperate, to service anything in heat. The kittens are only a week old now, but as soon as her milk dries up Elvis is getting the op. I've found somebody who knows somebody...that's how it works out here, so hopefully it won't break the bank.

That big dog looks hairy...no scary. I certainly wouldn't advise anyone to creep up on him, or his like, from behind. Still better a little pussy for a big dog than vica-versa.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 23-04-2009
My Naughty Pussy
Lol. Very clever, Ms. Jackie. I wonder if that's where I'm going wrong? I may go on a peeing spree later. I know one girl's garden that's going to get a right good soaking and no mistake (-; I know, I'm a disgrace. A tip top sub. The Beagle named Bernard, he say woof.

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Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken and lovely Bernard,

send this lady a bunch of flowers instead...really. You know, between you and me, I think you're spending too much time with Bernard (sorry Bernard, nothing personal). Are you wearing a comminist cap too!

Best Wishes
Jackie
He found it more satisfying to urinate in the bathroom

macaby on 23-04-2009
My Naughty Pussy
Ha Ha , great little poem, really enjoyed it.A very "imaginitive" end line.I have an old tom cat but he was castrated from the start.( I think that's why he doesn't like me, it was me who took him to the vet)When it's that time of the year and all the cats are on the heat, he has these strange feelings too but he doesn't know why he has them. I feel sorry for him at times.

Author's Reply:
Dear Mac,

I want my dog 'done', but hubby won't let me. I think it's a man thing you know, perhaps possessing a pair of balls is an amazing thing that us women can't and will never be able to appreciate...hence your guilt regarding your cat.

Best wishes
Jackie.
Ps, sorry, i didn't mean to delete Crossing Paths, but I think it's back again.


Hairy Harry (posted on: 20-04-09)
A poem about my dog, written for my children.

Hairy Harry the hungry hound, he loves to jump and leap and bound. Gobbling biscuits, he gives us his paw he bites at our shoes with his powerful jaw Hairy Harry the hungry hound, trips and skids, whilst racing around. He spins in a circle chasing his tail, he tears after seagulls and stray cats as well. Hairy Harry the hungry hound buries his bones in a hole in the ground. He worries the postie every morning, hides in a bush and then springs without warning. Hairy Harry the hungry hound keeps all in the family safe and sound. He gives us fidelity, joy and love all this in exchange for a pat and a hug. Hairy Harry the hungry hound, he loves to jump and leap and bound.
Archived comments for Hairy Harry
artisus on 20-04-2009
Hairy Harry
Lovely! 🙂

Author's Reply:
Thank you.

cat on 20-04-2009
Hairy Harry
Aww how very sweet. Gobblong biscuits is just lovely.

c x

Author's Reply:
He gobbled my son's hand the other day so he's out of favour.


RachelLW on 20-04-2009
Hairy Harry
Ah, nice. Well written piece. Loved it. Could see this with illustrations...

Rachel

Author's Reply:
Ha, not my illustrations you couldn't.

Sunken on 21-04-2009
Hairy Harry
Dear Ms. Jackie (tho I'll be frank, I am struggling to find anything remotely dear about you right now), I am refusing to comment on this piece as I am still gagging from your vile reply to my last comment. Must you constantly bombard me with vivid descriptions of cats in labour!? I haven't been able to so much as sniff a mushroom since your last outburst! I refer you to the following -

'Dear Sunken,

that was nothing you should have seen the slimey grey sacks the kittens were in when they were born. One burst open like a Triffid and bloody-blue water squirted over the carpet as if from a water pistol, and all the gloop between her legs looked like congealed mushroom soup.'


I would appreciate a little more respect for my fragile constitution. So far as I'm concerned, babies and puppies and kittens are all delivered by a cartoon stork! Although I am losing weight at a rapid rate, I hope to eat something soon. It is therefore imperative that you do not put me off another meal! I'm wasting away and no mistake!

Thank you.

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Rachel's right, it would be great with illustrations (-; Doh.

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

I'll let you off the hook. She didn't have mush between her legs that looked like mushroom soup. I lied...but it sounded suitably grotesque and gratuitous. I blame it all on your Pot Noodle 'and no mistake!'

You need to restore your energy, so you can get writing and subbing poetry again. Go and make youself a lovely big steak...not too bloody though, with chips and peas and garlic bread, and then a slice of Black forest gatteu...Don't know how to spell Gatteux...only cat oh. Then wash it all down with a big mug off coffee, but try not to spill it on your mattress again.


By the way i can't draw
best wishes
Jackie


macaby on 21-04-2009
Hairy Harry
"Hairy Harry the hungry hound," This line really gaught my attention, all those H"s sounds . Sounds like a dog panting to me. Yes you certainly know how to use alliteration/ consonance very affectively 🙂 Good idea from Rachel with the illustrations.


Author's Reply:
Cheers mac,

I thought that about the panting sounds too, i'm a bit of a sucker for alliteration.
The illustrations would be good if I could draw.

Best wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 23-04-2009
Hairy Harry
Thank you Ms. Jackie. Your replies are now far more in keeping with my delicately balanced constitution. Please keep up the good work and no mistake. Hello?

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his ears have a surround sound facility

Author's Reply:


Yeah, sorry about that. I was high on being a birthing partner. The novelty has worn off...

I feel like I could face a bowl of mushroom soup again, not a bloody streak though...I'm a vegetarian. Are you back on the Pot Noodles? I do hope so.

Best Wishes
Jackie


Mezzanotte on 23-04-2009
Hairy Harry
Yeah, sorry about that. I was high on being a birthing partner. The novelty has worn off...

I feel like I could face a bowl of mushroom soup again, not a bloody streak though...I'm a vegetarian. Are you back on the Pot Noodles? I do hope so.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Author's Reply:

teifii on 01-05-2009
Hairy Harry
Charming poem. Bet the kids liked it. I must agree that illustrations would add even more fun. You should try. You might surprise yourself.
Daff

Author's Reply:


A Tonic for a Shark (posted on: 17-04-09)
Tonic immobility is the catatonic state in which many sharks enter into when caressed on the nose or face by divers. Tonic, is also induced by rolling a shark onto its back. Its considered to be a pleasurable experience as sharks who have been put into tonic once will follow the diver for more. Hey, guess who watches too much Animal Planet when their computer is in hospital.

A Tonic for a Shark She's the sixth sense that swims through the seven oceans. Wandering the deep in search of her eager groom. And I wait. For a window in the weather to welcome me in. Aqua-lung clasping breath, mask sucking my fears. And only when the light unfolds in the blues and the greens, and shades yet unseen. She comes. Cleaving the hues and sheens, swaying her cartilage wave. Powerful fish, white bride, designed to dismantle. She glides towards me circling my motions, feeling me from the flow of my limbs - the electrical pulse of the buzz in my blood. 'Tiger Lady, I've swam with sharks in search of you.' The purest fish, the tropical tiger stalks her sway. Dare I draw near? Dare I touch a tiger? And she's watching me, feeling me, tasting my smell. And I touch her - she trusts me, we sink in the swell. In tonic we drop like a stone, together. The marriage of man and fish. I caress her close in purest trust. And as I overturn her to tonic she overturns my fear that her magnificence is less than a mindless killer. And I'm hooked in the hope that she won't roll me back and break my trance or my hollowed lung will trawl me once more to surface. In tonic - in love, together we sink below the blue, falling as one into the abyss.
Archived comments for A Tonic for a Shark
orangedream on 17-04-2009
A Tonic for a Shark
Yes, I've seen them do this on TV. It is quite amazing!

Really enjoyed your poem and found myself transported into that mysterious aquatic world. The line structure and rhythm was excellent - adding to the atmosphere of this piece. I liked this stanza especially:-)

"Powerful fish,
white bride,
designed to dismantle.
She glides towards me
circling my motions,
feeling me from the flow of my limbs -
the electrical pulse of the buzz in my blood."

Tina



Author's Reply:
Dear Tina,

thank you so much for the comment. That awful month when my computer was broken found me writing loads of poems about sharks. I have absolutely no idea why.

I'm glad you liked this one. I've edited it about 50 times and still don't feel satisfied with it. I think it could be much better. Ho hum, I think this is one of those poems that will be pruned and tweaked until I'm too old to lift a pen.

Thanks so much for reading it.

Best wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 19-04-2009
A Tonic for a Shark
Ahem. Dear Ms. Jackie, You've done it again! Your reply to my recent comment on your poem 'Mirror, Mirror' has gone and put me right off my bacon and tomato sandwich! I refer you to the following -

'Yes, I probably do know more about periods and girly things than you, but I was still horrified when Elvis my cat ate all the bloody, slimey afterbirth.'

Really, Ms. Jackie! That is two meals you've managed to ruin for me in one weekend! What are you trying to do to me? Please keep these horrible female traits to yourself in the future! Disgraceful behaviour and no mistake! Ahem.

This is a top poem by the way. Thank you (-;

s
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he would rather not hear about periods and stuff

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

that was nothing you should have seen the slimey grey sacks the kittens were in when they were born. One burst open like a Triffid and bloody-blue water squirted over the carpet as if from a water pistol, and all the gloop between her legs looked like congealed mushroom soup.

I hope this has been helpful.
Jackie. ps. Glad you liked the poem




RachelLW on 19-04-2009
A Tonic for a Shark
Blimey. I wrote the equivalent of an essay then my laptop went mad and I lost my comment. It's probably just as well as I rambled somewhat about a shark documentary I'd seen (perils of Sky) which mesmerised me. It also made me sob for an hour about them throwing back sharks alive having cut off their fins to make shark fin soup. All of this is irrelevant, however, and the main point being that I really liked this poem.

This line, 'swaying her cartilage wave' made me gasp with its excellence. Agree with Orangedream that the movement and atmosphere of this is great.

Less certain of repetition of 'tonic', but then I'm from the school of only repeat for effect or not at all - and I may well have missed the effect you were trying to create. Perhaps an edit?

I thoroughly enjoyed this regardless.

Rachel

Author's Reply:
That's a horrible story. Those poor animals. Man is really a bastard. i think this is why i write so much animal poetry or poetry with animal images...a sort of token of respect if you like.

I intend to edit this poem again, and I'll definately take your comments into consideration.
Thanks for dropping by

Jackie


Mirror, Mirror. (posted on: 17-04-09)
A slight reflection on the relationship between me and my dog...I was having a bad day, or maybe he was.

Mirror, Mirror. Melting, fondant eyes, follow my gestures. Wearing my world like an ill-fitting coat, he hangs in my shadow craving a crumb of kindness, a morsel of regret - certain only in uncertainty. When I care to predict his predictable attempts to appease I see forever faithful the reflection of my failure.
Archived comments for Mirror, Mirror.
Sunken on 17-04-2009
Mirror, Mirror.
Hello Ms. Jackie. What a cracking little poem and no mistake. I am liking very muchly the 'hangs in my shadow' line. So do you have both cats and dogs? I'll be frank, your recent news about your cat giving birth in your living room put me right off my beef and tomato pot noodle. I am a sunk, I don't need to know about childbirth and periods and all that female stuff. Please bare this in mind in the future (-; Good day.

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Author's Reply:
Hi Sunken, Hi Bernard.

Nice to see you both. Yes, I probably do know more about periods and girly things than you, but I was still horrified when Elvis my cat ate all the bloody, slimey afterbirth. Ugh! I've heard it contains more protein than a Pot Noodle though.

So glad that Bernard liked the poem. When are you going to do some more of that poetry posting business? It's been a while...come on get subbing!

Best Wishes
Jackie

cat on 17-04-2009
Mirror, Mirror.
Hi Jackie,

Ooo this is indeed a cracker! Loved the end line 'I see forever faithful the reflection of my failure'.

My love to you x

Author's Reply:
Always a pleasure to hear from you Cat.

That's my favourite line too! You know my dog is not very intelligent, and has no idea that he is the subject of so much of my poetry. He's scared of the cat (not you), and sits in his breakfast bowl.

My very best wishes to you too Cat, I look forward to some more of your subs.
Jackie

macaby on 17-04-2009
Mirror, Mirror.
Yes a little gem indeed. :Melting, fondant eyes,
"aw shucks " It certainly touched me, I liked that line a lot. The last line is great too, sadness, regret, very moving words to finish a touching poem. well done.


Author's Reply:
Dear Mac,

I lurrve an ' aw shucks', what a compliment. You've summed up everything I was trying to portray in that last line. I do have difficulty with the fact that I am the only person of value in my dog's life. It's a big responsibility. But to be honest, I think that I think too much. He regularly sits in his breakfast bowl when his breakfast is in it, so I don't think that he is too much of a great thinker.

Thank you so much for the Hot Story, a compliment indeed, especially when coming from such a fine poet as yourself...the 'Debbie Harry would be' poem is still my favourite. I'd have made that a Hot story, but i don't know how to do it.

Best Wishes
Jackie

pampers on 18-04-2009
Mirror, Mirror.
I really like the last line of this poem and also 'certain only in uncertainty.' My dog also seems to share my moods and this reminds me of him, with a fond smile.

pampers

Author's Reply:
Dear Pampers,

my dog drives me crazy, but I can't stop hugging him and I've taught him to dance. My friends ask me why I write more poetry about him than my own children...I don't have an answer, except that maybe he's my flea-bitten, biscuit munching, dancing-dog Muse.

Thanks for the comment
Jackie

artisus on 19-04-2009
Mirror, Mirror.
Very good poem Jackie, and I loved your reply to pampers "flea-bitten, biscuit munching, dancing-dog Muse".. amazing description!
Cheers

Author's Reply:
Thanks Artisus,

but that's exactly what he is...as well as smelly.

Best Wishes
Jackie

RoyBateman on 19-04-2009
Mirror, Mirror.
Delightful - how can you resist those eyes? Obviously, you can't. Even though I'm more of a cat person, this made me smile. Mind you, dogs always take to me, so they must be pretty undiscriminating! Excellent description of what is clearly a very loving relationship - long may it continue.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Roy,

I can't resisit those eyes...that's why my dogs getting fat on biscuits and all our left overs.
They say dogs always recognise a good person.

Best wishes
Jackie

Bevvy on 19-04-2009
Mirror, Mirror.
I was struck by the sadness here, as if however much you love your dog (and vice versa), you will always struggle to reassure him because he doesn't understand the human world. It's an unequal relationship.
'Wearing my world like an ill-fitting coat' - I like this line.
Also, I love the alliteration in the last line. (Oops, I think it's catching!)
Love,
Bev
x

Author's Reply:
Dear Bev,

thanks for the comment and for understanding perfectly. Sometimes I think I expect too much of him, when really, he's not even a year old yet and is still learning to be a dog...let alone understand human demands.

Thanks for taking the time to comment
Best Wishes
Jackie

RachelLW on 19-04-2009
Mirror, Mirror.
Hello, I'm more of a cat person than a dog one, but it created the sum of a dog neatly in my mind, and what I do like about them. Agree with Sunken - 'hangs in my shadow' is a fab line. Great, little poem. Rachel.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Rachel,

I've written and am still writing a thousand lines about that flea-bitten mutt. I have no idea why he inspires me so much. I think it's time a gave the cat a go.

Best Wishes
Jackie

barenib on 22-04-2009
Mirror, Mirror.
Hi Jackie, we're told so often, as I'm sure you know, that animals - particularly those we choose as companions - are often more sensitive to our moods than our fellow humans, who can shut them out. Your poem recognises this very well, and is poignant in the process. I'm sure your dog mirrors you when you're happy as well though, even if he is smelly! Good stuff - John.

Author's Reply:


Don't Blame Baby Again (posted on: 13-04-09)
Another exciting adventure with private detective Sam Slain. Haha

Don't Blame Baby Again ''Sam! Where the bloody 'ell 'ave ya been?'' Irene Fish spat and yelled as I turned into her street. As usual she was leaning over her gate, and both her wobbling cleavage and shrill tones sent me into high anxiety mode. I took a hasty pull on my cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. ''Baby had an accident,'' I said, approaching the gate as a toad might enter a fox's mouth. ''Had to pull over and change the plastic on the passenger seat.'' Baby yapped on cue, and tugged keenly at her leash, surprisingly eager to enter Irene's lair - God bless the ignorant. Irene looked down at Baby as though she were a rat. ''Oi, I'm not 'aving your pissy dog in 'ere, Tyson's around the back and all, that ball of wool wouldn't even be 'is breakfast.'' Irene's bull mastiff was as large and ugly as her son. People regularly got them confused, or even thought they were one and the same, what with one being called Mike and the other Tyson. ''Don't worry, I'll keep her in my arms Irene, she won't wee anywhere, and Tyson won't get her.'' ''Well, don't say I didn't warn ya.'' She opened the gate, and Baby leapt into my arms, and I from my lily pad. Irene's house was as I'd imagined. Only Fools And Horses meets Steptoe and Son. Large curtains depicting a colourful Hawaiian scene, palm trees, hula hula girls and all, met Claret-coloured, velvet embossed wallpaper, the pink carpet clashing nicely with the burnished orange sofa. ''Don't go looking in them boxes over there.'' ''What boxes?'' Private detectives are nothing if not discreet. ''So, what's the problem Irene?'' ''Sex on the Beach.'' ''Sorry?'' ''Sex on the Beach or a Long Comfortable Screw?'' ''A Cocktail?'' ''Yep, d'ya want one? Maybe a Pink Pussy would be your preference.'' She leered and winked - a frightful combination. ''What do you mean by that?'' I asked, trying to put a shadow of warning into my voice, knowing exactly what she meant by it. ''Well, what with your sexual preference and all, or maybe you'd prefer a black pussy.'' She met my eyes and held on tight. ''Irene, just because I wear combats doesn't mean that I'm a lesbian.'' ''Right,'' she hoisted a boob, and eased herself behind a nasty plastic cocktail bar in the corner of the room and started mixing up some strange concoction. ''S'ppose you're gonna tell me that you're not black either right?'' ''Irene, you know, you shouldn't talk about people's sexuality and skin colour like that, it's not P.C.'' ''Yeah, whatever,'' Irene shoved a multicoloured drink with umbrellas, cherries and plastic flamingos in my face. I tried to get in close, but the plastic paraphernalia was as good as a contraceptive. ''Get that down ya' throat, might loosen that poker from up ya' arse'.'' It was ten in the morning, but I suddenly felt the need for some Dutch courage. My interview with Irene was going exactly as I'd expected. ''So, what's your problem then?'' I found a way in and took a long sip of the cocktail, just to shoot it back out through my nose with Irene's next words. ''I've got a stalker.'' ''A what?'' I snorted, feeling like I were drowning in Malibu. ''You? You have a stalker?'' I choked. Irene adjusted the same boob again. ''Well, I'm sure I don't know why you're so surprised, there's lots of men who's expressed an interest in me, I can tell you.'' ''So how do you know you've got a stalker?'' Putting Baby on the floor, I sat on the sofa, and did a balancing act with my cocktail whilst I searched my combat pockets for my note book and a cigaretteI had a feeling this was going to be a long day. Irene plucked my unproffered cigarette from my fingers and slouched down next to me. ''Well, it started about two weeks ago, whilst I was on my way to Carol's Coiffures down in the precinct. I was walking down the road and I felt all strange like - like someone was watching me, so I turns around and'' Irene dug a lighter out from down the side of the couch and lit our cigarettes. She took a long drag and blew the smoke out fiercely as if it were toxic or something. ''And?'' ''And, there he was, in the distance. Just staring, just watching. The same the next day, when I was going to get my Mike's athlete foot cream from the chemist's. Felt that same creepy feelin' so I turns around, and he's there again. Quicker this time, he runs behind a tree to hide himself. Didn't do much of a good job, wasn't a very big tree, and his stomach was sticking out from behind it for all to see.'' Silence, as we slurped at our cocktails visualizing Irene's stalker's big belly jutting out from behind the tree. ''So the next few days I took Mike and Tyson with me to the post office and such, and well, it seemed that that had scared 'im off'' She drained her cocktail and sucked the cherry from its stick. I looked away, I don't know why, just felt right. ''That was until the chocolates and flowers started arriving.'' She heaved herself from the sofa, and took my empty glass. ''Poetry too, right embarrassing it is, here.'' She handed me a yellow sheet of perfumed paper. Smelled like Lynx body spray for men, and chip fat - made me hungry. I read the scrawl. Your name's Irene Fish, and you are such a dish, and I just can't wait, until you're on my plate. But it so doesn't matter I won't baste you in batter or serve you with chips, just give you lots of hot kisses on your lovely red lips. My oh my, with my good eye, I spy something worth a fry. Love Question Mark ''Don't know if he wants to eat me or sex me up.'' Irene handed me a second cocktail, and I grabbed for it, desperate to obliterate both images from my head as quickly as possible. ''So what's so wrong with having an admirer Irene,'' Lord knows I'd love one, well, one who didn't write poetry anyway. ''It's blooming embarrassing, that's what it is, him leaving his roses, and teddy bears on the doorstep for the world to see every morning, that Janet Humphreys from number 9 is telling everyone and their dog about my secret Valentino, and I swear they were all laughing at me in the Coop yesterdaythose nasty little misses on the check out.'' She shook her head, whilst mine was beginning to spin, especially towards the end of the second cocktail, but she wouldn't let me refuse a third. ''Hic, why don't you leave Mike Tyson outside at night to scare him off?'' ''What?'' She snapped. Oops. ''HicI mean Mike or Tyson could keep watch and get him, haven't you tried that?'' ''Of course I 'ave, but Mike always goes to sleep on the watch, and somehow or other he's won Tyson over.'' ''So you find these gifts in the morning, right?'' ''Yep, every morning, that's if Tyson don't get there first and scoff all the chocolates and pee on the flowersmind, he likes the teddies though, has a strange fondness for small fluffy things.'' ''Small fluffy things,'' I slurred into my notebook, ''small fluffythihic,'' Baby! ''Irene, where's Baby?'' I jolted from slouch to sit, with Irene already on her feet, her heavily pencilled brows coming together like a clap of thunder. ''I told you not to put her down.'' She ran towards the back of the house, and I stumbled after. ''Yeah, I know, but the cocktail andOh God, where's Tyson, maybe he's eaten her.'' ''Tyson,'' she yelled, leaping through the back door, incredibly light for one so heavy. I strained to see beyond her into the garden, but my view was blocked by her great leggings-encased bulge which, I'd heard, used to be a very shapely bottom. ''Agh!'' she yelled, and I saw, from behind the crazily curling frizz of Passionate Plum which was Irene's hair, Tyson doing something to Baby which did not at all resemble eating her for breakfast. Both dogs were locked together in ecstasy with Baby lifted entirely from the floor within her lover's capable paws. I watched in horror as Tyson thrust from behind, his tongue hanging loose and his eyeballs rolling back into his head. ''Yap, yap yap,'' yapped Baby. ''Oh Lord!'' yapped Irene. ''Oh Baby,'' I yapped-shrieked. ''What shall we do? Irene, get them apart.'' ''Nothing to be done now Sam. It's done. Didn't ya know she was in season?'' ''I don't know a lot about dogsdamn it!'' I'd sort of earned Baby from a previous case, and although a reluctant dog owner, she'd more or less grown on me and I didn't like seeing my cotton wool ball being used as aano, not going there ''Yap, yap yap.'' Yapped baby, ''Can't we get a bucket of cold water?'' I stammered. ''Too late now, look at 'em,'' They lay together, spent and happy on the floor. If a cigarette were hanging from the corner of Tyson's mouth it wouldn't have looked out of place. ''And now?'' ''And now, you get out there and find out who my stalker is.'' Stake out. A boring business, makes me wish for steaks out, or even steaks in, as long as steaks are on the menu, always imaginary, always unfortunately. In this case I could avoid it. My super sleuth detection skills had already found the culprit. ''His name's Len the fish guy,'' ''What?'' ''Len the fish guy with the dodgy glass eye. He's got that new chippy on the edge of the estate.'' I'd been in there yesterday, fancied a greasy bag of chips and a styrofoam cup of curry sauce for the dipping. He'd winked at me, but on closer inspection, I saw he hadn't winked at all, it was his he glass eye that sort of turned inwards - he had a nasty comb-over too. ''Here, have a saveloy, you look like you need it.'' I'd thanked him for the free sausage and left my card, just in case he needed some detection doing. ''How d'ya work that out?'' Said Irene, impressed. ''The poetry smells of chip fat, and refers to his glass eye. Simple, can't be too many one-eyed chipshop owners around. He's also free with his Saveloys, probably slips Tyson one when he drops off his tokens of love.'' Smug in the knowledge that my detecting abilities were always spot on, ''he also has a big belly.'' She folded her arms and frowned and I found myself mesmerised, an unwilling victim of her cleavage. I tore my eyes away. ''He's a nice guy Irene, don't be too harsh on him.'' ''Hm! She twirled at one of the many gold rings adorning her chubby fingers. ''I wondered why he's been slipping me an extra saveloy in my Friday night cod and chips.'' ''Yeah well, now you know who it is, I'll be off - detecting to do and what not.'' Well, more like a visit to the chippy to warn Len, and maybe pick up a large battered cod and some more curry sauce. ''Here,'' Irene prised Baby from Tyson who wailed mournfully. ''Think that blooming dog 'as peed everywhere already. You need to get a nappy on the pooch!'' Yeah right, and you need to get a condom on yours, I thought. ''And my fee Irene. I found your stalker right?'' I needed to pay for my fish dinner, and a few car upholstery cleaning bills. ''Hold ya 'orses Sam, hasn't your dog just been inseminated with the finest stallion seed of the dog world?'' ''What?'' I didn't get, or like this. ''Tyson, of course. Your pissy rat has got quality Pit Bull...um, Mastiff pups growing in her now, and to show you a gesture of good will, I'm not even going to claim one of 'em.'' ''Hang on Irene, if that's your idea of payment'' ''Oh Lordy Sam! Who's that?'' Irene shouted, waving like a wild woman at someone behind my shoulder. I turned, and ''slam'', another door shut in my face. God, I've so got to stop falling for that. I walked down the path, holding on tightly to Baby, who was wriggling and squiggling like a ferret, as desperate to return into Irene's lair as I was to get out of it. Ten minutes later found me munching on a crunchy piece of cod, and sucking at a can of diet cokea girl has to watch her waist line right? I'd sort of explained the situation to Len the fish guy with the dodgy glass eye, and to be honest, he wasn't taking it too well. ''What do you think she'll do?'' he asked again, smoothing nervously at his comb over as if it were a puppy. ''Come down here with guns blazing I should imagine. It was the teddy thing that got to her I think.'' I emptied more vinegar on my chips and carefully chose the fattest to splodge deeply into my styrofoam cup of curry sauceGod, this was good, great hang over food. ''What - you think I should stop the teddy thing? I thought they were really cute, women like that sort of thing don't they?'' ''Yeah, I suppose,'' I swallowed then swirled away at some more diet coke. ''But Irene's not your usual type of woman is she?'' ''No, you're right there, she a Bodecia - a Greek goddess.'' ''What?'' I cried, snorting snotty coke from my nose, eyes watering with the shock of it. ''You think Irene is a goddess?'' But Len was looking beyond me, slack mouthed like one of his fish. Yeah right! I wasn't going to fall for that one again, no more doors shut in Sam Slain's face today thank you very much. ''Ha,'' I laughed, ''more like a Trojan horse than a Helen.'' I bit into some crunchy batter. ''Who the 'ell is this 'Ellen, and who looks like an 'orse?'' ''Irene?'' I swivelled around, chips flying from their tray onto the floor. ''Mrs. Fish.'' Cried Len. ''That's Ms Fish to you,'' she lent on the counter and grabbed at my remaining chips. Len stood as poker straight as one of his saveloys, one eye caught in the famous Fish cleavage, the other still fascinated with the side of his nose. ''So it's you 'as been leaving all that stuff at me door is it? ''Acts of a tormented soul lost in love.'' Len stammered. ''From that first Friday when you came in here for a large cod and chips with mushy peas, wearing those leopard print leggings, I just knew it.'' He sort of looked Irene in the eyes, but then sort of didn't. ''You stole my heart, Ms Fish,'' Len's eye dropped from one fish to another which was sizzling away in the vat, his face was white and he had started to sweat. Absentmindedly he smoothed at his damp comb-over. It clung to his head as that alien thing had clung onto that guy's face in the film. I absentmindedly fed my remaining chips into my mouth, as I watched Irene raise her boobs and pull in her gut to squeeze around the edge of the fish counter. This wasn't good- I saw a film once where this Mafia type shoved this guys arms into a vat of bubbling oil, and I wasn't too sure if Len wasn't about to find himself battered and fried in the same way. ''Irene?'' I growled, well sort of growled, my voice was all mumbled from the bit of cod that had slipped in my mouth after the chips, but I hoped she still heard the warning. If I had to spring the counter and take her down I wouldreally. Len was shaking as she pinned him to the wall spearing his chest with a long crimson talon. ''Now you listen here, and listen good. I don't want no more of them teddies, and flowers okay?'' Len nodded worse than one of those nodding dogs, his chins quivering away. ''But you can still bring the chocolates,'' she lent in closer. ''And I want a steak and kidney pie bunged in with mi Friday night fish, okay?'' Len nodded away, obviously it was okay. ''And you can take me out tonight, not one of those crappy burger bars either, I want a bit of class. There's that new Steak House down the high street, I hear they have an eat as much as you can buffet. You can take me there. Pick me up at eight okay?'' Len was nodding like a wild thing. ''And I warn ya, don't try to touch mi boobs or I'll blacken your good eye, I don't do that on the first date, I'm a lady.'' At the mention of them, Len's eye dropped to the famous Fish cleavage, and his mouth kind of hung loose again, as Irene turned on her heel. ''Irene,'' I gulped, ''I thought you wanted to kill him.'' ''I said I wanted him. Didn't tell you what I wanted to do with him though did I?'' She winked and sashayed out of the shop. Len was smiling like a cat who'd caught a fish, he slipped a saveloy onto my styrofoam plate and a shovel full of chips. ''Eat those quick Sam, I've gotta shut shop early to get ready for my hot date.'' As Len turned the open sign to closed, and busied himself around the chippy, I chewed on my saveloy and wondered about the complexities of lifewould Len the fish guy with the dodgy glass eye get to first base on his first date, and what the hell would Pit-bull-Mastiff-Shitsu puppies look like?
Archived comments for Don't Blame Baby Again
Sunken on 14-04-2009
Dont Blame Baby Again
Hello Ms. Jackie. Have you considered cutting this in half and subbing on two different days? It's likely to get more attention that way. What I've read is most enjoyable and no mistake. I can only go so long from a screen tho... Having said that, I manage with porn pics okay? Perhaps it's just how I've evolved? Ahem. Don't be downhearted. This happens a lot with longer subs. I'll read the rest after Deal or No Deal.

'I'll have a P please Noel. Thank you.'

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he's banned from France

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

Thanks for getting back to me on this. To be honest, I know that a response is more or less guaranteed when you sub under the poetry or erotic genres, and less so with longer pieces of work, so I wasn't expecting many comments for this. Perhaps two...I don't know. But I'm not at all downhearted, one comment from you is worth five in the bush (no hardcore pun intended).

Anyway, in a purely self-indulgent way I really enjoy writing my Sam Slain short stories, I've sort of got attached to the characters, and although I would appreciate some opinion about them, I don't really need it.

Sorry I haven't got back to you until now, but my cat gave birth two days ago on the rug in front of the TV and I've been busy adjusting to being a reluctant granny at the tender age of "not 39 anymore." The cat's not even a year old yet, so imagine how she feels!

I hope you enjoyed Deal or no Deal -

Best Wishes Jackie


macaby on 16-04-2009
Dont Blame Baby Again
Hi Jackie, well this is certainly different from your poetry.I enjoyed the story, a lot of very funny lines that made me laugh.
"shoved a multicoloured drink with umbrellas, cherries and plastic flamingos in my face. I tried to get in close, but the plastic paraphernalia was as good as a contraceptive" I liked that line.I think I know this character Irene, especially her leggings. haha. thanks for sharing. mac


Author's Reply:
Dear Macaby,

Thanks so much for the comment. I was beginning to despair. I'm glad that the story made you laugh, in fact my niece, who is staying with me at the moment, also commented on that line, so I'm happy about that.

I know lots of text on a computer can make your eyes spin in their sockets, so I really appreciate the time you put in. Cheers Mac.

Hear from you soon.
Jackie

cat on 17-04-2009
Dont Blame Baby Again
Hi Jackie,

How are you? I read Detective Sam Slains case file yesterday but was in a bit of hurry so didn't have time to comment - poor Baby. Those pit bulls!
Enjoyed very much. Laughed and smiled all the way through.
More please ...

Love Catherine x

Author's Reply:
Dear Cat,

how lovely to hear from you, and indeed, how lovely to hear from you here! i'm so pleased that you read and liked the story. IMO, I think that baby was asking for it.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read such a heavy body of text. Although I love writing these stories, it is a shame when they never get read. Next time I'll take Sunken's advice and sub in two instalments.

I hope that you are well, happy and writing.

Best Wishes
Jackie


Spinster (posted on: 06-04-09)
...

SPINSTER Mascara spikes in the over-made face of the spinster. Her puckered lips are pinched like an arse-hole, too many years clamping on cigarettes. She dyes her hair red to match her freckles - once cute, but now spilt into awkward angles, filling wrinkles frigid like Botox. Her unsucked nipples, innocent, pink, nurse the cancer which is going to kill her. But there's no familiar finger to slide upon her lumpy new make-over or feel the filleting of her flesh. Her green eyes spy the flush-cheeked cracked-brow glares of couples, their anger-impassioned - passionate love. And she'd love for someone to care enough to want to slap her, even for a second wish her dead - take her for granted, take her But soon she'll be bits on a slab in a morgue, unclaimed and uncared for. Yet her uprooted eyes will see a young girl's first love, and her handed-down heartbeat will be felt by a man who will love her heart more than his own.
Archived comments for Spinster
e-griff on 06-04-2009
Spinster
what is wrong with you ladies today? all having autopsy fever?

bit cruel on spinsters, what? I know some jolly ones who aren't at all stereotypes.

Author's Reply:
I could easily have been a spinster, wish I was sometimes.

teifii on 06-04-2009
Spinster
Don't like the title, think it spoils the poem. The story is tragic and well described but not because she is not married. There are plenty of women who are or have been married who may share her fate.
Some interesting images and I really like the ending. I think a different title would give it more of a raison d'etre.
Daff


Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Daff, do you have any suggestions for a title? I know what you mean about her fate being universal. I've recently had a nasty scare, I think it was that which inspired the poem.

Best Wishes
Jackie

macaby on 09-04-2009
Spinster
Great opening lines, very visual.A very dark poem, good descriptions with a touch of light at the end.

"Her green eyes spy the flush-cheeked
cracked-brow glares of couples,
their anger-impassioned -
passionate love.
And she’d love for someone to care
enough to want to slap her,
even for a second wish her dead -
take her for granted,
take her…
This stanza is really good.I could feel the sadness and the longing mounting up inside this woman. Well done.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Macaby,

i tried to make a bit dark and light...well dark and then a little grey.

Best wishes
Jackie

teifii on 11-04-2009
Spinster
Well, nothing springs to mind because actually it does sound as if she is definitely unmarried but also completely worried stiff about that and attributing all sorts of physical and mental conditions to having, apparently, completely missed out on sex. If so the title is not so far out except it is so dated as very few people use the word now. I suspect that most unmarried people are not necessarily frigid and not breastfeeding doesn't really lead to inevitable cancer. On the other hand bodily deteriation comes eventually to all. Don't know if that helps. The problem with spinster would remain even if you change the title in my opinion because you'd still have the word. If I were [unlikely] to use it, it would be about conventional attitudes to marriage, not to aging etc.
Daff

Author's Reply:

reckless on 02-05-2009
Spinster
Hard-hitting indeed, almost Beckettian in its darkness. It reminds me of the time I read the mutability cantos - can't remember who wrote them now - the same feeling of regret at years passing, a sense of loss, a desire to seize the moment and a conviction perhaps that the moment is ultimately all that matters, maybe all that we have.

Author's Reply:
dear Reckless,

thanks for the comment. i've read 'waiting for Goddo' and 'end game' and know what you mean about the futility of it all unless you grab the moment.

Thanks so much for the comment.
you're a star.
Jackie


Swimming with a She Shark (posted on: 06-04-09)
...

Swimming with a She-Shark Pure. White skin. Razor bone within. You snake through your world in driven desire. Terrible hunger your only constant. In soulless search for satisfaction, debris from your last repast hangs from the angles of your scowl. Bleached bone sharpened hooks hollowed eye you sway from one prey then on. But my wounds will heal, as masked by indifference I watch from afar your ceaseless search for that which you'll never find.
Archived comments for Swimming with a She Shark
RachelLW on 06-04-2009
Swimming with a She Shark
I love this:
'Bleached bone
sharpened hooks
hollowed eye –
you sway from one prey then on.'

And the first two lines, very effective. Good analogy which worked well. I also think 'the angles of your scowl' is a great line. Snake jarred with me a bit..I understand, but it takes something away from the maintained image of a shark for me - just a psychological thing I think of mentioning another creature, even as a verb!

Rachel


Author's Reply:
Thats a good idea, i'lll think about the snake thing.

Thanks for commenting Rachel
Best Wishes
jackie

cat on 06-04-2009
Swimming with a She Shark
Well hi (-:

This surely must mean that you're pc is fixed? Or are you still having to visit the tinternet cafe and pay a small fortune for the privilege? Either way dear Jackie I am so very chuffed to see you back - you have been missed and as always you bring treats!
I love this. The idea, the visual imagery. The opening and the lines ' In soulless search for satisfaction, debris from your last repast hangs from the angles of your scowl.'

My love and very best to you, Catherine x

Author's Reply:
Dear Cat, thank you so much for your lovely comments, it's lovely to hear from you.

Yes, my computer has finally been fixed, but it's such a novelty having it back that the kids won't let me get near it, plus, what with it being easter, i have family visiting and kids at home, so getting near the computer is a luxury.

Hope to read some more of your subs soon.

Best Wishes as always
Jackie

teifii on 06-04-2009
Swimming with a She Shark
Lovely imagery but the last stanza confused me a little. Presume the poet is watching the shark, having been bitten. but not sure why the indifference [I would not be indifferent if bitten]. And the shark is probably looking for dinner, which she surely will find.
Perha[s I am being unduly critical but I loved the beginning and then got disappointed. Maybe food for thought anyway.
Daff

Author's Reply:
Thanks Daff,

every comment you make I could eat with a spoon, uum lovely, I value your honest opinion. the poem is about a guy who is in love with a girl who broke his heart and then moved onto to break the hearts of others. Hope this clarifies things a little.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 07-04-2009
Swimming with a She Shark
Hello Ms. Jackie. Some smashing lines in this. Especially liked the 'angles of your scowl' line. I do like a good angle and hope to join some kind of fan club soon. I may have to start my own as I can find none in the mellow pages. I blame carrots. I hope this has helped. Thank you. Hello?

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abba don't know that he's out

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

i liked the 'angles of your scowl' line too. The only good bit in the poem IMO, by the way I got it from the angle shop, they have a fan club who meet on every alternate Monday evening for the appreciation of angles.

Did you know that?

Best Wishes
Jackie Ps
did you give Bernard a cold shower with Lynx shower gel?

teifii on 11-04-2009
Swimming with a She Shark
Hi, I'm back. Yes, I see how it works very well as a metaphor but still feel that he wouldn't be in the least indifferent -- at least not until after his wounds have healed.
Daff

Author's Reply:


The Tiger Bride (posted on: 03-04-09)
This was written about a month ago, but I was unable to submit it due to a very sick computer, but yesterday it came home with a clean bill of health and I am ecstatic...HOORAY!!!

The Tiger Bride From behind the veil, my tiger bride snags me with her deep slit eyes amber in black, like Bengali nights. Tiger soul, born behind bars trained but not tamed, the wary heiress of a feral imprint. Caged and controlled by father and brother now legally bound to this animal lover. The new cage gleams gold, as the band on her claw. Her collar is of scented silks, her meat tendered and seasoned with Asian spice - bronzed as her skin, pitch as her sighs. Born without a voice. but I feel the growl of a million years growing in the pits of her kohl rimmed eyes. The tiger bride has my name engraved upon her future, but I wonder - will she purr, and arch when I raise her veil, or slash out my heart with one swift swipe?
Archived comments for The Tiger Bride
RachelLW on 03-04-2009
The Tiger Bride
This is fantastic! I love it. It's hard to pick a favourite line or stanza as I liked so much of it, but maybe the first stanza. I was less keen on the last stanza, I'm not sure it's needed. I wondered if you could take the first two lines of it and add it to the end of the fifth stanza. I think it was the 'purr' I didn't like - it seemed to make it feel cuter rather than wild. However, as I said, a great piece that I thoroughly enjoyed reading. Rachel.

Author's Reply:
Dear Rachel,

I'm so pleased that you liked the poem. Thank you very much. You know, I was trying to find another word for purr, something which suggested purr, but with a bit more muscle. However, it totally eluded me, so I gave up.

It's funny that whenever I receive criticism from other poets, they due tend to pick up on areas which I myself had found difficult to write or consider the weakest point of the poem. I also read somewhere once that most poems could be improved upon if the last few lines were taken away - they are often unecessary apparently.

Thanks for your suggestions. I really appreciate new ideas from other poets as often I'm too close to the piece to see what is obvious to others. Look forward to reading some more of your lovely poetry.
Best Wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 04-04-2009
The Tiger Bride
Blimey. I'll be frank, Ms. Jackie, this tiger bride sounds like a bit of a goer and no mistake. I know you've already offered you leg to Bernard the beagle, but I was just wondering... can I maybe use the other one? It's your own fault! 'Seasoned with Asian spice..' Phoaarr. Ahem. Thank you.

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he takes shaving foam on the chin

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

Are you sure it's only Bernard who is randy at the moment? What is 'phoaarr' about Asian spice?
Maybe you should both have a cold shower and use some of that Lynx shower gel.

Hope this comment was helpful
Jackie

macaby on 05-04-2009
The Tiger Bride
I like the metaphor you have used here.Tigers are wild animals, they shouldn't be kept in cages.Woman shouldn't be forced into marriages by fathers either.This week in Germany, there was another young turkish girl clubbed to death by her brother. The girl didn't agree with the forced marriage planned by her father, so the brother had to defend the family "honour." (Makes me sick.)Yes, I liked the poem.Sad topic but well written. Made me think a bit.cheers mac.

Author's Reply:

teifii on 06-04-2009
The Tiger Bride
Beautiful poem. At first I really thought she was a real tiger being presented to a mate by the zoo, but soon realised. It's a great poem and I was tempted to nominate it but hesitated because I too think it needs to lose the last verse.
Daff

Author's Reply:

Jolen on 25-05-2009
The Tiger Bride
Jackie,

My dear, this is a cracking poem! I had read it before and forgot to comment, for which I must apologize, but damn, girl! You got skills! 😉

I especially enjoyed the first and fourth verses but the whole poem was strong and a very enjoyable read.

love,
jolen

Author's Reply:


A Summer Day In Sorrento (posted on: 03-04-09)
I wrote this for Daffni's poetry challenge "Summer" about a month ago. But then my computer broke, and was in intensive care for absolutely ages. Now I'm back in the 21st century, and really happy to be here.

A Summer Day Sorrento Morning I free a spray of water to the sun, and pin a rainbow to the sky, colours skip and spin in my children's eyes, kaleidoscope skies, exciting their cries. Diamond-light, white butterflies make Harry bark and bound. From the paddle pool, my boys' footsteps trip quick life and laughter, to swirl around us in the rainbow mist. Afternoon Sea-shore crash, foaming whites in blues a bucket - a crab and delight flies from tiny lips, colouring bright the day. Giorgie's sandwich is full of sand, Nino's lost an armband And the breeze takes me, holds me close, bringing the scent of the salt and the weed, whispering secret stories from the seven seas. Evening On the terrace, pizza with friends - crimson Chianti summons our sighs. A string of mozzarella clings to its Margherita, dripping olive oil to glisten my lips as a burnished world slides into the bay of Naples, fading the hulk of Vesuvius to shadow. And the children dream on - castles and crabs, pirate ships sail through their room. The night will be hot, but only tomorrow away the next summer day awaits in its wings.
Archived comments for A Summer Day In Sorrento
RachelLW on 03-04-2009
A Summer Day In Sorrento
I'm hoping every day in the summer is like this for me (minus the children) - I'm suspecting it will not be, but if I was going to plan a lovely, summer day it would be not unlike this one. Well written, lovely piece. Rachel.

Author's Reply:
Dear Rachel,

I'm writing with poetic license here. Usually my summer days are full of stress, I'm burnt to cinders , I have split ends and the beach is over crowded. My house and car are full of sand and the paddling pool usually springs a leak which I can never find. Getting up at the crack of dawn to clean the house and make beach food, let alone the beach itself, leave me so knackered that I usually skip the pizza and friends and fall straight into bed with the crimsoon Chianti...haha.

Thanks for the comment, I hope you have some lovely summer days.
Best wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 03-04-2009
A Summer Day In Sorrento
Lovely indeed and no mistake to be sure, Ms. Jackie. I wish you hadn't mentioned pizza though. I could murder one. I'm thinking pepparoni and cheese. Anyway, that's hardly important right now... Trouble is, I can't comment on an empty stomach. Ignore them Jackie. I can hear them too. 'He can't comment on a full stomach either'. They think they're funny, but they're not. Really nice to see you back. Hope the pc behaves itself now. The beagle named Bernard, he say 'woof'. Mind ya leg, he's a randy bugger just lately.

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Author's Reply:
Dear Mr. Sunken,

how lovely to come back to both a nib and a Bernard, what a treat, infact I'm so happy to see that little Beagle that he can borrow my leg and 'have a go' until his little communist heart is content...as long as he doesn't make a mess.

By the way, I think that under the ankle socks are cool, I have a few pairs, but they always slip beneath my heal and drive me insane. I prefer to go sockless and have stinky trainers. Is that too much information?

Thanks again for the Bernard.
Jackie

e-griff on 03-04-2009
A Summer Day In Sorrento
I was looking at some old comments and wondering where you had gone, just last night. I missed you! 🙂

Now you are back.

I've just rambled on about it nearly being summer here, so, er..... Still - we won't be 'alf so 'ot in summer (which is why we picked 'ere).

Your pome was lovely - evocative, as they say.

I have a few suggestions for you to poo-poo or snigger at 🙂

in a child’s eyes,

and swirl around us in the rainbow mist.

Sea-shore crash, foaming white on blue

colouring the day. (erchhhh - backwards language!)

bringing the scent of salt and weed,

whispering stories from seven seas. (whispering IS secret)

Strings of mozzarella cling to a Margherita,

The children dream on - castles and crabs,
pirate ships sail through the room.
The night will be hot, but only a tomorrow away
the next summer day waits in the wings.

(i liked the pizza verse best! mmmmmmmmm)

enjoyed it muchly (as you can tell)

best JohnG

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

how lovely to hear from you and to know that you have missed me. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. haha. I've really missed all you guys at UKA, that and being in the 21st century. Thanks loads for commenting on this poem, most of your suggestions are indeed too note worthy to poo -poo at. I agree with most of them except for 'in a child's eyes', because it's important to me that the poem notes that they are my children's eyes. And 'the summer day waits in the wings'. I thought I was being clever with 'waits in its wings', trying to create an image of the day as a bird waiting to soar, whilst at the same time suggesting that it's waiting at the side of the stage for its performance.
Anyway, thanks for the suggestions.

off to read your sub now.
Best wishes
jackie

barenib on 04-04-2009
A Summer Day In Sorrento
Jackie, this is lovely and brings back my hols in Sorrento strongly - though I didn't get much time on the beach. I love your evocation of how it all melts into the bay and the 'hulk of Vesuvius' which does so dominate the area. Some lovely phrasing and rhyming here - John.

Author's Reply:
Dear John,

Glad you liked it. I'm planning to take the kids to the top of Versuvius this summer, I must be mad.
Lovely to hear from you.
Best wishes
Jackie

macaby on 04-04-2009
A Summer Day In Sorrento

Hi Jackie, welcome back, was it a virus? Nice to read one of your poems again,very visual, especially the last stanza.A very romantic sundown IMO.

Author's Reply:
Dear Mac,

It had a virus, as well as some technical problems which went right around and then straight over the top of my head. Glad you liked the poem.
Best Wishes

Jackie

Zoya on 04-04-2009
A Summer Day In Sorrento
I can feel the colours of the spring, smell the fragrance of weeds and the briny breeze of the sea, they all come together to paint this kaleidoscopic picture of summer... when spring is here can summer be very far? (With due apologies to PB Shelley, for the change in the season's)
Great read!
Love,
Zoya

Author's Reply:
I think Shelley would forgive. Glad you enjoyed the poem. I took the dog along the beach the other day and there was a dead giant squid. Quite incredible what you can find washed in with the tide, it inspired a poem actually.

Thanks for the comment
jackie

orangedream on 06-04-2009
A Summer Day In Sorrento
Just a great poem I really enjoyed and admired. Thanks for posting it.

Tina:-)

Author's Reply:

teifii on 06-04-2009
A Summer Day In Sorrento
Now that really is summer. Just hope we get one this year.
My favourite line
a burnished world slides into the bay of Naples,
That's lovely.
Pity you couldn't post it for the challenge but thanks for the intent. Glad you've rejoined us.
Daff

Author's Reply:

reckless on 25-04-2009
A Summer Day In Sorrento
This is lovely. Warm, sumptuous and full of life, it's an adorable poem. I particularly love the way you have captured the innocent happiness of children, it's not easy to do but you've managed it simply and effectively. Terrific.

Author's Reply:


The Lizard Lover (posted on: 27-02-09)
I've taken the liberty of altering a couple of words from their original form, as I think my amendments change their meaning a little and add a bit more texture to the poem.

The Lizard Lover Inert and indolent his lizard lover absorbs the sun, greeding the heat for her next move to lounge. He watches unsure, she's so touchingly close, but as far from him as his first cry at birth. He tried to catch her once and put her into a jar, but she flit away as fast as fright and disappeared from him for days. So wary, he watches his every move, and won't breathe for fear of shedding a shadow to make her head twitch. Her eyes slip-slideways to fix him in an emotionless stare, and again, he wonders what he can do to make his lizard lover happy, to make her stay. So he casts precious stones at her languid limbs, rains pools of Champaign for her flick-tongue lick, bathing her chameleon skin in designer shades. And she assumes the rewards of his ardour with a swiftness which desolates then destroysthose foolish enough to love a lizard.
Archived comments for The Lizard Lover
Sunken on 27-02-2009
The Lizard Lover
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me, sunks. I know the kind of women you speak of. They're bloody hard work and no mistake. I'll be frank, I'd rather have a pizza in front of hollyoaks than bother messing around with women like that. Oh I know what you're thinking - 'But sunks, you can't afford to be fusy' - Well let me tell you and no mistake, Ms. Jackie, this sunky knows what he likes and he likes what he knows. I want an easy going girl with a penchant for pepperoni, deal or no deal and men who suffer with premature ejaculations. It's not a lot to ask for surely? (-;
Good to see you're over that block. Did you get dyno rod out or did you go with my suggestion and take a couple of anasol? I hope and trust that you'll get worthier comments than this for what is an excellent write. Well done.

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he forgets to blink in the presence of breasts

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

Sorry for the late reply, but I have a very broken computer in intensive care at the moment, hence, i find myself in the internet cafe, spending a fortune a minute, so I'll make this brief.

Your comments, as usual have been very helpful, and girls who like pepperoni are always a good bet.

Only the lord and the computer man know when I can return to UKA again, but not being on line is great for creativity, and I have at least three poems, awaiting the happy return of the computer.

Best Wishes as always
Jackie

cat on 27-02-2009
The Lizard Lover
Wow Jackie!

Last week fishy skinned tales and this week shallow, designer Lizards...You are spoiling us!!

Publishing days such as this are greatly appreciated with wonderful poems like yours!!

Love c x

Author's Reply:
Thanks so much for the comment Cat, and sorry for the late response, but have a very broken computer in intensive care, and as a result, I'm in the internet cafe, so have to be brief, they charge a fortune a minute.

Best wishes
Jackie

macaby on 28-02-2009
The Lizard Lover
Hi Jackie, I like the poem, an interesting metaphor"Lizard." (When I saw the title of the poem I thought it was going to be about Jim Morrison.) I thought the poem was quite visual due to lines llike these : "Her eyes slip-slideways to fix him in an emotionless stare, " and "So he casts precious stones at her languid limbs............" a well written poem with a message for us men.


Author's Reply:
Thanks so much for the comment Macaby, so sorry for the late response, but have a very broken computer in intensive care, and as a result, I'm in the internet cafe, so have to be brief, they charge a fortune a minute.

Best wishes
Jackie

teifii on 03-03-2009
The Lizard Lover
Very effective sustained metaphor. In fact so effective I kept seeing her as an actual real lizard. Great.
Daff

You are cordially invited to visit my bookshop and art gallery.
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.merilang.htm

Author's Reply:

RachelLW on 03-03-2009
The Lizard Lover
I really like this too. Something lovely and quirky about it. Love the idea of an indolent lizard.

Rachel

Author's Reply:

barenib on 05-03-2009
The Lizard Lover
Hi Jackie, I like this - it creates the atmosphere well and has some original and pleasing description. I think I may have met one or two people of this disposition 🙂 John.

Author's Reply:


The Fish Skin Wife (posted on: 20-02-09)
...

The Fish Skin Wife She's got skin like a fish, gun metal grey, scales jagged and crude. Gutted, she'd be full of bones, touched, she'd cloy to your fingers, her smell hanging from you for days. I saw her once in silvers and blues. Slippery, smooth, her fin tail-flicking joy and belief - she'd caught a rainbow in her eye. I could unhook her mouth, cast her away, but she might dive and splash again in her sea of possibilities laughter and life. God, what does one do with a fish skin wife?
Archived comments for The Fish Skin Wife
Sunken on 20-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me, sunks. This is a tricky one. I'd be tempted to throw her back in. I'll be frank, I wouldn't want my bed stinking of fish. Have you seen those air fresheners that automatically spray when you walk past them? I don't know about you, Ms. Mezzanotte, but I find them faintly insulting. I smell lovely at the moment as I have just showered and shaved. I used some Lynx shower gel that actually smelled good enough to eat. It's got a fruity smell to it. I used a Gillette shaving balm on my face and an Adidas roll on deodorant under my arms. I left me penis as I am hopeful that the faint smell of sex will one day secure me a loving partner. I've also had a bit of a rash going on in that area and my doctor advises that I keep it free of chemicals. I blame Daz Automatic. I have now switched back to Persil. I have to go back to my doctor in two weeks time. To be frank, I have a feeling he just wants to see me naked again. This happened to a friend of mine. He kept going back for six years! I always did wonder about his sexual preferences. Still, live and live, that's what I say. Ahem. Good to see you subbing again by the way. That pesky block won't keep a ukanette like you down for long and no mistake. A tip top sub that deserves far more than the smelly Bernard who's about to have a wee on your doorstep. He likes to mark his territory, I do the same... That could be why I'm single? I'll ask Luigi. Cheers Jackie.

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Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

so sorry to hear about the rash on your penis, how you poor men suffer in this world. It's just not right. I'd write a letter to Gordon Brown if I were you, or else stop using Lynx.

Thanks for your comment. Infact all your lovely comments. Although the muse has not come back really, I wrote this poem a few weeks ago, and wanted to play around with it a bit, but couldn't think of anything to do with it except post it away. Ho Hum.

Hope your willy gets better soon
Best wishes and thanks for the Bernard.
Jackie


macaby on 20-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
This is really good.Like I said in your poem "A Beautiful Deformity", I like the metaphors used to describe the feelings/emotions of this "Fish Skin Wife". If she is dangling on a line, ( metaphorically speaking) has she put herself on this line or has someone else done this to her?

Author's Reply:

Dear Macaby
I'm not sure, I think maybe she took the bait, and was the victim of her own need or greed...maybe...

thanks for the comment
Best wishes
jackie

SugarMama34 on 20-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Hi Jackie,

Sorry I've not been around for over a week, but hopefully I'm back on track now, for a while at least. Anyway back to your poem. I thought that this was written very well metaphoricaly. The imagery and the story came across well and I really liked it. The woman in question seems to have got her just desserts in what she dished out to people in the first place. A cautionary tale.

Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:
Dear Lis'
Great to see you back again, I've missed you.
Be Happy
Jackie

freya on 20-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Excellent and very clever conceit. Love the extended metaphor which plays on the fears and insecurities of a man when he's confronted with the reality of his 'fish skin wife', as well as on her power as a woman who could survive very well without him! Absolutely love the use and twisted meaning of 'unpleasant fishy smell and fisherwoman look' - insults and put downs which men have used for eons to keep women in check! Most pleasing use of end rhyme in the last two lines.

I'm sensing a little editing could make this an even more powerful write. I'd cut a few of the 'she' references here, add or change the punctuation a bit and sneak in a couple of words which play on alliteration for greater creative effect. I'd likely not repeat the first line in the second stanza either. Let me know if you'd like to see my idea of an edit? But minor stuff. This deserves a nib. Kudos. Shelagh 😉

Author's Reply:
Dear Shelagh,

OH YES PLEASE: I'D LOVE TO SEE YOUR IDEA.

Thank you so much, what a kind offer. I'd love some fresh thoughts, I'm a bit dried up at the moment, and I'm sure some ideas from you would be much more than an inspiration.

Thank you so, so much.

really, best wishes jackie

Crackers on 20-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
I feel very sorry for the fish skin wife. Very sad poem. Sorry I won't rate it. I can't rate sad poems.

Author's Reply:
That's okay Crackers. Hope it didn't make you cry, or pick your nose.
Best wishes
Jackie

Crackers on 21-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Boys don't cry - that's why they pick their noses

Author's Reply:
Can't agree on that I'm afraid. All the men in my life, my kids, husband, father in law...oh and the postman...oh and men in traffic queues beside me, all cry and pick their noses, scratch their bums and balls too! Except for my dog, he just licks his balls, but I think he'd pick his nose if he could.

Look forward to reading some more of your posts.
Best wishes Jackie

cat on 21-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Oooh, liked this lot's, no loved it, yes, loved it!

That nib thingy, is so very well deserved. What a beautifull emagination, so sensitive and thought provoking.

You continue to be a 'guilt free delight' and an inspiration.

My love and very best to you dear Jackie, c x

Author's Reply:
WOW!

Thanks Cat, what a lovely comment. I so enjoy being your 'guilt free delight', and thanks for the 'hot story' vote. That's very kind of you.

Let's make a pact - you continue to give me inspiration with your beautiful images, and I'll always try to delight.

best wishes to you and your best friend...he sounds like my best friend, who is also flagrant.
Love Jackie

e-griff on 21-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
an excellent idea and execution. enjoyed it.

a small point: 'cloy' refers (essentially) to something that obstructs (origin from the latin for nail) as in 'cloying the palate'. You can't 'cloy to' . 'cling' would fit. (I'm not Brainiac, it felt odd so I looked it up)

and a suggestion? 'might' for 'may'

G

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

really glad you enjoyed the poem, if I don't get a comment from you I know that it was a poor sub, so I'm always happy to see your name. I've followed Freya's advice today, and changed the poem a little following her edit, and it's much stronger. I've also changed may for might. But I'm afraid 'cloy' has to stay, both Freya and myself like it, although, grammatically it might not work, I think it has more texture than 'cling'.

Thanks so much for the comment.
Best wishes
Jackie

freya on 21-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Okay Jackie: suggeasted edit! Hope you find something you can use, if not discard. No prob.

[squared brackets] suggested cut
(rounded brackets) suggested addition



She’s got skin like a fish (,)

you really grabbed my attention with this opening line. Wonderful!

gun metal grey[.] (,)
[S] (s)cales jagged and crude.
[If she were g] (G)utted (,)
she’d be full of bones[.] (,)
[If she were t] (T)ouched (,) she’d cloy to your fingers (,)

I see Griff's point about use of cloy, but l admire its unusual application here because something that cloys sickens with too much of whatever...often sweetness, as opposed to smelliness! But that's what's magical in this piece. That double layer of meaning. Your speaker might well be overwhelmed/sickened with what is sweet and utterly seductive about his wife, to include her sensuous smell!

her smell hanging from you for days.

[She’s got skin like a fish.]
I saw her once in silvers and blues.
Slippery, smooth (,)
her fin tail(-)flicking

another unusual coupling because tails might flick but fins don't normally do so - unless you see them functioning as arms as I did! I saw an opportunity to create a lovely action-packed verb here by adding that hyphen too!

joy and belief -
[catching] (she'd caught) a rainbow in her eye.

Superbly gorgeous image here. Talk about celebrating a woman's special qualities! Love whole stanza.

I could unhook her mouth (,)
[and] cast her away,
but she [may] (might thrive/dive and) splash again in her sea
of possibilit[y] (ies),
laughter and life.

Wow! Just stellar metaphor for cutting a woman loose, only to see her take off in every sense of the word! Agree with Griff on substituting 'might'. Other suggested changes are to play on the half rhymes (thrive/or dive and life) and repeated i and s sounds. See what you think?

God (,) what does one do with a fish skin wife?

Hurray and congratulations on the nib! Shelagh 😉


Author's Reply:
Dear Shelagh,

I've just sent you a private message saying how fantastic you are, and I've pasted a copy of the poem, although, now I come to think of it, i forgot to ignore the T in line 6...I think...or maybe I didn't...Oh, I don't know, I'm easily confused. I hope you get the private message, let me know, as I said confusion is never far away.

Again, thank you so, so much
Jackie

freya on 21-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Sorry, ignore capitalized T in line 6 ! Getting this editing stuff down is tricky! Moi, freya xx

Author's Reply:

reckless on 21-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
I like the way this poem gradually reveals itself and I particularly like the bit:
'but she may splash again in her sea
of possibility,
laughter and life.'

Just an opinion mind, but I can't help feeling the last line weakens the impact of the poem as a whole. I read it again without the last line and it seemed stronger to me.

Author's Reply:
Dear Reckless,

Thanks so much for the comment. I'm really enjoying all the feedback this poem is generating, but I think I'll be in the doldrums next week, when I sub one of my usual mediocre efforts and get just two comments...haha

I quite like the last two lines, i'm a bit of a rhyme girl myself, and find it really hard to make the time, to write a poem with no end rhyme...haha
Best wishes Jackie

niece on 22-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
This has got such a lovely rhythm to it, Jackie...loved it, esp. the way you built it up and ended it with a touch of irony...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Thanks Niece,

I'm glad you liked the ending, I spent a while trying to work it out, so glad it's appreciated.
Best Wishes
Jackie

Ionicus on 22-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Nice poem, good use of imagination and no I don't want to suggest any cuts or amendments. Nothing else to add except to congratulate you on the 'nib'. Your first?

Luigi xx

Author's Reply:
Ah Grazie, Luigi, tu sei una stella, la mia testa sta per esplodere, ma sono contenta.

I've been lucky enough to have had a couple of nibs, and they are always welcome.
And, I read and loved your Italian translation...and understood it all, which was amazing. I don't know why, but when I read your poem, it seemed, I don't know, spellbinding, exceptionally beautiful. I don't know if it's because it's written in an exceptionally beautiful language, or because it was my first Italian poem (yes, I was a virgin), or maybe, it was naturally an exceptional poem anyway.

Thank you so much for letting me read it...I'm going to read it again too!
Best Wishes and Auguri
Jackie

Munster on 22-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Hi there well written poem, can I add to the comments that precede no, its excellent well done on the nib. he for all doesn't want to let go.

Tony

Author's Reply:
Thanks Tony,

You're right, he doesn't want to let go only because he's jealous of her...that's what I think anyway. Thanks for the comment.

best wishes
Jackie

delph_ambi on 23-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Super poem. Brilliant imagery.

Author's Reply:
Dear delph_ambi,

sorry it's taken so long to reply to your comment regarding the fish skin wife, but my computer has been broken for this last month of so, and only returned home yesterday.

I'm really pleased you liked it.
Best wishes
Jackie

Jolen on 26-02-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Hi Jackie,
Fantastic piece of work and I agree with Freya, a bit of editing can make it sparkle even more. You're on fire these days! Congrats!

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:

teifii on 03-03-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Wonderful imagery and to my mind actually better that we don't have the situation spelt out for us. I think I agree with all Freya's editing so I want to make it a hot story so i can keep it but if you are following her suggestions can post the revised version so I can save that. It's a great poem.
Daff

You are cordially invited to visit my bookshop and art gallery.
http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.merilang.htm

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff,

Thank you so much for your comment. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to get back to you until now, but my computer has been in the computer hospital for the past month or so, and only returned to my loving embrace yesterday. So as you can imagine I have loads of catching up to do. You are very welcome to make my poem a hot story, whatever that means, I'm going to edit it now, if not too late.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Mezzanotte on 02-04-2009
The Fish Skin Wife
Dear Daff,

Thank you so much for your comment. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to get back to you until now, but my computer has been in the computer hospital for the past month or so, and only returned to my loving embrace yesterday. So as you can imagine I have loads of catching up to do. You are very welcome to make my poem a hot story, whatever that means, I'm going to edit it now, if not too late.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Author's Reply:


Eating and Eating Italian (posted on: 09-02-09)
Based on a few steroetypes that I've met here in Italy. Mamma Mia: expletive: goodness gracious literal meaning: my mother Mamma Sua: literal meaning: his or her mother Basta: Verb: literal meaning: enough or stop

"Mamma mia! too much pasta, but Mamma sua won't say 'basta'." She's dressed in black she's big and fat, a mole is on her face. My husband's Italian mother is coming to my place. She comes from Rome into my home then with no regard to me, she turns my house into her own, and I'm no longer free. Inside my kitchen no one can pitch in. She takes command then rules. She'll tick you off, she'll turf you out, she takes no time for fools. But she knows how to cook without need of a book. And her food is really yummy. But at myself I cannot look, I hate my summer tummy. But not one recipe will she share with me. Her tomato sauce could salvage divorce, and I'm sure is a saucy state secret of course. But I'd never pry with half open eye where I'm not allowed to go. She's a crazy lady, and could be a fearsome foe. With her big iron ladle she shows us she's able to command in her domain. And even the bravest person, would tremble to remain. This treatment I take for her fresh pasta bake, like her cannelloni, can only be cooked as she can and only! And her chocolate clair is from heaven I swear, and the tiramisu full of sugary goo, is as calorifically chocchip chocolaty too! But if I want a Chinese she'll pray on her knees that my soul will not go to that burning inferno, that place down below. So we have pasta with cheese and then pasta with peas. As for pasta courgette, you may place a bet that with zeal, at each meal this zucchini you'll get. For pasta with aubergine, she's always most over keen. Whilst her bowls of spaghetti have made us as squishy, soft, plump as the settee. " Mamma mia to much pasta, but Mamma sua won't say 'basta'." I think I need some time away My husbands says 'a holiday! We'll take my mum to Tuscany.' Frankly that's far too much for me. I don't put up a fight as I book them a flight. And I don't break my heart as the plane leaves the runway and then they depart. Once home on my own, I pick up the phone then without a worry I order some beers and a large king prawn curry!
Archived comments for Eating and Eating Italian
macaby on 09-02-2009
Eating and Eating Italian
ha ha i loved this poem. we have all seen this woman,"mole" and all on tv somewhere. i liked the play of words "cannelloni"and "can and only".my favourite restaurants are italien, i love the food plus the fact that italiens love "bambinos." they always fuss over the kids who come for a meal in their reastaurants, unlike the germans who are usually more annoyed by them.nice poem basta!! cheered me up and made me hungry.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Macaby,
it's a bit of a long poem, but it's from the heart. It's true that Italians have more patience with children...in general, although they have very little patience with those who think that maybe Chinese food and Curries are good too!

Best Wishes
Jackie

niece on 10-02-2009
Eating and Eating Italian
A delicious and hearty poem, Jackie...who cares about a few extra pounds as long as the taste-buds are satisfied...I love good food, pasta included...and I'd rather eat well and exercise well...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Dear Niece,

I'm so lazy, i hate exercise and would only do it if somebody paid me, and then i'd do it with an attitude haha. i'd much rather eat crispbreads and dream about chocolate cake...or maybe just eat the chocolate cake and bin the crispbreads...mm, that sounds better.

Thanks for your comment
Best wishes
Jackie

Ionicus on 11-02-2009
Eating and Eating Italian
Only natives like me and people living in Italy know how proud of their cooking abilities Italian women are. But no one can surpass the skill of the mother-in-law. Many a husband have been known to say: it's good, but it's not how mamma used to make! You have described the situation perfectly, including the frustration at being dominated by such a matriarch in your own house.
Coincidentally, I have written a poem on similar lines entitled 'A culinary treat' which you might be interested to look at.
I see that you are now into your stride and have become a regular contributor. Long it may continue.
Ciao, Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Ciao Caro Luigi,

thanks for your comment. As far as Italian mother-in-laws are concerned, mine's not too bad, she can cook better than many, but hubby says my Melanzane Parmiggiana is much better than hers, and I have to agree. But many of hubby's aunties and second aunts and this zia and that Zia and Zia's Zia, they do know how to cook, and I know how to eat, and pamper egoes, staying very silent if it's a little too salty.

I would love to read your poem, but I don't know how to find it. I'm still finding my way around this site and get a little confused. If you could give me directions I'd appreciate it. Imagine that you are talkiing to a five year old though!

Thanks for your comment about my contributions continuing. I really like this site, i've tried abcTales and the writercorner etc, but they are all so hectic, and not at all as friendly and intimate as UKA. Plus, I don't like all this networking one has to do to get their poetry read, I'm much too lazy. I much prefer to hear from a handful of regular people whose work i enjoy, than a million meaningless comments from strange avatars and even stranger names.

Sorry it's taken a while to respond, but I'm having computer probs at the moment, and am more in the computer shop than my own lounge at the moment.

Best Wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 12-02-2009
Eating and Eating Italian
Well I'd be more than happy to stay out of the way whilst someone cooked my meals (-: As it is, Ms. Jackie, I live off microwavable meals and biscuits. I need to find me an Italian girl. Actually, any girl would be nice. Do all girls cook or am I being sexist again? Enjoyed the read. May I take this opportunity to echo Mr. Luigi's 'regular contributor' comment. Long may it continue and no mistake.

s
u
n
k
e
n

he keeps getting stopped by the police for looking dodgy

Author's Reply:
Thanks Sunken,

I do intend to continue contributing, but am having problems with my computer and my inspiration at the moment. Both desert me on a much too frequent basis. I believe they plan it together when I'm asleep at night, ho hum...what can a girl do? Oh I know...COOK.

Best Wishes
Jackie ps. I like cooking and I don't think you are sexist...girls do do it best!


London 1963 (posted on: 09-02-09)
As it's nearly forty-six years since the death of Sylvia Plath, 11 Feb 1963, so I thought I'd post this poem to mark the anniversary. It's my interpretation of her suicide, and the last depressing poem I'll post this winter...

London 1963 She nursed her own death at her breast. Fatted it guzzled and greedily fed. Sucking her sickly it suckled her dry. Obese and angry and screaming for more. But she couldn't put it down. A parasite it fed and fed. Leeching life, trading her genius for tiredness. To weak to speak of to carry it more she left milk for the children, and sealed tight the door. And she laid her head on a pillow of gas to sleepjust to sleep.
Archived comments for London 1963
Sunken on 09-02-2009
London 1963
Hello Ms. Maisonette. It's me, sunks. I know little of this Sylvia woman, but her name is known to me. Didn't Madonna cover one of her songs? Please forgive my ignorance. I like your depressing poems. Please don't get too happy clappy on us. I once knew a lad who laughed all the time. Proper did my head in he did. I heard that he got hit by a car recently and broke both of his legs. It wouldn't surprise me if laughed all the way to the hospital. It's a funny old life innit? By the way, I really like your ending. I hope this helps. For all my flippin' flippancy, I do enjoy your subs. Long may you er... sub. Thank you.

s
u
n
k
e
n

bono 1 - pedigree chum 4

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

No it was Kylie Minogue and Jason Donovan who did the cover of one of her songs. Maybe someone from Bucksfizz too! Glad you like my depressing poetry, but I'm trying to lighten it up a little at the moment. I'm currently writing a poem about my cat who is in heat and acting like a complete slut at the moment. I'm so ashamed of her terrible behaviour that I've had to put pen to paper. I was thinking of calling the poem, My Naughty Pussy, what do you think?

Best Wishes
Jackie

macaby on 09-02-2009
London 1963
it is a sad poem allright but then again it's a poem about a very sad person.i like the choice of words, very much in her style i would say.after i read a poem of yours"sylvias secrets" i checked her out on google and i read a few poems from her one of them was called "daddy", hard stuff in my opinion.looks like she didn't have much to smile about in her life.

Author's Reply:
Dear Macaby,

Yes, her poems aren't very light reading, I wonder why so many geniuses have terrible lives and are often suicides??? Thank goodness I'm thick, that's all I can say.haha

Best Wishes
Jackie

barenib on 10-02-2009
London 1963
I saw the film Sylvia recently with Gwynneth Paltrow in the lead - portrayed her as feeling somewhat in the shadow of Ted Hughes and always paranoid of him having an affair. There's an interesting poem by Paul Farley too in his book The Ice Age
about this very subject and the fact the The Beatles were recording a mile away in a studio on the night it happened.
Anyway, you've given an interesting take on poor old Sylvia - I too think that the poem gets stronger as it goes on with a very effective final verse. John.

Author's Reply:
Thanks John,

I don't know why, but I'm often inspired to write dark poetry about Plath, as indeed, many are and do. I'll certainly Google Paul Farley and his book later.
But I think I'll leave Plath alone for a while now, and concentrate on springtime and bunnies and stuff... and maybe not!
thanks for your comment, and I'm pleased you saw some strength in the poem.

Best Wishes
Jackie

royrodel on 10-02-2009
London 1963
Who's the parasite here?
short and sweet, but then the holocaust gave Plath a hard on.

RODEL


Author's Reply:
Dear Rodel,

Aren't we enthralled by that which appalls?

We read newpapers and watch the news, following stories of prostitute killers, peadophiles and viewing images of the dead and dying in war torn zones all the time.

And isn't the most common treatment for curing phobias, confronting that phobia face to face in a controlled setting?

Perhaps Plath's few poems which compare her life with those who experienced the holocaust, are her way of addressing something which disturbs and revolts. In the poem 'Daddy', when addressing her dead father as though he were a nazi, and she herself a jew, she was (and this is critical opinion) using the most disturbing metaphor she could grasp to convey her anger and sadness at her father's premature death.

I'm writing a poem using a metaphor of those starving in the third world...it doesn't mean that watching emaciated children gives me a hard on.

I hope my response doesn't offend you, but as you've probably guessed, I'm a fan of Sylvia Plath.
Best Wishes
Jackie






royrodel on 11-02-2009
London 1963
No I think we are disgusted by that which appalls and to assume that everyone follows bad news or any news is well just an assumption I suppose.
Phobias? hmmmmm.
I think any metaphor is used just for that reason to give strength to the otherwise weaker point, and 'Daddy' wouldn't be Daddy without metaphors, but by using metaphors causes mayhem e.g. when I was at UNI the only people reading Plath were the skinhead ladies of the N.F. and they read it as some kind of truth, and who do you know that writes about anyones death by likening to the Nazi's?
Her work for the most is okay but then she did marry Ted Hughes.

RODEL


Author's Reply:

Leila on 12-02-2009
London 1963
hello Jackie a great opening to your poem, I like the strong almost harsh language...fatted, guzzled, obese, angry, screaming, parasite, leeching...there is a distastefulness to them that works very well in the poem...and then a softness, as if inevitable to the final line...to sleep, just to sleep. A good poem...Leila

Author's Reply:
Dear Leila,

thanks for the comment, I'm really glad you liked the choice of language. I was hoping to hear from you as you are another Plath fan and I value youir criticism.

Sorry it's taken so long to get back to you but i'm having computer probs lately and am going crazy with the whole business of it.

Best Wishes
Jackie

niece on 13-02-2009
London 1963
Jackie,

I read this poem and I was so intrigued that I went and did some research on Plath. 31 is too early to die. Such genius wasted too. I also got to read some of her poems online...I'm glad you are moving onto less dark subject.

Lovely poem, btw...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Dear Niece,
glad you liked the poem and found time to check out some Plath poetry.

sorry it's taken a while to get back to you but am having probs with the computer this week.

Best wishes
jackie

Jolen on 13-02-2009
London 1963
Hi Jackie,

I enjoyed this stark vision into a tortured life which ended so abruptly. Do you know that she was not his only wife to commit suicide? Anyway, reading this, and thinking about her death, I am reminded of one of Ted Hughes' poems, "The Love pet" And the overwhelming and obsessive relationship it portrays. Do you know it?

Well done!

Blessings,
Jolen


Author's Reply:
Dear Jolen,

yes, i know that the lover he had left Plath for stuck put her head in an oven too! What a terrible chain of events, sher also had a child by him. I'll check out 'The Love Pet', the title makes me think of 'Under my Thumb' by the rolling stones.

Nice to see you here, it's been a while.
Sorry I haven't written back, but am having a tough time with my computer, or my mismanagement of it probably.

Write soon
Jackie

cat on 14-02-2009
London 1963
Hi Jackie, Sorry this comment is late, still off line and using my mobile. Thank you for introducing me to Plath's work, I can see why you are a fan. Have ordered The Bell Jar and I am looking forward to reading it. A fitting tribute and a very strong poem love c x

Author's Reply:

cat on 14-02-2009
London 1963
Hi Jackie, Sorry this comment is late, still off line and using my mobile. Thank you for introducing me to Plath's work, I can see why you are a fan. Have ordered The Bell Jar and I am looking forward to reading it. A fitting tribute and a very strong poem love c x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Cat,

I'm off line a lot too recently, having probs with the computer, and I'm not technical enough to use the phone. Hope to read some more of your posts soon when we are both in the 21st century again.

Best Wishes
Jackie


Daddy's Girls (posted on: 02-02-09)
A short story, loosely based on something which actually happened.

Daddy's Girls There's no one home, all is quiet. This chilling realisation sends bolts through my skull, and my head begins to ache with fear and apprehension. His place is emptyshe's gone and taken him with her. My worst fear realised. Crazed and cursing, I charge through the house looking, foolishly in every roomthe garden, the garden shed. But of course, they won't be here - they'd have been long gone by now. So what next? Where next? Time is really of the essence here. If I don't catch up with her soon, God knows what will happenyes, he does know actually, as unfortunately do I. The police will be involved just like the last time. I shudder with the memory we can't go there again. I grab my car keys and head for the door. Twice around the block, a cat loses one of its nine lives, and I tattoo the suburban road with burning tire rubber, but still manage to make it to our local newsagents in one piece, physically that is. I screech to a halt outside. ''Mrs. Roberts,'' I pant, ''have you seen my sister this morning?'' My distress a screaming code red illuminates the shop. ''Oh dear,'' she bites her lip, ''has she taken your dad out again?'' ''I'm afraid so.'' She's known our family for years and I would like to stay for some deserved sympathy, but my desire to catch up with Wendy is greater than my desire to be indulged at the moment. ''If you see her, can you'' I falter, not sure what to ask. ''Yes, don't worry love, I'll keep my eyes open.'' Back in the car, my heart plummets - they can only be on the high street. With this plummeting heart, plummets also any hope that a disaster can now be avoided. The high street - Saturday - afternoondoom. I cruise slowly in the heavy traffic, and see as much as I saw in the house and gardennothing, well nothing relating to my sister and father. People here, people there - people, people, everywhere, shopping and shopping - but no sister. I park. The car is on a double yellow line, but I don't care; a ticket is the least of my worries. ''Wendy where are you?'' Nobody looks at me as I mutter to myself. We all do that on a Saturday afternoon on the high street. I know she'll be shopping for dad but what? And where? Think, must think. Of coursepipe tobacco. I pat myself on the back and some people do look at me, we don't usually do that on a Saturday afternoon on the high street. In the tobacconists' - quick, quick. ''Well, hello Miss Bennett. We haven't seen you for a while.'' I like this gentle old man, and I'd like to stay, to explain my absence from his shop, but as I said, time is limited, and I can't indulge myself. ''It's funny you coming in right now,'' he smiles, ''I had your sister in here not ten minutes ago.'' ''Really?'' I shriek, and he frowns, sensing that all is not well. ''What, um, what happened?'' I hold my breath. ''Well, she wanted a pack of your dad's pipe tobacco.'' ''And'' ''Andwell, now you come to mention it, I gave it to her but then another customer came in and when I turned around she'd gone.'' ''And the tobacco?'' I wince. He looks from the shelf to the counter and back to the shelf again. ''Oh dear,'' he mutters, ''Oh dear, Oh dear.'' ''Oh dear,'' I repeat, ''Oh dear, oh dear. How much was it?'' He scratches his head and looks embarrassed. ''8.95.'' I hand him a ten pound note and he hands me the change. Neither of us meets the other's eye. ''I'm really, really sorry,'' I hastily retreat to the door. ''You might want to go to that new shoe shop across the road,'' he calls after me. ''your sister said something about getting your dad some slippers.'' ''Thanks'' I call back weakly, the shoe shop already in my line of vision. I jog into the shop, and my stomach lurches as I see the expressions of the two sales girls. The youngest is about to cry. ''You should have stopped her,'' scalds the elder. ''I'm sorry,'' whimpers the other, ''I really wasn't expecting her to run out of the shop with them.'' ''Slippers?'' They look at me, distracted. ''Slippers. A short, blonde woman has just stolen a pair of slippers right?'' ''Yes, but how do you know?'' The young one frowns. ''You're not her accomplice are you? I won't let another pair go you know!'' ''Don't be so ridiculous Dawn,'' scolds the other. I have to agree, Dawn is being rather foolish. Organised slipper crime would not, I think, pay my inevitable parking fine. ''How much were they?'' ''12.99.'' ''But that sign over there says 2.99.'' ''That's the discount basket,'' says Dawn. ''All the pairs have left feet, your partner said that she wanted a left and a right. Those are 12.99.'' I hand over the cash. ''I don't suppose she mentioned where she was going,'' I ask, always hopeful. ''She did actually,'' says Dawn, fraternising with the enemy, ''She wanted some corn and callus ointment,'' she looks thoughtful. ''You should try Boots.'' I grab the receipt and run full throttle from the shop. Scan the islesscanning the isles. Foot care - no, medicine - no, hair products - no, sandwiches no - wait a minute yes! I arrive just in time to see a roast beef and mustard sandwich disappear inside my sister's jacket. I hope that some store detective isn't witnessing the same event. ''Wendy'' I hiss, ''put that back.'' ''Hi Sandy,'' she says, unperturbed. ''I was just getting a sandwich for dad.'' ''I told you not to take him out anymore.'' I grab the sandwich and shove it in a vacant place amongst the cheese and pickle. ''And you're stealing again.'' ''No, I'm not. I'm only borrowing. Dad's going to pay later.'' ''You know that's not true. Now where is he?'' ''Here,'' she murmurs. Caught, cornered and made to face reality, her mood swings to down and she starts crying. The tears fall quickly down her face, and shiver in droplets on her chin. ''Oh, come here you.'' A rush of sympathy compels me to hold her in a tight embraceand then gently take the urn from her arms. And we make our way to the car. As we have done in the past, and will probably do again. Bereavement We all have different ways of grieving. I cry in the bathroom whilst cleaning my teeth, and less strange, when my dad's favourite game show is on TV. My sister, instead, takes our father's ashes shoplifting. Perhaps more thrilling than the store room of the industrial machine parts factory where he'd worked all those forty years. I think that my sister needs some counselling. I also think the time has come to scatter those ashes on the Southbourne beach that he'd loved so much
Archived comments for Daddy's Girls
SugarMama34 on 02-02-2009
Daddys Girls
Hi Jackie.

What a good piece of writing this is. Your story pulled me in from the start and had me wondering Who had taken who and why. I did wonder though if you may have not told the reader too soon about the sister and father, just to keep the reader wondering just that little longer. It's a really sad and very touching tale of how grief can make some people react and especially as this was loosly based on something that did actually happen. I thought that you worked the twist in the tale very well and it wasn't something I had expected at all.
A very poignant piece that I have enjoyed reading, even though the outcome of the story is quite sad and touching, but like I said well written in my eyes. It's beautiful.

Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:
Dear Lis'

I've just finished reading your story, and feel so very low now, but that should make you happy as how I feel now is a testament to what a great story teller you are. You really brought that boys world to life with such small detail, such as the food for the party etc, that the ending was really so severe and unexpected in contrast with the rest of the story. I really believed something tragic was going to happen with the pumpkin scene, but it didn't, something much worse was waiting. i'm going on about it again aren't I. Sorry - i don't want to ruin it for anyone who hasn't read it yet.

Thanks for your comments on my story, which now seems so inferior compared to yours. Mine is a slap, and yours is a punch in the stomach.

Well done again
Jackie


Paper-bound writer (posted on: 02-02-09)
Paper-bound Writer

Wandering the heights, wuthering above images of you written with yellowing words on a wilting page. But vibrant in rage. you are always young, . vengeful and greedy. And I'm needy. In frustrated yearning, I'm the ghost that haunts your grief, turning the pages back and forth suspending time and disbelief. Drifting over your reality, Anonymous thief. I steal your privacy, your moods, beliefs. A silent spectator to your brooding dark nature. For twenty two years I've been turning to you. But you can't stride from the moor, or the binds of the page. You can't turn from Cathy Or gracefully age. And you'll never know my heart for you. As I'm just a ghost that haunts your grief, turning the pages back and forth suspending time and disbelief.
Archived comments for Paper-bound writer
SugarMama34 on 02-02-2009
In Torment BUT UKA SUGGESTIONS WELCOME
Hi Jackie. Wow and you said mine was a dark write! I really liked this one, great tone and rhythem throughout. I loved the way you portrayed 'grief' in this way and your descriptions of it were cleverly done and realistic. For me me it worked really well and I think a lot of people will relate to this. We have all been through grief in our lives at some point and I think you've summed it up pretty well in this. Great stuff hun.

Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:
Thanks Lis'

glad you liked it, but your poem was darker.

Jackie X

woodbine on 02-02-2009
In Torment BUT UKA SUGGESTIONS WELCOME
Like your poem a lot. It stands out, which is something we are all looking for. My suggestion is the title should reflect the style of the poem; 'Paperbound Writer'?

Author's Reply:
Dear Woodbine,

that's a really good idea, i like it alot. It sums up both me as a writer and my adddiction to this particular book.

Think I might have to go with it.

Best Wishes
Jackie

e-griff on 02-02-2009
In Torment BUT UKA SUGGESTIONS WELCOME
I wonder. In prose we have the maxim 'show not tell' ie, don't spill all the beans: lead the reader along, let them guess, imagine and try to get ahead of you. That gets them interested and satisfied.

I imagine most people are familiar with Cathy and Wuthering in one form or another, so it occurs to me that if you left out wuthering, Cathy (didn't understand the Qmark there BTW),
I'm the ghost (twice) etc. ... it could be different,

Maybe without them the poem could be more interesting, less on a plate, obvious ... I'm sure most would get it... 🙂

Just a thought , JohnG

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

I really think I had shown and not told, i haven't mentioned Heathcliffe's name once, and you'd be surprised how often people really do need things spelled out for them...me for one haha.

And as for the question mark, I have no idea who put it there, it wasn't me...really. Must have been the typo fairy, when I left the room to get a slice of chocolate cake.

As for repeating 'ghost' twice, I had to do that as I wanted to repeat that particular stanza at the end of the poem, to sort of bring it around full circle.

Having said that, I'll consider what you said as I value your advice.

Jackie

teifii on 02-02-2009
In Torment BUT UKA SUGGESTIONS WELCOME
It's a great idea and well worked out. I liek John's suggestion above for the title; it's much more precisely apt.
I love
turning the pages back and forth
suspending time and disbelief. -- an image that really speaks for the poem.
One quibble - first line wandering? typo probably.
Daff
anyone viewing here PLEASE VOTE FOR MY SPRING FEVER POEM. It needs votes in order to get near a judge. Odd system 🙂
http://writelink.co.uk/springfever/entryDetail.php?id=9


Author's Reply:
Dear Daff,

I'm glad you liked those lines, so did I, and yes wondering was a "typo", I like this euphemism for GLARING SPELLING MISTAKE.

By the way I had a look in at the site, and adored your poem, so clever, beautiful and full off hope, until that last one line, that makes everything before it crash down.

Loved it and voted for it too!
Good Luck
Jackie

Ionicus on 02-02-2009
In Torment BUT UKA SUGGESTIONS WELCOME
Dear Jackie, everyone has his/her own ideas about what a poem should say . I don't see much wrong with this; it contains good lines and it's well expressed. Being a pedant, I too wondered if it should be 'wandering' in the first line and also whether the question mark after Cathy is necessary.
Luigi xx

Author's Reply:
Caro Luigi,

my slummy ways have caught me out again. Both wondering and the question mark are complete typos which I should have seen. I don't think i'd have made a verfy good editor.

Thanks for the comment.

Jackie

macaby on 02-02-2009
In Torment BUT UKA SUGGESTIONS WELCOME
i can't remember the whole story but i loved the kate bush song. i think this is a good piece ,nice rhythm and flow.also a very strong ending the last 3 lines, haunting images.

Author's Reply:
Thanks Macaby,

I wanted to try and make it haunting. I also loved the Kate Bush song, sounds like we're from the same generation and probably had a similar box of singles and LP's as teenagers...haha.

Again, thanks for the nomination...still smiling

best wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 03-02-2009
In Torment BUT UKA SUGGESTIONS WELCOME
Hello Ms. Maisonette. It's me, sunks. You probably won't be surprised to hear that I too have a penchant for bush. Ahem. I've never seen or read withering blights. Tell me, how withered does Kate get? I saw her recently and she looked anything but withered. She has a good rack on her and no mistake. I hope you have found this comment to be both informative & helpful. And now, if you don't mind, I have snow breasts to build. Good day.

s
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he washes everything on the H setting

Author's Reply:
Hello Mr. Sunken,

i thought you were an ornithologist, not a...gardener...I don't know the 'ogist' for those who like bushes and what not. I'm sure that you told me you liked Tits. Oh yes, the snow breasts, now are they related to the Robin Red Breast, or the Green or Blue Tit?

By the way, your comment was really helpful.

Best wishes
Small House.


reckless on 03-02-2009
In Torment BUT UKA SUGGESTIONS WELCOME
Good poem, atmospheric. I like the last lines. I've no real suggestions about better titles, except maybe 'Broken' as something nice and simple.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for the comment Reckless. Still not sure about the title, don't know why this one is alluding me, i think I'm suffering from writers' block this week, well and last week too actually...ho hum...

Best wishes
Jackie

cat on 04-02-2009
In Torment BUT UKA SUGGESTIONS WELCOME
Hi Jackie, I love how this grabs attention and pulls you in. Must admit I can't see the attraction of Heathcliff myself, much prefere Mr Rochester or the legendary Mr Darcy, damn that Colin Firth! love dark and brooding but I dont get cruel, will never forgive him for the dog! Loved your poem/story, those moors will never be the same! Catherine x

Author's Reply:
Hi Cat,

i get what you mean about the Colin Firth thing. I love the dark and brooding too, although, i'm rather into Johnny Depp at the moment, but only when he is captain Jack Sparrow, call me weird! I don't blame Heathcliffe for being cruel though, it was all that bloody Cathy's fault! I've read the book so many times, but for the life of me can't remember him being mean to a dog. Was it when Cathy was bitten?

Great to hear from you.
Best Wishes
Jackie

silversun on 30-05-2009
Paper-bound writer
I never thought I'd see a cat stand up for a dog.

Hello, Jackie, the missus pointed me in your direction.

Even though I got the 'wuthering' at the beginning as being from the novel, until I saw 'stride from the moor' and 'turn from Cathy' together toward the end, it wasn't obvious that the poem was a direct reference to the book, and even then it is not over-done.

Something I might do would be to rearrange lines 13-15 -

Anonymous thief,
I drift over your reality,
steal your privacy, mood, beliefs.

I think it reads easier though the rhyme is not quite so fluid, so it depends what you are after.

The idea of the repeating stanza at the end can be a good idea, but it needs to be strong enough to bear two readings in quick succession. While I like the 'ghost that haunts your grief', I'm not sure that the last two lines are on that level. Possibly keep the third line and change the last line on the second one for a good, strong finish. The only problem being finding a rhyme for grief. Maybe rework the thief/belief verse from earlier and use thief.
I'm going to be looking for alternatives now. It's a terrible habit.

This probably doesn't sound like it, but I do think you created the right atmosphere for the poem with the direction of your language to give it a good base. The changes are just specifics, which are more important to some than others. As jolen will testify, I'm getting a bit too precise and less spontaneous, though, so all this may just be me over-thinking.

James

Author's Reply:
Ciao James,

really nice to hear from you. I've just fiished reading one of yours...'Legend' perhaps? I don't have it right here in front of me. AMAZING. Your Missus is always blowing your trumpet...I thought perhaps because she was in love, now I see that you are indeed a poet Sir, and an amazing one at that. I know that you lack Jolen's literary ambition, but I have to say it's such a shame,you know? to not get these literary greats out for a wider audience to appreciate.


I'm 'dead chuffed' that you dropped by to have a look at this poem. I feel very flattered indeed. i've had too much wine to consider your comments properly, but tomorrow with clearer, but banging head,
I'll have a good look at things.

Look forward to seeing you here in Italy.
Best Wishes
Jackie


Bad Apple (posted on: 26-01-09)
About apples and stuff.

Bad Apple You see me with my mother's eye, cataract clouded, made blind by love. In your too partial sight I'm rosy and light. Though my core is off-centre in your vision it doesn't enter. And I see you through stagnant tears, my razor eyes always shaving you down. You are not the apple of my eye. Though your core's in the centre, in my vision it doesn't enter.
Archived comments for Bad Apple
e-griff on 26-01-2009
Bad Apple
I very much appreciated some of the images in this - the razor eyes shaving --- but I didn't have much sympathy for the last lines with their reverse wording, I'm afraid. I can't immediately think of a suggestion, though ...

best JohnG

Author's Reply:
Hey JohnG,

how nice to hear from you, it's been ages. I know that you are always in the forum, and indeed, i've just put a hesitant toe in their myself. Submitting poetry is one thing, but talking about yourself is quite another.

I'm glad you liked some of the images in my poem, although rather disappointed that you thought the last lines didn't work. I thought it was quite clever myself, but then, as you say, I'm the poet so I would think that. But, as you know, I respect your opinion, so if you can think of any suggestions, i'd really be more than happy to look at them.

Nice to hear from you.
Jackie

SugarMama34 on 26-01-2009
Bad Apple
Hi Jackie,

I liked some of the imagery in this, it comes across well as does the bitter-sweet emotion. To me it's a sad poem of one person's love showing more for someone, who doesn't really love the other back n the same way. It's a short poem but it says a lot from one person's perspective.

Lis'. xx

Author's Reply:
Yes, that's what it's about, usually I labour over a poem for days or even weeks, but this one came to me in half an hour. Amazing really.

Thanks for the comment.

Jackie

artisus on 26-01-2009
Bad Apple
I agree with Egriff. And my razor eyes always shaving you down is the best line of your poem.

Author's Reply:
Glad you liked the line. Sometimes it's really hard to think of something original that works.

thanks fot the comment.

Jackie

macaby on 26-01-2009
Bad Apple
my razor eyes always shaving you down. i think this line stands out best in the whole poem, very strong image. as for the last lines i don't think you should change them. iv'e read a lot of poems from e.e.cummings, he plays around a lot with the syntax and get's away with it.there is nothing wrong in experimenting. the impression i got from the poem, a relationship drifting apart, a female that is misunderstood? all in all a very good poem.


Author's Reply:
Wow,

thanks for the comment. I'm glad you liked the poem. I actually wrote it about me and hubby. A couple of Sundays ago he'd had a few lunch time beers and was being stupid and getting on my nerves all day. So, being female I was mean to him for about five days. This is my guilty poem.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Jackie

Sunken on 28-01-2009
Bad Apple
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me, sunks. I nearly missed this one. I blame my poor eyesight. I wear contact lenses normally but left them out today because I have a headache. I blame masturbation (for my poor eyesight - not the headache). Still, I reckon being half blind is a small price to pay for a good old thrap. Ahem. I like the poem by the way. Please don't tell me that you were expecting a proper crit from me? Here's a sum instead - 2 + 4 = 6
Thank you.

s
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loosely based on a discarded bucks fizz lyric

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

I would have replied before, but was reluctant to intrude on your master...um...deliberations. If you ever sent me a serious crtitique I'd be really worried. Stay the way you are. (Not a Bucksfizz lyric)

Best wishes
Jackie

niece on 29-01-2009
Bad Apple
Nice, Jackie...I liked the core metaphor...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Dear Niece,

glad you liked the metaphor. This one came to me without too much head scratching, I'm paying now though, my muse has packed her bags and gone...

Best wishes

Jackie


To My Shower (posted on: 19-01-09)
I have to post here as I consider this to be a sadly neglected place, which in its lonliness calls for the attentions of Iconicus and Jolen. Whilst we wait I'll post something...

To My Shower Wet me hot and wet me dumb. Make the stagnant blood in my veins wake and run. Dance through my roots And reach down my hair. Wash away the day, the world and its care. Wet me hot and wet me dumb. Splash, scold my skin with your lashing rhythm. Nipple me hard with the thrill of the jet. Pool in my naval, make my soft patch curl wet. Wet me hot and wet me dumb. Steam me away from today's hum and drum. Slip me, soap through me make my hidden flesh swell. Feel me, inflame me, let your glowing touch dwell. Wet me hot and wet me numb. Drench me, intense me, and let the storm come. In your fierce needle kiss. In your ardent wild spray. Swallowed by steam how you whirl me away.
Archived comments for To My Shower
Ionicus on 19-01-2009
To My Shower
You have certainly caught my attention, Jackie. I am rather partial to a bit of nice erotica and this certainly gets my vote.
Steamy! Is it a coincidence or are you telepathic? This very day I have posted a piece of erotica. It goes under the title:
'Peace Offering'.

Luigi x

Author's Reply:
Dear Luigi, I'm really glad you liked it, I also enjoyed your poem, although can't remember if i commented as i've had a really hectic week. Anyway, it made me laugh out loud, but your poetry always does that anyway...and I mean that in the best way of course.

Isn't it strange how no one ever writes hear lately, and then I called for you, and like a genie you appeared. Great coincidence.

Ci sentiamo la prossima volta.
Auguri di nouvo per la tua poesia
Jackie

Jolen on 20-01-2009
To My Shower
Loved the repetition here and ahhhhhhhh yes it's steamy...I hope to one day have time to write erotica again.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks jolen,

I also hope that one day you have the chance to post erotica again.

Best, best wishes
Jackie


Sunken on 21-01-2009
To My Shower
Oh my bloody good god! How can I possibly be expected to comment on this in my current state? I'm sorry, Jackie. I now have a hairy situation that must be attended to. I hope you're happy with yourself! My zinc levels are already low. I must get a supplement from Tesco. Ahem (-;

s
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weetabix 2 - ulrika johnson 2

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

Hope you've sorted your hairy situation. I've had a hairy situation too this week, my dog ran away, so I couldn't write or do anything, but he came home this morning thank god. I think he'd found some little bitch in heat with very loose morals. i'm tying him up now.

Thanks for the comment. I don't think the poem was that erotic though, i can't quite seem to get a handle on it, but I keep trying.


Jackie

niece on 23-01-2009
To My Shower
Very sensuous, Jackie...nice one...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Thanks niece,

I try my best, sometimes I get it right, but often get it wrong. Normally
sensuality only comes to me when i've got a jar of Mayonaisse in my hand and a big fat cheese sandwich to put it on...

Best wishes
jackie


Beetroot Eater (posted on: 16-01-09)
I suppose I've been thinking about beetroot a lot this January as I have three post-Christmas kilos to lose, and beetroot is a free-food munch. I've also been inspired by Cat's 'Solar Flair' with its rolling 'R' and images in red.

Beetroot Eater Soft slices slip through my fingers. Violet on black slippery, wet. A crimson crunch bathed in ruby vinegar basking in purple, on purple in red. Raiding the roof of my mouth, it slips from my lips, rivulets running, reddening my chin. Sucking traces of sharpness, licking bitter sweet trails from the fold of a finger. And still tripping the tip of my tongue, still staining my flesh long after.
Archived comments for Beetroot Eater
Bradene on 16-01-2009
Beetroot Eater
Well you've managed to convince me of the magic of beetroot (-; Love the images you managed to evoke. Val x

Author's Reply:
Thanks Val,

I wrote this when i was starving, and the only thing I had, indeed have, without calories in my fridge, are pickled onions and beetroot, thought the latter evoked a better colour for imagery.

Best wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 16-01-2009
Beetroot Eater
Hello Ms. Jackie. What's a free-food? Are you stealing this beetroot? Disgraceful! I muchly enjoyed the flow of your poem but feel that I cannot condone your criminal admission! Good day! (-;

s
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he can balance a kettle on his head

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

well what can I say? When I pay, I pay dearly, stomach, thighs, SIZE etc.

It's much better to 'steal' water- based foods, especially in January.

macaby on 17-01-2009
Beetroot Eater
i don't like beetroot but i liked the poem. very visual and the alliteration is great.

Author's Reply:
Thanks for that Macaby,

I'm a bit of a slave to alliteration. IMO, a bit of a cop out when there are so many strong images that take a little more time to find and a bit more magination than I've got.

Best wishes as always
jackie

niece on 17-01-2009
Beetroot Eater
Interesting poem and very effective use of colours and the senses...and very informative too...I hadn't considered beetroot a diet food.

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
MM, it's water based and strong in flavour. Whenever i feel strong enough to seriously contemplate a diet, I always turn to beetroot as an appetite supressant. Soaking in vinegar in a white ceramic bowl in the fridge, I consider it a worthy subject of a poem, no matter how ammateur.

Thanks so much for the comment.
Jackie

cat on 18-01-2009
Beetroot Eater
Dear Jackie,

Hope that you enjoy your beetroot fridge raids as much as do this poem. You are, as always, a guilt free delight. Love it!
c x


Author's Reply:
Thanks Cat,

I've never been called a guilt free delight before and I think I like it. The fridge is empty of beetroot at the moment, and I'm starving, so think I might have to sneak a cheese sandwich...a small one.

Look forward to your next sub.

best wishes
Jackie

royrodel on 18-01-2009
Beetroot Eater
you made my mouth water, just going to get the pickles

RODEL

Author's Reply:
I also adore pickles, any pickles, pickled onions too, although to be honest I'd prefer a big slice of chocolate cake...think I've got more chance of being the next poet laureat. Haha

Thanks for the comment Rodel
Best wishes
Jackie

reckless on 24-01-2009
Beetroot Eater
Well you learn something all the time! Beetroot as an appetite suppressant. I can see how that might work mind. very nicely done poem, I did like the liveliness of it, the sense of fun.

Author's Reply:
Reckless,

that's a great pen name, I really like it. I'm glad you liked the poem, what with January and everything, I've been subbing rather bleak stuff, so thought I'd try to vinegar it up a bit with some red fun.

As an appetite suppresent, well, you really have to eat a lot, and it helps if you wash it down with chocolate cake.

best wishes
Jackie


Leonardo Da Dog (posted on: 12-01-09)
I was looking at my dog, wondering what he'd be like if her were super intelligent, or even intelligent, and then I got to thinking...what if...

Leonardo Da Dog Whether it was a fabulous coincidence or indeed, written in the stars, Leonardo's name was completely appropriate for his character as, like the Renaissance original, Leonardo was a genius and a fore leader in original thought. At the tender age of three months, he'd already realized a simple and effective way to rapidly reverse the effects of climate change through a carbon substitute comprised of natural chemicals found in dog poo. The only trouble was, that Leonardo was a dog, and had no way of communicating his brilliant ideas to his owners who, although very sweet and loveable, possessed no vision other than curry and chips and bottles of brown ale on a Saturday night. Leonardo gave a lot of thought and worry to his situation. He'd possessed the cure for cancer now for a month, and not being able to share such important information was weighing far too heavily. The realistic fear that he'd never find a way to communicate his knowledge to mankind had made him lose his appetite and he had started to moult. Although she didn't understand him, Mrs. Curry and Chips loved her dog dearly, and called for Mr. Curry and Chips. The pair then put their heads together and came up with the only course of action they believed was available to them. Leonardo was shaken from his depression by a strange sterile environment and a long syringe. .. He awoke with a dry throat and a nasty pain between his hind legs. On closer investigation, Leonardo saw a small neat wound where he was sure two furry balls had been. But this problem was immediately forgotten on the discovery of something much more interestinghis tail! Leonardo, ecstatic with his discovery, chased his tail all afternoon, until he was distracted by a cat and chased that instead. Mr. and Mrs. Curry and Chips smiled affectionately at their young dog as he chowed down his second bowl of Pedigree Chum, and scratched ineffectually at a bothersome flea. Mrs. Curry and Chips felt reassured by her dog's normal doggy behaviour, and decided that the castration had been the right thing to do. And as Leonardo, in simple ecstasy, fetched the same stick for the hundredth time, Mr. Curry and Chips just had to express his pride. ''He be a right clever one that dog!'' he said.
Archived comments for Leonardo Da Dog
Ania on 12-01-2009
Leonardo Da Dog
Glad his namesake didn't suffer the same fate! I think he should have moulted not malted!

Ania

Author's Reply:
Dear Ania thanks for the comment,

sometimes if my spell checker can't pick up certain words I'm really caught out. Not good considering i'm an english teacher, haha.

Jackie

teifii on 12-01-2009
Leonardo Da Dog
Nice fantasy on doggy minds. I must say I was quite unprepared for the cure for too much thinking. One of my digs met that fate too but it didn't blunt his brains and he went on to wriute his autobiography. Incidentally he didn't record the visit to the vet as described above.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Author's Reply:
Dear Daff,

thanks for the comment. I know how important those two round things are to both man and beast, and often wonder if indeed, they don't distract a little from intelligent thought. Haha.

Glad your dog went on to write his autobiography, mine can't even cock his leg without falling over...

Jackie

beard on 12-01-2009
Leonardo Da Dog
OK, OUCH!
I wonder if that is where all men store their smarts? I don't think we should start a-choppin' to find out.
Over all, I like it. I think it could have been longer. I like the character of the dog - maybe he tried to communicate in interesting ways that were misinterpreted?
I didn't like the use of the word 'poop'. I Think there are better alternatives.
Really liked, however Mr. and Mrs. curry and chips. Brought a smile to my beard.

Brd.

Author's Reply:
Glad the story brought a smile to your beard.

I have a house full of men, ranging from my husband and children down to the dog - me and the cat are the only females and she's really very stuck up! Anyway, I know the importance of those round little 'smarts' to their owners, and so I let my imagination go that one step further.

By the way, i agree with the poop thing and changed it to poo instead.

Thanks for the comment
jackie

niece on 13-01-2009
Leonardo Da Dog
Good one, Jackie...short, sweet and very clever...

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Thanks for commenting niece,

i wasn't sure if this story would go down well as it's a bit weird, but it seems to be doing okay.

Best wishes Jackie

Sunken on 14-01-2009
Leonardo Da Dog
The poor thing. How terrible. I'd hate to lose to my balls. Ya know, Ms. Jackie, I almost always wake up with my hands cusped around them. I don't know what that's about, but I find it strangely comforting. I do love my balls very much. Oh they may not be perfect, but they're mine and no one's cutting them off! Ahem. Sorry, you touched a nerve. Loved the story. I think Leonardo and Bernard would get on well. Does he need an assistant? Bernard, as well as looking great in a cap, can also cut quite a dash in a white lab coat.
Nice one, Jackie.

s
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Author's Reply:
Wow,

I'm really surprised to see Bernard here. I thought he'd be hiding under a table with his legs tightly crossed. And I 've never known a man yet, who doesn't wake up with the crown jewels in his hands. I suppose dogs must have hand envy of humans...but what am i saying? They can get even closer and actually lick them, blow kisses and whisper sweet nothings...

Thanks for the Bernard.
Jackie


Sylvia's Secrets (posted on: 12-01-09)
I've named this poem Sylvia's Secrets at it was inspired after reading some Sylvia Plath poetry the other day. It made me feel really depressed, but totally inspired by her awesome talent.

Sylvia's Secrets Silent lips wait in a tightly sealed box, Secrets well hidden with duck tape and locks. Secrets well hidden whilst I live and breathe. But what'll happen when I have to leave? My body will rot and quickly decay, What if these secrets get fatter each day? When I'm in my urn or an old lemon crate, Will my secrets have an expiry date? Will they still thrive and take up the space Where my physical being once had a place? I wish I could quash and dispel my qualms That my secrets won't nurse in my children's arms.
Archived comments for Sylvia's Secrets
cat on 12-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Hi Jackie,
I am so pleased that you were inspired, you've certinaly inspired me. I will be looking up Sylvia Plath as soon as! I especialy liked the first two opening lines and the bit about the expiry date and secrets getting fat, and...all, I loved it all!
Off now to read your next post c x

Author's Reply:
Dear Cat,

thanks for the comment. I really enjoyed your poem too! Made me feel ang'R'y too! Ha ha.

You should check out Sylvia Plath. She was writing mainly in the early sixities, but I think her work is timeless. It's very powerful and provoking, especially her poem "Daddy" although my favourite is "Balloons".

Best Wishes
Jackie

Sunken on 12-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me, sunks. I also liked the expiry line. Don't worry about being depressing. I think it's the time of year. I intended writing a poem about tits the other day and ended up writing something about death instead. I was most disappointed. Tits really are wonderful. Do you like birds? Ahem. One day, Ms. Jackie, I'll post a comment worthy of your sub. Don't hold ya breath tho (-;

s
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wolverhampton 3 - cheese on toast 3 (late kick off)

Author's Reply:
Ahem...Sunken,

all your comments are worthy as they are very funny, and make me laugh, by the way there was a lovely Robin Red Breast in my garden the other morning...


Jackie


teifii on 12-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Interesting and well written. I especailly liked:
When I’m in my urn or an old lemon crate,
Will my secrets have an expiry date?
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm

Author's Reply:

Dear Daff,
my husband is a lemon farmer, and often when he's having a moan about how much money I spend (according to him), he says we'll have to be buried in lemon crates, so i suppose that's where that image comes from.

Glad you liked the poem.

jackie

royrodel on 12-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
secrets?????
yeah but if you don't belong to anyone.
I dunno where Sylvia is from
and as I set up a picture in my minds eye
it's probably wrong.

RODEL

Author's Reply:
Okay ?*!

Is this a good comment or a bad one?

macaby on 12-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
it is a kind of bleak poem but it is that time of the year, like you said you have been readings. s.plath(did she commit suicide or have i mistaken her for someone else?) i really liked the opening lines.i have seen duck tape being used for a number of things but never in a poem before.so for me that was very original. it is a poem to ponder over and ponder with.nice write.

Author's Reply:
Dear Macaby,

yes, Sylvia Plath stuck her head in an oven and gassed herself when her marriage to Ted Hughes dissolved, not only a waste of a young life, but an exceptional talent IMO.

I've actaully written a poem about it, but am reluctant to post it as I don't want people to think that i have an unhealthy Plath obsession...but it is January...

Glad you liked the 'duck tape' thing.

Jackie

Andrea on 12-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar - read it! Incredibly powerful and her one and only novel.

THE BELL JAR

Author's Reply:

Dear Andrea

You know it's been on my 'to read' list for a few years now, I must make the effort to get up, and get it read.

Thanks Jackie

niece on 13-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Lovely poem, Jackie...I'll also be looking up Plath on the net...(I've read some of her poems in college, but can't recollect right now)

Regds,
niece

Author's Reply:
Yes,

I met her work, whilst studying literature too! But I have a little refresher every now and then when I want to see the work of a brilliant poet, or feel low in January and want to feel a little lower!

I've actually just finished writing a poem about her death, but it's ever so dark, and I'm not sure as to post it or not as I don't want people to think i've got a morbid obsession or anything. haha
jackie

Bradene on 15-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Really like this Jackie. Well written. Reflects my mood exactly just at the moment (-; Quite like Plath but like you I find too much of her can be very depressing. Well done though Val x

Author's Reply:

Mezzanotte on 15-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Thanks Val,

I find it difficult at this time of year to write anything light and lighthearted. When one is surrounded by rain, mud and a leaky car, when verse comes at all, it's dark and depressing.

Thanks for your comment.

Jackie

Author's Reply:

reckless on 28-01-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Yes I remember her from college days too. I use to have a student friend (female) who was very taken with Plath. I remember especially the one she wrote about her child, ("right, like a well done sum") and the one called 'daddy' or something. I loved your poem, it brought back many memories, and I think the last line is great.

Author's Reply:

Mezzanotte on 01-02-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Thanks reckless,


I'm rather a big fan of Plath, she appeals to my darker side, and is a permanent reminder of what good poetry is about.

Sorry it's taken a while to get back to you

Best wishes
Jackie

Author's Reply:

Leila on 06-02-2009
Sylvias Secrets
Jackie I see you are a poet and a fiction writer congratulations. I like this poem inspired by Plath, I think I have every book that was ever written about her and about Hughes, about them...in fact I am currently reading his Birthday Letters yet again. I think you have some very striking connections here like duck tape and locks/urns and lemon crates and you have a very find last line. Most enjoyable...Leila

Author's Reply:
Dear Leila,

Thanks for the lovely comments. I try my best, although I prefer writing poetry...I'm so pleased to have met another Plath fan, I think sometimes her death can over shadow her poetry which is a shame. I too have read some books on the pair, and indeed have recently had a look at Birthday Letters. Poor man, he has suffered too, especially as his lover killed herself in the same manner as Plath, too much guilt I should imagine.

I have actually written a poem about Plath's suicide, which I would like to post, but am reluctant to Plath people out too much. I might post it today, we'll see.

Again, thanks for the comments.
Best Wishes
Jackie


The deliverance (posted on: 09-01-09)
A little ghost story.

The Deliverance Amy awoke with a start - she'd heard those noises again, the screech followed closely by the spine freezing screams and that splintering crash and roar, that dreadful roar, truly as loud and as violent as very close, very angry thunder. Amy often dreamt, and in her dreams she heard these sounds. Always in sequence, always in quick succession and always, always as horrific no matter how many times she dreamt them. But this evening it was different. There was an immediacy, a closeness to them that she had never before felt, and she knew, as surely as she had ever known anything, that this time, the noises had not been in her dreams. ''Oh no, not again,'' she whispered into the stillness, but her plea disappeared unheard into the night. Amy was uncomfortable. She was used to the knot of apprehension in her stomach; it was always present upon waking from one of these nightmares. But this evening the knot, instead of slowly unravelling, had grown tighter and was imbedding itself deeply into the lining of her gut, squatting, cancerous - ravenous. She swallowed hard something bad had happened. Wincing with the pain, she stiffly straightened her neck and tried to sit up; she'd fallen asleep slouched against the window again. A habit which drove her crazy, but it was something she did constantly. Amy swallowed again, her dry, parched throat felt brittle, sore. She tried to focus her eyes, squinting into the blackness beyond the window, only just, she could make out the dark, sliding shadows of the night. They didn't frighten her anymore, she had long since gotten used to them. Their subtle but strange night time shapes, shifting, waving and changing, in their silent gestures for attention. The swaying branches of the young oak to her left, the scrub up ahead, the fist of clouds passing low. The family of badgers which often roamed close enough to give her comfort were not around this evening. There was also the cliff! The cliff. Massive, overpowering and menacing, casting shadows into shadow. She knew that the noises and the cliff were somehow linkedbut she didn't know why in fact she wasn't sure that she wanted to know. This evening was different. Amy tried to blink, to focus into the night to seeto seethe change - a bright, severe and scary change to her night time scenery. She could just make out, at the bottom of the cliff, not even a hundred yards away, an a small but angry blaze. At first a mild speck of colour in the pitch, but now fast, becoming ferocious, furious; a trapped wild cat, it paced raged and screamed; lashing out in red and orange. It's intensity no longer diminished by its distance. ''So you're here again.'' Amy didn't speak often, her voice sounded small and hollowunfamiliar. It didn't give her hope. The fire, like the knot in her stomach, chilled yet burnt it sickened her. She wanted to vomit and she felt her skin involuntarily tighten at the sight of the flames. But Amy was brave. ''Okay,'' she said, addressing the fire, the nightthe cliff. ''Okay I'll goI'll see what I can do.'' Her neck ached, and her young body felt sore, but a compulsion to get closer to the flames drew her away from the safety of her abode and out into the night. Confined only by her small rib cage, her heart spiralled around crazily, and her body ached with the unfamiliar exertion. Slowly she drew closer to the flames, further out into the biting nightand towards the scorching heat and danger which lay ahead. The desolate place. The screams. The splintering crash. The roar as loud as furious thunder. Considering her disability, she made good progress. Dragging her leg behind her, she winced in pain with every step, feeling as if her whole limb would be wrenched away from her thigh with every step forward. Shuffle, drag, shuffle, drag. Her neck, stiff and unpliable, her skin The knot in her gut, spread out its terrible roots of bad foreboding, bad feeling. Bad pain! Something dreadful was happening. Too familiar. The screech, the scream, the crash, and the roar. If she didn't hurry there would also be the explosion. Amy dragged herself forward towards the inferno, she had to be quick. She was young, only seventeen, but she was sensible and practical too! And Amy was a good girl, she knew the difference between right and wrong. Time, for Amy had been irrelevant for a very long time, for more time than she could remember she'd been alone, here at the bottom of the cliff, with nothing to do but watch, wait and hope. Perhaps to others in her situation, this blaze might signal hope. There could be a companion, someone to keep her company during the long, scary nights, and tedious days, whilst she waited. Amy was desperate in her loneliness, and she was also scared, she hated being alone, alone except for the constant pain, her companion - her tormentor throughout the hours. But she was a good girl, and recognised the difference between right and wrong, and knew that if she were capable, she would do her best to prevent that which she feared was inevitable *** Julie awoke with a start; there had been the screech, followed closely by the spine freezing screams, her own, she realized, as her car had plummeted from the icy road and down the sheer cliff face to the bottom of the gorge. Then the splintering crash as her car, as well as her bones ground together on impact, crushed into a confusion of blood, gore and metal. Fire was consuming her caronce it reached the petrol tank she knew that she was history. That dreadful roar, truly as loud and violent as very close, very angry thunder; the flames approaching, hungry to consume her young life, which until now, had not been appreciated at all. What a mistake! In this moment of extreme pain and crisis, Julie was amazed at her ability to distance herself from the situation. To understand her parents desire to not let her take this journey alone until she were a little more experienced behind the wheelto realize, too late that she really loved her mum and dad. ''Mummy,'' she whispered, through dry lips, closed throat. Her life had been beautifulshe hadn't realised and now it was finished! She couldn't breath, the smoke was streaming into the car, with all her limbs broken and her collar bone crushed, she would never be able to escape from the seat belt, let alone open the battered car door. In this desolate placewith no hope of escape and no hope of rescueJulie knew that she was going to die. It was then that she saw the angel. The impact had blown out the glass in the drivers' window, and through the heavy smoke, Julie could just about see into the night. Her futile and pitiful struggles ceased as she saw the dim figure emerge from the trees, and steadily make its way towards her. So she was dead! But waitif this was an angel, she really didn't want to see a demon. ''Oh God!'' she whispered, fresh tears, ran down her cheeks. What was it? ''Oh nopleaseplease'' she implored, but who could hear her plea? Suddenly, being trapped in a burning car wreck didn't seem the worst scenario. Better to die here in the inevitable explosion, than the appalling embrace of the thing that was shuffling towards her. This spectre, in staggered and strangely stilted movements, shuffled forward. Its head sat to one side, resting heavily, sickeningly, on its shoulder at an odd and very bad angle from its body. Its hip twisted behind itself as it made its way forward. Julie found herself wishing for death, wishing that the flames would spread quicker and engulf the petrol tank. She stared petrified into stone. And, as the apparition drew closer, she could see it in its full horror, black and burnt. Slithers of charcoal skin hung in flaps from its skeletal arms. It was naked, except for a few patches of blackened material which had congealed with its scorched and bloody raw skin. Julie could see that this thing was a woman; even a girlhad been a girl. Her lips had been completely burnt away into a horrific and permanent toothy grimace. Her, cellophane eyes didn't move. She shuffled closer towards the driver's door, towards Julie ''lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil for thine is the kingdom the power and the glory forever and ever. Amen.'' Breathlessly she mouthed the prayer which she hadn't thought of since school, the prayer she used to mindlessly recite, during boring assemblies; but now, held so much significance. Julie genuinely hoped that God was listening to herbut he wasn't. A strong wind, like the devil, whizzed and whirled, tornado like, into existence and the encroaching flames were blown away from the petrol tank, and quashed into extinction. The girl-creature pushed her disgusting face through the driver's window. Her hollow eyes and burnt off face just an inch away from her own. And as she passed into unconsciousness, Julie could feel the creature's body take her own in its mouldy flaccid arms. She awoke on a grassy verge not far from the wrecked car. With mounting memory, pain and panic, Julie's eyes darted around, searching for the thing which had dragged her from the wreckbut she was alone. Her mobile phone was close to her face; it shrilled sharply, penetrating the thick fog of pain and confusion, and she was just able to press the answer button with the side of her chin. *** The journey back to her burnt-out car wreck seemed long and was much more difficult. The pain in her neck was intense, and her broken, skeletal limbs, cracked and groaned. But her skin didn't feel as sore and as tight as before and, thankfully, the knot in her stomach had unravelled and slithered away for a while. She eased back into her battered car and slumped into her peculiar, but usual position against the cracked glass. The girl would be okayshe'd live to see her family and continue her life. Amy was happy for her, because Amy was a good girl, and recognised the difference between right and wrong. She had saved a life, that was a good thing, and she hoped that maybe, now, she might be discovered and returned to those who had loved her. There was always hope. Alone, here, at the bottom of the cliff, with nothing to do but watch and wait, Amy would hopewatch, wait andhope.
Archived comments for The deliverance
macaby on 09-01-2009
The deliverance
one of those stories that should be read in front of an open fire on a dark night.i especially liked the description of amy very visual indeed, dark but an angel never the less. spooky story that i enjoyed reading.

Author's Reply:
Dear Macaby,

I wanted to make Amy really scary looking but a lovely person. I'm glad you lliked it.

Thanks for commenting.

Jackie

Sunken on 11-01-2009
The deliverance
Hello Ms. Jackie. It's me, sunks. Sorry it's taken me so long to read this. I suffer with the longer pieces (oo er). For some reason I forget to blink and my contact lenses start rejecting me... should that be the other way round? Oh god, I'm rambling. Sorry. I thought the story was extremely well told. Very descriptive and very eerie. If I have trouble sleeping tonight I shall be blaming you and no mistake. I hope you won't mind me slapping a Bernard on you. I can't pretend to know much about prose, but this kept my interest (and that takes some doing). Cheers Ms. Jackie of Mezzanotte (how do you pronounce that?) fame.

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Author's Reply:
Hey Sunken,

Lovely to hear from you and as always, a pleasure to see Bernard, as usual looking bright and spiffy in his cap.

Glad you liked the story. I started it over a year ago, and added a little, chopping and changing a bit here and a bit there whenever i fancied that I had nothing else to do. I'm really pleased it's being read.

Hope you've made peace with your contact lenses.

Ciao for now
Jackie


Chicken Poxed (posted on: 29-12-08)
A bout of chicken pox had me and the kids under house arrest for three weeks last April. Bored to tears I had two choices, write a poem or clean the house. I naturally chose the former.

Chicken Poxed Chicken, they're stickin' we're stricken with pox. A pox on those blots. Those rude angry boils volcanic eruptions which hatch itch burn scratch. Baddening, maddening serene skin. Stricken with pox. ''Stop pickin' those spots!'' Those bloody blisters burst, stain and leave craters on the vanilla moon faces of my maiden skinned boys.
Archived comments for Chicken Poxed
Sunken on 30-12-2008
Chicken Poxed
Oh bugger. You're poem has made me itch! I've a good mind to report you to the pox police (-; Top stuff.

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Where's me calamine...?

Author's Reply:
It's on the top shelf of your bathroom cabinet. The pink bottle which is a little out of date...there, just behind the Parcetamol. That's it...


Bathroom Nights (posted on: 29-12-08)
Inspired by our puppy, when he was still small and cute and hadn't yet started to chew our shoes and my lovely wooden staircase!

Bathroom Nights Nosing, he creeps into the cold corner, but no sticky nipple to sooth his night or mother's fur to make him feel warmer. A ruthless blind light, binds him in its sight. Casts ceramic contours to his moist eye. A porcelain bite. Aseptic white strike. Here no midnight moon - here no shadow slides - or twilight breath whisper peace to his cry, as love licks his face, his tummy and sides. Now strips of newspaper replace the straw - no warmth to melt trembles, or free his soft new pink belly, from the freezing tiled floor. Waking, he wobbles and nuzzles for mum, squinting, to find that he whines all alone, until the sunand the small children come... And he's Super Dog, held aloft flying tall - tugging a t-shit, fetching a ball - hugged tight, given treats - to a laugh cry and shriek licks at skin salt and sweet until again it's night, it's sterile, hard, bright. And alone he pines for a past thought forever. Chases his memory, whilst he still can remember.
Archived comments for Bathroom Nights
Sunken on 30-12-2008
Bathroom Nights
Aww. It's made me go all gooey, Ms. Jackie. A gooey sunk is of no use to anyone. What do you mean, any kind of sunk is of no use to anyone!? It's at times like these that I too could make good use of a sticky nipple. In many ways I'm much like a dog. Now, what shall I do with this bone (-; A very enjoyable read. It seems only fitting to whack a Bernard on it. Thank you.

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Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

so Bernard has returned. It's very nice to see him too. Thank you very much. I'm glad you enjoyed the poem...my family say that it's really boring...but what do they know eh? Half of them can't even feed themselves yet.

Always a pleasure to hear from you Sunken.
Happy New Year.
Jackie

HelenRussell on 03-01-2009
Bathroom Nights
Aaw, this is cute- takes me back to my first puppy.
(just wondered, was the t-shit a deliberate typo, given the topic??!)
Nice read.
Sarah x

Author's Reply:
Hi Sarah,

No, my work is full of typos and spelling errors. I don't know if it's because I type too quickly, drink too much wine in the evening or that I just can't spell. Hopefully a little of all three and not a lot of the latter.

Thanks for commenting on the poem. My family and friends think it's really dull. Oh well, you can't please everyone.

Happy New Year.
Jackie

teifii on 04-01-2009
Bathroom Nights
Lovely poem, gets right inside a small bereft puppy. Like the contrast of his daytime fun. Hope you still have some shoes and a staircase.
Got to go and feed my two now -no longer puppies.
Daff

Author's Reply:


Christmas Carol (posted on: 22-12-08)
Again, there is nothing erotic about this piece. Just smutty images and rude words...hope it brings a smile though.

Christmas Carol Hey lads, it's office party time. There's mistletoe, mince pies and wine. The fat bird's stuffed and been well plucked. Now let's see which one will get fucked. That blonde from admin she looks drunk. A pretty vessel for some spunk. Mrs. Jones has got a stagger, Shame that no one wants to shag her. That new P.A. makes my dick throb, I hope that she can blow a job. Brenda there, she likes a frolic, When she's had a gin and tonic. I think she'd be up for a snog, Or even take my whole yule log. There's busty Carol from accounts, Unlike her cheques, she likes a bounce. Yeah, Christmas Carol likes a go, Gets friendly under mistletoe. I'll give her more of that mulled wine, Then in the stock room she'll be mine. ''Lady in Red'' it's time to mooch, She thrusts her hips, we start to smooch. You know that I'm not one to brag, But Carol looks good for a shag. I'm feeling festive, full of cheer, Perhaps another pint of beer. In the stock room, hot and sticky, Think that this should be a quickie. Skirt is up, she's wet and ready, But suddenly I'm not so steady. She reaches down and finds me limp. And shrieks, ''You've only got a shrimp!'' As red as Christmas, back at work, The girls now look at me and smirk. ''There goes our office Romeo, Nick. A shame he's such a little prick.''
Archived comments for Christmas Carol
macaby on 22-12-2008
Christmas Carol
very funny indeed made me laugh, i have never heard "it" being compared to a yule log before, nice image.


Author's Reply:
Glad it made you laugh. I've never heard 'it' compared to a yule log either. But apart from the chocolate covering and the obvious dimensions, well...a stretch of the imagination or two...anyway, it scanned and rhymed, so it worked! Glad you appreciated the image.

Jackie

HelenRussell on 23-12-2008
Christmas Carol
Yep, made me titter 🙂
Sarah

Author's Reply:
Fab, tittering's good!

Sunken on 23-12-2008
Christmas Carol
Ahem. Well I'll be frank, I felt the young man's pain. Especially in the last line. It must have been the beer. That's what I say. And no, before you ask, this has never happened to me... Thank you. Good day! (-;

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he blames his premature affliction on women

Author's Reply:
Ha!

of course it was the beer. It always is isn't it????

That's the excuse I always hear anyway.

Ha ha.
Hope you had a good christmas Sunken, and not too much of the above mentioned... ... ... beer that is.

Jackie

sirat on 24-12-2008
Christmas Carol
As someone of more advanced years I can confirm that it isn't a good idea for the gentleman to consume too much alcohol in this sort of situation. Although of course, in common with Sunken, it has never happened to me.

Author's Reply:
Dear Sirat,

of course it has never happened to you, Sunken, or any other man in the world.

It's all in the imaginations of us terrible women.

We are trully wicked, making you poor men drink too much beer and snore on the sofa after Christmas dinner instead of helping with the dishes too!

Aren't we awful! Ha ha

Thank for the comment David, and keep your fab criticisms coming.

Jackie



Blood Ties (posted on: 22-12-08)
This story was inspired by a film I saw maybe twenty years ago. There is a particular scene in this film which has always stayed with me, and this story is my own 'take' based loosely on events that may have followed on from that scene. I really hope that the ending is a surprise, and would appreciate any feedback on whether it worked or not. Thanks Jackie

Blood Ties She's looking at me, no, not lookingglowering. Can't see her face, but I can feel her eyes flaming into my skull. Scorching me from within and boiling my brain. Those two hot coals, two pitch black holes. Now she singes, now she smokes - but her fury will smolder and die. She never stays mad at me for longhope this time ain't no different. No, she'll come around, she needs me, needs my strength. My presence...my support, she couldn't survive without me knows it too. I'm her life, her heartbeat, the blood that flows through her veins and into her brain. Ha! I'm her bread and butter. I clothe her back. Support her through good and bad. She leans on me. Leans on meleans on... me ononThe rocking of the carriage is lulling me softlyshdrifting, nearly asleepshfallingfallingall will be okay by morning. Rocking, lulling, rock-a-bye-babybabybabyIt's whimpering againintruding in on my peace, my fallingyelp, yelp, little pathetic noises. It don't cry no more. It's already realized no one'll heed its needs so what's the point of hollering when hungry, or soiled right? No one to come, no one to care. Whimperwhimper ''Why don't it just be quiet?'' ''It's lonely,'' I whisper, ''probably hungry too, been ages since it was fed.'' The wheels are real noisy, rocking, creaking, groaning with the effort to overcome the gravel, the sharp little rocks, moaning and splishing through the puddles, the mud, shivering and shaking our tired bodies. Rock, creak, crackrock, creak, crackI can still whisper though, I know she can hear me. ''So you're talking to me now?'' ''No one else here is there?'' ''Dunno. There's the baby, and Fat Sarah.'' ''Fat Sarah's a fool, and the babyI can't even look at it.'' ''Yeah, it's better if you don't, don't wanna get attached.'' ''Who'd wanna get attached?'' She laughs - hollow and fragile glass droplets, which on utterance, slip from her lips and shatter, to spike my hopes of peace. A wheel hits a rock, and throws us a jolt which knocks us sideways. Fat Sarah farts, mumbles something more stupid than usual and resumes her snoring. The baby's quiet. We're moving slowly so the moon can keep up easily. It floats alongside us like a lost soul casting its weak yearning through the fractured shutters of the caravan window. ''Best if you get some sleep,'' I sigh, ''we've got a busy day ahead tomorrow.'' ''I know,'' her voice is smallempty. ''Another day, another town, but the same mud, the same stink of horse pissthe same looks on their faces'' ''Shut up! You don't bite the hand that feeds you.'' ''I don't think I can face it anymore.'' ''Sure you can, it's your life. The only way the likes of us can make any money. You shouldn't question it. You know I'd support you, if you could think of another way. But you have to be realistic'' ''Yeah, you support me alright.'' These wordsthese wordsthey spill, crack and fall, nasty little shards. I want to gather them up and feed them back to her. Some things just shouldn't be said. ''I'm cold.'' I can feel it in her voice, she's shivering too. ''Here, take this,'' she accepts the blanket and pulls it tight around her, covering her face muffling those nasty little words. ''My heart feels cold.'' ''No it don't.'' ''What do you know of my heart? That's the one thing I own that ain't yours.'' Silence. I won't speak anymore - too many words have broken between us already, all splintered and bloody. ''He made it warmmy hearthis love for me.'' ''Sh, go to sleep.'' ''What? So I can't even talk about him now?'' ''It's better not to, you should try to forget him, you have to look forward now.'' ''Look forward. Ha! You're funny. It's all I can do right?'' Silence ''He was a good man you know? Kind, honestdidn't want to take advantage.'' ''I know that. You don't need to tell me about him, I know everything.'' ''No you don't'' she spits bright little needles which spike the night. ''When you were asleep, he'd sneak in to see me. Ha! You didn't know that did you?'' ''No,'' I lie. No, I didn't know his touch as it travelled across her breasts, down her stomach and between her legs? No, I didn't feel that racing heart, those spinning senses, and blissful confusion? ''There was no future in it.'' I know I'm rightI'm sure The carriage jolts again, and for just one second, the moon disappears. ''No future? Only because you said so.'' ''Because I know so. My blood runs through your veins, I know exactly what you're feeling. You're weak and confused, I have to make the right decisions for you as well as myself.'' ''It would have taken a little sacrifice on your part, a little from you would have meant so much for me.'' ''It was totally unthinkable, an insane notion. You had to finish it. And,'' swallow hard, ''now you have to put it behind you.'' ''I can't, there's already too much behind me.'' Her sigh although heavy, floats away from her broken heart and sinking frameand she's silent. And only the moon spies my guilt. The wolf baby sleeps. The thick layer of unnatural down which covers its skin in a fur pelt, will be its life-long curse, yet its only comfort in this cold world. And the Fat Lady, Sarah sleeps the sleep of the innocent, or ignorant. Tomorrow evening, she'll perform her usual dance routine with The Skeleton Man, and be happy with her reward of hunks of bread and dripping. And the Siamese Twins? What of them? Impaled together forever, by their fused spine, shared blood and nervous system. Forever together, one can only look at the other's face if both are holding a hand mirror. What of them? One is sure that she doesn't want to take up a hand mirror again, the other doesn't think that she can.
Archived comments for Blood Ties
HelenRussell on 23-12-2008
Blood Ties
Not sure what ending I expected but this wasn't it. Intriguing enough to keep me going to the end though, and then it all made sense.
Sarah

Author's Reply:
Dear Helen,

Thanks for getting back to me. I'm glad that you didn't guess the situation earlier on in the story, that was my fear.

Best wishes
Jackie

sirat on 23-12-2008
Blood Ties
I didn't guess the ending either. When I came to it I re-read the story, as I hadn't made much sense of it first time around.

As you've asked for feedback, I'll say that in my opinion the relationship between the twins is more interesting than the surprise ending. I would like to know more about that and about the (dominant?) twin's relationship with the boy. I know I've said it before but I think trick endings are only worth doing if they tell the reader something about themselves: if they reveal some kind of prejudice or unreflective assumption on the reader's part. I think the relationship between a set of conjoined twins is fascinating territory to explore in itself. There's one excellent book about it: The Girls by Lori Lansens.

Author's Reply:

Mezzanotte on 23-12-2008
Blood Ties
Dear Sirat,

when I receive post from you I always feel a little trepidation mixed with excitement...this is a good thing, as I know I'm going to get an honest and informed critique for which I thank you.

And, damn it! In my attempts to suspend the reader, and create ambiguety, I confused you. This isn't good at all. A short story should be exactly that, a story, not a guessing game. I'm never good at these twist in the tale endings, it really takes a lot more work than one would think!

However, I had a look at the site you sent to me. Can you believe Lori Lansen's heroines had to look through mirrors to see each other too? Perhaps she's also seen the same film, although I can't remember the twins in "Freaks" looking through mirrors...but nowadays, what is original thought?

I must tell you though, the relationship between the pair has interested me less than the little Wolf Baby character I created. I've been considering him for a while and think that next year he might be the protagonst in the world of the twins...we'll see.

Again, Sirat, thank you for your comments.

I really look forward to hearing form you again.

Jackie





Author's Reply:

sirat on 24-12-2008
Blood Ties
Thanks for the reply, Jackie. I try to be as honest with other writers as I would want them to be with me. It's the only way any of us is going to learn and polish our craft. But do remember, it's just one opinion, one person's reaction.

I look forward to your wolf baby stories.

Have a great holiday.

David.

Author's Reply:
Thanks David.

Kazzmoss on 24-12-2008
Blood Ties
I didn't really get this. I kept reading, but I think it was lost on me, sorry. Maybe I'll give it another read.

Author's Reply:

Mezzanotte on 24-12-2008
Blood Ties
Dear Kazzmoss,

I'm sorry you didn't get it. I think on the second read you probably would as you'll be aware of how the story ends, and will be able to tie up all the ambiguety.

However, I have gone wrong with this story. It shouldn't take two reads at all. I've been far too ambiguous. Aghh!

I'm so pleased you told me what you thought, as now I'll look over it again, with your and Sirat's comments in mind, and see if there is anything I can do about it...after Christmas if i have any energy left...

Thanks again
Jackie



Author's Reply:


Don't Blame baby (posted on: 12-12-08)
Another gripping thriller from the mistress of suspence herself...Jackie Blissett. Just Joking!

Don't Blame Baby As I stepped out of the car dizziness and nausea hit me like a bulldozer. I looked at my cigarette in disgust, and scratched at the forgotten nicotine patch on my arm. ''Those damn patches'' I cursed, peeling it off and flicking it into the gutter. That felt better. Now back to the job in hand. Number fifteen was an imposing house, in an imposing part, of a very well to do neighbourhood. I mentally added another zero onto my fee and walked with purpose up the drive, ringing the bell I took a quick pull on my cigarette before tossing it into a hydrangea bush. A tall, snooty looking woman opened the door, she was dressed in a Chanel suite, and her rigidly set pink hair could defy a tornado. ''Yes, can I help you?'' ''Sam Slain'' I replied, proffering my business card. She looked down but didn't accept it. ''Where is he then?'' Her eyes peered down her long nose, and travelled down her long drive. She couldn't see Sam Slain. ''That'll be me madam,'' I coughed, knowing how this conversation was going. ''But you're blackand a woman,'' she said with disdain, as if she herself were not of the same species. ''That's right Madam, unfortunately not Sam Spade, but I still get the results.'' I was used to this response; it was water off of a duck's back. A black, female duck's back of course. She looked hesitant, and I think would have closed the door had my size seven combat boot not been placed as a door jam. ''Well, as you're here then, I suppose you'd better come in.'' I had a feeling that by the end of the day my decimal point may have changed places yet again. Her lounge was a Barbara Cartland nightmare in pink and china, which contrasted rather distastefully with the considerable pong of Tom cat. I perched awkwardly on the edge of a chaise lounge, and trying not to breathe in too deeply, took out my notebook. ''So, whose baby is it?'' ''Mine.'' She crossed her legs at the ankle, and bending her knees folded her hands into her lap. Now, a little unlucky I may be, but stupid I most certainly am not. This woman had to be at least in her late sixties, early seventies. I knew that women were having children later in life with in-vitro fertilization and what not, but this was going too far. ''And how old is thisbaby?'' ''Eight years old.'' Well, not such a baby, but still. ''And you say that the baby was taken from its cot?'' ''Yes. But not it, if you don't mind, it's a she.'' ''Of course.'' An eight year old child sleeping in a cot? ''May I see the cot please?'' ''Certainly,'' she indicated a small white cot in the corner of the room. Of course I hadn't noticed it earlier, it wasn't big enough to sleep a doll. She doubted my competence, and I doubted her sanity. ''What's the baby's name?'' ''Baby.'' ''Yes, the baby. What's her name?'' ''Baby!'' ''Do you have a photo madam?'' ''Yes, certainly'' she said, producing a photo of a fluffy white Barbara Cartland type of dog. I sighed. For once I thought I'd cracked it. A big case, a headliner. MISSING BABY FOUND BY SAM SLAIN PRIVATE DETECTIVE. I'd seen it in print, and already spent the money. The decimal point had changed place again, but this time in the wrong direction. ''Okay Madam,'' I said, resigned to the new situation. It was still a job, right? And she was still loaded. ''Do you have any idea who could have taken Baby?'' ''No,'' she sobbed, ''but I have this.'' She handed me a note, made from cut up bits of newspaper. Very original. I have your Baby. If you want to see her again, await my instructions and don't involve the police. As I said, very original. ''Have you heard anything from the kid, dognapper?'' ''No.'' ''And is there a Mr. Chummely Figgensworth? Perhaps he could add something.'' ''No,'' she twisted her fingers, and her bottom lip protruded like a child. ''We're recently separated.'' Good. A suspect enters the frame. Angry, vengeful spouse. That would be it. ''Do you have an address for Mr. Chummely Figgensworth?'' She frowned, and fresh tears filled her eyes. ''Oh, it's so embarrassing,'' she sighed, twisting her fingers again.''He's living in a rented flat, down on East Way Common.'' Her long nose wrinkled, obviously this address was distasteful. I knew it well, in fact I got a lot of my work down there. Chasing absconded husbands for child support, or following wayward wives. ''Is there any possible reason your husband may have dognapped Baby?'' ''No,'' she looked away, and the lie which was etched in her guilty face jumped up and down, waved its hands and screamed for recognition. It didn't take me long to locate Mr. Chummely Figgensworth's flat. Not many flats on East Way Common, had Laura Ashley curtains, and a wooden Doneroamen plaque. Apparently, there had also been a little cherub fountain in the garden, it had lasted two hours, before being re-homed in Irene Fish's front garden. Only across the road from Mr. Chummely Figgensworth's flat, I assume he was dissuaded from reclaiming his possession by the presence of Irene's rather stocky son or her angry bullmastiff dog (one often understandably mistaken for the other.) Still, I thought, at least he could still see it from his lounge window. Children with dirty faces and unbrushed, or shaven heads, watched me sullenly as I made my way across the road. Some said hi, I'd caught up with their dads, or found out who had made away with their IPODs, and MP3s A Pit-bull which very probably wasn't officially a Pit-bull, yanked hard at its chain, growling, it slobbered and drooled from its powerful jaws. I didn't much fancy Baby's chances if she were unfortunate enough to find herself here. ''Oi,'' called Irene Fish as I made my way across the road, ''Sam, ya goin in there are ya?'' She inclined her head towards Mr. Chummley Figgensworth's flat, her many chins wobbled, and as she folded her arms and lent across her garden gate I couldn't help noticing that her cleavage looked a very scary place indeed. ''Yeah, I've got a bit of business there.'' ''Rather you than me, smells like he's got a pole cat living with 'im. Right funny one, wears trousers suits and goes to the ladies hairdressers I'm sure.'' ''I hear he used to have a fountain like yours.'' ''Don't know what you're taking about,'' her chins wobbled with indignation. ''Hey Sam, gotta smoke?'' I unzipped one of the many pockets in my army surplus store combat trousers. Unfortunately for Irene I found the patches first. I handed her one anyway. ''What the blooming 'ell's this?'' She held it before her as you might hold a dead rat. I didn't have time to search my other pockets. It took a while for Mr. Chummley Figgensworth to open the door. He kept the chain on and his long face peered anxiously through the slight gap, but there was nothing slight about the smell which rushed out to meet me, a rather familiar smell too! ''Yes? May I help you?'' His watery old eyes searched behind me and then to the sides, he bit his lip. Sure signs of guilt, I thought, or fear or, I sniffed again, embarrassment. ''Good morning. Mr Chummley Figgensworth?'' ''Yes.'' ''I'm investigating the disappearance of a small fluffy white dog, answering to the name of Baby.'' As if on a cue, a sharp and rather nasty little yap, emitted from somewhere in the recesses of smelly Dunroamen. ''Did she call the police?'' He whimpered more than spoke. ''No, Mrs. Chummley Figgensworth called the Sam Slain Private Detective Agency.'' ''Where is he then?'' ''Who?'' ''Sam Slain'' ''That'll be me, not Sam Spade, but I still get the results.'' He chewed his lip again and Baby impatiently yapped from within. ''Is that Baby?'' I gestured inside. ''Is what Baby?'' ''That dog yapping. Is that Baby?'' ''What yapping?'' Baby yapped again. ''That yapping.'' ''I didn't hear anything.'' ''You didn't hear that yapping?'' ''No.'' Baby yapped again, ''Oh my Lord. What in heavens is that'' He pointed excitedly behind my shoulder, I turned, and the door slammed shut in my face. Damn, Sam Spade never got caught out like this. Momentarily defeated, I walked down the path. ''Hey. I say'' Mr. Chummley Figgensworth was leaning triumphantly out of his lounge window. ''What?'' I muttered. ''Carol's Coiffeurs.'' ''Sorry?'' ''Carol's Coiffeurs, down at the Precinct. They'll sort you out!'' The window closed pretty smartish as what looked to be a fluffy yappy dog, leaped into, and then suddenly out of view, with the swish of a distressed-rose coloured certain. I was distressed, I smoothed at my unruly dreadlocks, as I planned my attack. Carol had done a good job. Checking out my newly rigid, militarily ordered curls in the rear view mirror, I had to admit that Mr. Chummley-Figgensworth had been right. I gave a final tug on my cigarette, then, under the cover of darkness, made my way towards Dunroamen. The dilapidated fence at the end of the garden would normally have presented no obstacles, but on this particular running-leap a twisted nail caught in my combat pocket and ripped a large piece of material completely away. My exposed thigh grazed nastily as I hit the ground in a record breaking skid. ''Damn'', I cursed, climbing to my feet. I limpedcrept towards the backdoor, intent on picking the lock and slipping into the flat, unaware that, as if waiting for me, Baby, sat patiently, watching my frustrated attempts at breaking and entering. ''Yap,'' yapped Baby. ''Baby?'' Could I be this lucky? ''Yap!'' Baby jumped up and down, excited by my presence she tugged at the leash which was loosely tied to the washing line, ''Ssh!'' I made quick work of the knot, and Baby jumped into my arms. ''Yap, Yap'' ''Ssh, Baby,'' I hissed. I didn't want her to wake Mr. Chummley-Figgensworth. I held her tightly as I negotiated the fence again, still not believing my luck. Baby felt soft and warm in my arms as I jog-limped to the car. Settling into the drivers' seat I noticed the warmth created by Baby quickly turned cold and smelly. My jumper and stomach were soaked through and I smelt like a skunk. ''Baby!'' I scolded. ''Yap,'' yapped baby from the passenger seat. I pushed her onto the floor and she jumped immediately into the passenger seat again. ''Yap!'' ''Okay, you win. But no more accidents.'' ''Yap, Yap,'' yapped Baby, and proceeded to relieve herself on the seat without even the grace to look embarrassed. I put my foot down on the accelerator. The sooner I returned this pole-cat-dog to her owner the better. Back at Mrs. Chummley-Figgensworth's house, I dragged the reluctant Baby up the drive, keen to get this smelly problem dog off my hands. Mrs. Chummley-Figgensworth was sure going to pay for this. I rang the doorbell with determination, and couldn't contain my surprise when the door was opened by not one, but two Chummley-Figgensworths. ''Wh what?'' I stuttered. ''Can we help you?'' ''I've got Baby,'' I mumbled, confused. ''Oh,'' said Mrs. Chummley-Figgensworth, ''You must be Sam Slain's mother. Where is Miss Slain?'' ''Why did she send her mum?'' Demanded Mr. Chummley-Figgensworth, sticking his nose in my face to get a better look. ''I'm not my mum,'' I snapped feeling very irritated with this couple. ''I'm Sam.'' ''Then why've you got a mums' hair-do?'' ''This isn't a mums' hair-do.'' ''It is, isn't it?'' Mrs. Chummley-Figgensworth turned to Mr. Chummley-Figgensworth for conformation, and the latter nodded his Carol's coiffured head in agreement. Almost self-consciously, I attempted to run my fingers through my hair, but they got caught, stuck solid half-way through the manoeuvre. I didn't want to offend them or anything, but we were all sporting the same hairstyles, except that hers was pink and his was lilac. ''Anyway,'' time to change the subject quickly, ''I've got Baby, and it appears that you've got Mr. Chummley-Figgensworth! What's going on?'' On hearing her name, Baby yapped loudly and tugged at the leash, simultaneously the Chummley-Figgensworths jumped backwards as if stung by twin killer bees. My super sleuth instincts detected a problem and an alarm went off in my head. I proffered baby's leash towards Mrs. Chummley-Figgensworth and again, the couple stepped backwards, exchanging worried glances. ''Here's your dog, I found her at Mr. Chummley-Figgensworth's flat.'' Again, they looked at each other, and I suddenly felt out of the loop. ''What's going on?'' ''Well dear,'' began Mrs. Chummley-Figgensworth. ''The situation is like this. Mr. Chummley-Figgensworth and myself were forced into a trial separation, due to um,'' she looked down at Baby and Baby promptly relieved herself on my boot, '' due to the Baby's slight bladder problem. Quite simply dear, she drove us apart.'' ''I couldn't stand the yapping, and all of those smelly wet patches, she ruined nearly all of my trouser suites,'' Mr. Chummley-Figgensworth piped in. ''Hang on a minute,'' things weren't adding up. ''Then why did you kidnap, dognap, her?'' ''To sell her on, to get rid of her, so I could return home to my lovely Petunia.'' Mr Chummley-Figgensworth put an arm around his lovely Petunia Chummley-Figgensworth and Petunia, in turn, simpered like a teenager with a crush. ''The trouble was that nobody wanted her, couldn't give her away. She's a pedigree Shiatsu too!'' ''And now?'' I prompted, the bad feeling still hanging around like Baby's bad smell. ''Well my dear, thanks to you we've resolved our problem.'' ''I don't understand,'' I really didn't. ''We've agreed that you can keep Baby,'' smiled Mrs. Chummley-Figgensworth, the smile seemed more than a little forced, and the door, I noticed, was slowly beginning to close. ''Of course, I will miss her but I'd much rather have my Cuthbert back home again.'' ''I can't have a dog,'' I stammered, ''I don't want a dog. She's smelly and she yaps and I don't like her very much. She wet me, my car and not to mention, you haven't even mentioned my fee for finding her!'' I was panicking, getting desperate, and the door was still closing. ''Oh look,'' shrieked Cuthbert Chummley-Figgensworth excitedly, pointing a nobly finger to the street behind me, I turned, and a door was slammed shut on me once again. ''Hey,'' I yelled through the letter box, ''that's not fair, and we haven't even talked about my fee.'' ''She's a pedigree, worth a fortune,'' came the letter box response. ''Huh, a fortune in dry cleaning,'' I muttered as we made our way down the drive. Oh well, Sherlock Holmes had Watson, Batman had Robin, and um, Turner had Hooch Right? So I've got Baby, I sort of reasoned as I slapped on another nicotine patch and put the car into gear. ''Come on Baby, on to the next job.'' Baby yapped and jumped onto the passenger seat, riding shotgun, as we drove off into the smelly sunset.
Archived comments for Don't Blame baby
bluepootle on 12-12-2008
Dont Blame baby
There's a lot to enjoy in this story! I liked the plot, and some of the tongue-in-cheek description is very strong. I also liked Irene Fish and the fountain/cigarette exchange etc.

I think your opening needs a bit of work. It feels a bit weak, and the 'suddenly' doesn't help. I'd try describing the street first, have her lighting her cigarette as she looks around (I love the bit about the decimal point changing place depending on the client), then remembering about the patch.

At the door, meeting the client - 'channel suite' - Chanel suit? Plus that initial description of the client doesn't show an emotional side. But she sobs while speaking later. I think we need to be told the emotion up front there.

I like Baby's 'Yap's. It gives the dog a character!

Author's Reply:
Dear Bluepootle,

Thanks so much for commenting on this story, it was a bit experimental, in that I've never tried to write anything funny, well not in prose anyway. Plus, my poor over-tired brain couldn't arrive at a sophisticated enough plot for a detective/thriller story, so I had to write it a little tongue-in-cheek.

As you have noticed I'm not much of a 'tag hag' hence my 'English channel suite' Ha ha. I'm an English language teacher, in a past life I taught A' level and GCSE, but sometimes my spelling can put into serious question my career choices.

Anyway, I'm really pleased you read and liked it.
Jackie

ruadh on 12-12-2008
Dont Blame baby
Some clever writing in this, I really enjoyed it. My only nitpick is to watch your punctuation. I only mention it because I had to re-read a couple of bits which interupted the flow of reading. An interesting character which I'll definately watch out for.

Author's Reply:
Dear Ruadh,

thanks for commenting on this story. I'm glad you liked Sam Slain, I'm thinking of doing something else with her, but at the moment I'm not sure what. And, my word, you are SO right about the punctuation. I have a terrible habit of over-punctuating, that which sounds right in my head, often doesn't translate into the heads of others. Plus, lately, I tend to write in the evening in the company of two much loved and cherished friends: glass of wine number 1 and glass of wine number 2. We won't talk about number 3. Ha Ha. But that's no excuse.

Hope to read something of yours soon.
Jackie


Weather Beaten (posted on: 05-12-08)
Weather Beaten.

Weather Beaten Thunder slaps. Crack. Crude lightening bolts blinker and blind. Rings in my ears. Tears run down the pain, leaving twisted trails of ruin again. And then of course, follows remorse. The clock brings a clear sober sky for the black and blue eye. You lick my wounds with sweet tea and promises to be so different and me? I stay, and as always I pray until a liquor curled lip, a bunched fist of thunder fractures the day. And from a grim cluster of cloud you reign again.
Archived comments for Weather Beaten
e-griff on 05-12-2008
Weather Beaten
God, yes, isn't it terrible what some men have to put up with from abusive wives? 🙂

Good thought.

Author's Reply:
Wow, JohnG, how did you guess that I was writing in the persona of a man? (NOT!!!)

Ha,ha. You are still making me laugh.

Jackie

Bradene on 05-12-2008
Weather Beaten
Well written piece on familiar theme, been there worn the tee shirt for a time, but eventually chucked it out. Hope this is just a bit of fiction. Great writing. Val

Author's Reply:
Dear Val,

I think the idea came from my sister who also wore the tshirt for a while, but I tower over my short, fat hubby, and if he raised a finger I'd bop him on the head. Ha ha.

Thanks for the comment.
Jackie

Mezzanotte on 05-12-2008
Weather Beaten
Dear Val,

I think the idea came from my sister who also wore the tshirt for a while, but I tower over my short, fat hubby, and if he raised a finger I'd bop him on the head. Ha ha.

Thanks for the comment.
Jackie

Author's Reply:

teifii on 07-12-2008
Weather Beaten
Another so common situation. Very well expressed. I like the allegorical use of the weather - and even the puns. Very clever poem.
Daff
Come and see me at my book shop http://www.merilang.co.uk/shop.htm


Author's Reply:

Sunken on 07-12-2008
Weather Beaten
Hello Ms. Jackie, it's me - sunken. I liked your poem. Like Ms. Daff, I also enjoyed the allegorical use of weather. I'm not exactly sure what 'allegorical' means, but I am sure that it's something really good. I'll look it up over a swiss roll later. I trust this comment has helped. Thank you.

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his confusion can be traced back to puberty

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

"Used in or characteristic of or containing allegory" Quotes my Wordweb dictionary. This should really clear things up.

????????????
Jackie

Albermund on 08-12-2008
Weather Beaten
Some really good stuff here, esp. "tears run down the pain" "liquor curled lip". Powerful poem and reads well. cheers, Albert

Author's Reply:
Thanks Albert. I'm glad that you liked it.

Jackie


Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame (posted on: 05-12-08)
I don't think that this is really erotica...but I slipped it in anyway.

Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame I look at the boy and wish he were a toy. My toy boy, that is! He makes my poor heart whirl, whiz. Stretched, still on the sand, his muscles are tanned, taut, trim, yes! So tight! If I could take abite! No, I mustn't go there - if I could, would I dare? I'll just rest herejust stare, at the soft downy hair which travels around his navelthen down to that place, just below, where my eyes shouldn't go. But with this vision in gold I'm no longer cold, and don't feel so dead, when my dentures clack in my head. In this tattered body I'm such an old foddy. But there's a passion within this wrinkled, worn skin. He lights up a fire. Yes, I still have desire. I shake and I shiver - a Zimmer-frame quiver. He makes my old ticker go twenty times quicker, and that's not a good thing for an eighty-something! Yet for me, he's the proof, that beauty means youth. That my lusty old ways have seen much better days. But sick and spoon-fed, I'm practically dead so to look at this boy is my 'soul' source of joy. Then, with my last sucking breath, I won't call for death, nor will I pray for my soul, that crippled, spent hole. No, I'll turn from the light and I'll rip, claw and bite! for a hot, flesh embrace. Now, to me that's God's face!
Archived comments for Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
e-griff on 05-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
I'm not going sunbathing next to old foddys then! I'd probably be too tempting for them. 🙂

Very funny.

Author's Reply:
Go on...Adonis.

Andrea on 05-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
Ah yes, tell me about it!

*heaves bosom nostalgically*

Author's Reply:
I know...why can't the desire weaken with the body?

Bradene on 05-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
Lol love this one. My thoughs should still be x rated sometimes and why not indeed. So amusing, cheered me up no end. Val

Author's Reply:
Absolutley, there's nothing wrong with fantasising.

Sunken on 06-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
'Zimmer frame quiver' - I like it. A refreshingly honest write, Ms. Jackie. Nice one.

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he doesn't trust cats

Author's Reply:
Hey Sunken! What do you mean by honest? How old exactly do you think I am?

Jackie.

Is that Bernard who doesn't trust cats?


Jolen on 06-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
All I can say is AMEN Sister! I fully plan on being a dirty old dame (why change?) til they burn my ass. I loved this, Jackie, it's rhythmic, funny and so very fun! I sent you an email with one typo correction of note, but damn this was good.
Keep up the fantastic work and thanks for the giggles. As you said, my latest post isn't a cherry one, but one I needed to get out.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Dear Jolen,

I've just now finished writing you an email, so I have little to say except, again, I am happy and relieved to have your stamp of approval...it means a lot.

Best wishes
Jackie

Corin on 06-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
Great stuff -should go in the "Wearing Purple" Anthology!

David

Author's Reply:
Dear David,
Is that the one where she says she'll wear purple when she's old and disgraces herself in public?...It rings a bell but I can't remember. Who wrote the poem, and or compiled the anthology?
Thanks for the comment
Jackie

Sunken on 07-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
Oh blimey. What have I said? Judging by the write... I'm kinda guessing... that you're in your eighties? There's nothing wrong with being in your eighties. Andrea, the boss, is in her eighties I think.
I hope my words here have gone some way to bridging the divide that might have otherwise come between us. Thank you.

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yes, it's me who doesn't trust cats

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

Damn, I was 39 until five months ago. But the way I feel most mornings I could do with a zimmer frame and a golden haired youth to lust at, instead I've got my three kids screaming for breakfast, the school run, and the dog who pees everywhere...ho-hum.

What divide?
Jackie

Albermund on 08-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
Feisty stuff, Esther. You were darned hot in that jungle. rgds Albert (the coy boy) Mundane 😉

Author's Reply:
Dear Albermund,

I think you've got the wrong person. My name's not Ester, and unfortunately, I've never been hot in a jungle.

Best wishes anyway
Jackie

Sunken on 08-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
Oh I thought there was a divide developing because of my assuming that you were the dusty old maid in the poem. Ahem. I now realise that you're neither dusty nor old. I shall no doubt misunderstand you again in the near future. It's my job after all 😉

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his love for her was communicated via cheese cake

Author's Reply:

Kazzmoss on 10-12-2008
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
This was fun, no one wants to admit thoughts likes these. I'm not that old, but yes, I've stared too!

Author's Reply:
There's never any harm in looking, it's good for the soul.

Hekkus on 17-05-2013
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
As a mere male, I'd say you struck a blow for women's lib! Old guys stare at bikini girls. so now you girls have got your own back, and well done! Clever rhyming too.

Author's Reply:

Hekkus on 17-05-2013
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
As a mere male, I'd say you struck a blow for women's lib! Old guys stare at bikini girls. so now you girls have got your own back, and well done! Clever rhyming too.

Author's Reply:

Hekkus on 17-05-2013
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
As a mere male, I'd say you struck a blow for women's lib! Old guys stare at bikini girls. so now you girls have got your own back, and well done! Clever rhyming too.

Author's Reply:

Hekkus on 17-05-2013
Dangerous Desires of a Dusty Old Dame
sorry about my comment appearing 3 times.

Author's Reply:


Just Like Juliet (posted on: 28-11-08)
This story isn't exactly 'flash fiction', but it's fiction all the same so here we go.

Just Like Juliet Do you like taking risks? Going that one step further than the rest, being unpredictable? Or are you like this heroine, always cautious, a planner, erring at all times on the safe side? Being a risk taker is not for this woman. No, things have to be very well planned, taken seriously, have predictable outcomes. No surprises here thank you very much. Plans, plans, plans. Perhaps you would like to see the best one of all. The plan of all plans. Would you like to come and watch it perform? There's been no dress rehearsal, but it'll be perfect. Perfect in its precisionYes? Come on then.come on -------------- And it's another evening. Slam the door on the raw, harsh air and slap down the blinds. Okay. The time has nearly come. After all this planning, you're now here to witness the results But there's no hurry. Shhstay here and wait a little. There's no need to rush into things. A weak light from the setting sun manages to penetrate the nearly closed blinds, staining the room with alternate grey and light stripes. Horizontal prison bars perhaps. Sadly poetic perhaps, well at least for him. Grey and light, light and grey. Grey betray. He'll be with her now. A quick half-hour tryst for a furtive fumble or frank talk about their future. Making their plans. Whatever! Stillnessand very nearly silence as the clock ticks and the light fades, leaving only shallow traces of itself. Mildly defined subtle shades of grey - the bars around the room, fading until nearly all is shadow. It takes courage or cowardice to take the next step. When one is only a vague trace of the original self there's not a lot left. Not a lot left to plan a death. It needs strength and conviction and very careful planning. It must be taken seriously - has been taken seriously. But now in these last minutes, the courage or cowardice needed to end a pathetic life is proving as elusive to capture as a once childlike belief in happy endings. He obviously still believes in them second time around of course. You see, he's planning to go; to make another happy ending with her. She's always here, in the background, foreground, around and around him with her smell - her perfume, her sweat. She's even in his eyesthe spring in his step. It makes me sick, it makes me sadfrightened too. For a brief time she was off the scene she'd backed off, or he'd finished it. Whatever! She left us alone and that was the main thing. He was here, as he should be making his love where it should be made. But she came back. He says he's tried, but he doesn't think he can leave her. Can't get her out of his stupid, bloody system. It's not even about the sex anymore, apparently. That crazy, heady, lusty, sexthe passion. No, not even that. She's reliable you see, he knows where he is with herhe says. She knows exactly how to keep him, to wrap him around her little finger, all of her bloody fingers it seems She won't go away will she? Well yes she will but only when he's gone with her. He's planning to leave. And he's planning to leave soon. But it's not going to happen. No, absolutely no, it's not going to happen. A death has been planned and according to plan it will be executed. One single fragile shard of greying light rests upon the coffee table, casting into its sad dying glow the simple brown glass bottle. The light dies but the bottle is still there small but potent. Its diminutive entirety able to provide death in minutes. No don't be alarmed, you're not about to witness a murder. Far from it although if she were to walk in right nownomustn't go there, got to remain focused. After all, the clock's ticking and there is, of course, the plan. It's quite simple really. You, the witness, you're here, an anonymous spectator, not to the end of a life but to the end of a way of life. You see the room, and you see the betrayed protagonist with a bottle of pills. And yes! You are very nearly rightbut not quite. Here is how it'll work: he'll arrive at 7 O'clock, precise, always reliable in his precision, if not his fidelity. But this time, when he arrives, they'll be no tears and desperation, none of the screaming and swearing which he so deplores. No crazy pendulum swing between begging submission and razor clawed attack. No this time, the woman whom he has grown to despise will be passive, neutral, silent and still as a statue still as death. Like Juliet: lying stony still, alive in death whilst waiting for Romeo. Alive in death, waiting, not dying well not quite yet. Not at seven O'clock. So do you see? It's all been carefully planned considered. He'll panic he'll freak. As he calls for an ambulance he'll realise the dreadful consequences of his bloody selfish actions. As he watches the pump empty the contents of the wretched stomach of a wretched woman the guilt will take him, make him its own and in turn, make him returnor at least buy some more time for the betrayed to make more plans to stop the betrayal. ''It's okay Pete, don't cry my love we can put this all behind us, start again.'' The words feel good, but sound strange as they're born into existence in this stone silent tomb of a room. What do you think? Not bad hey? ''We can make it work, you and I. We were once so in love, we can get there again!'' At this point your heroine will be crushed, consumed in a strong, yet repentant embrace. Then it will be just like it used to be. You may consider this course of action too dramatic, or indeed, believe that you're witnessing the delusions of mental illness. But wouldn't this situation make any woman in love insane! Insanein lovein loveinsane, the same thing, no? Perhaps you expect a twist to this tale. Maybe you think that he won't come home, and that this fake suicide will become the real thing. But you already know that Peter is reliable, and that the heroine of this drama doesn't take risks. No, nothing will go wrongit's all been planned and well planned plans go according to plan don't they? Okay. The waiting is over - it's time. 18:50. Ten minutes until he comes. There are twenty small blue capsules. One induces sleep in ten minutes, could indeed knock out an elephant. Twenty - now that'll be spectacular! A trembling hand reaches out to take the bottle, making the pills dance noisily in their glass enclosure. The top is off, have to be quick the clock is ticking. This hand is shaking too much, the pills are going to tip all over the bloody carpet can't have that. Can't be crawling around on all fours when he comes in this is a tragic scene, not a comedy - have to be in repose, statue-still, alive in deathjust like Juliet. Bottle straight to the lips and in they go. Not going to waste one that's not the plan. Okay, a sip of water, and the twenty have gone, dispatched to do their worst, or their best, to save a life rather than take one. Eight minutes remaining. Now, have to make it to the bedroom. Come on, come this way, come and view the final scene of this act. It's painted in tragedy - but painted only. Wow, head rush. The room is spinning, grey on grey whirling, swirling shades of colourless colour. Butmm, the bed, feels so good. ''Mm'' exhale, breathe slowly, but don't forget to breathe. Still, be still, be just like Juliet. Eyelidsso heavy, so heavy so ''Damn,'' should have left a note for greater dramatic effect. A note just like the one on the bedside table. ''What!'' A note! And his wedding ring! ''Whwhat?'' I don't understand, his ring was on the bedside table. Now it's gonehe's put it back on! ''Oh, Christ, oh no.'' The note, brief but blurred, the words swim in and out of focus on the current of disbelief, then drowning, run down the page, streaming tears of black ink. ''I'm sorry, but I really miss my wife and she's agreed to take me back. Try to forgive me, and be happy. Pete.'' And the note a white dove of freedom flutters from these hands. Terror clamps its fist tight around this wretched gut, holding the tablets fast, as the bed reaches up with its soft, cushiony, but terrible embrace. So heavy the eyes. Christparalysed. These heavy, heavy lids and lashes, heavy tears ''Ccan you help me?'' Grey and grey and black bla ... .. .
Archived comments for Just Like Juliet

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The First Time - (a true story) (posted on: 28-11-08)
I've been writing erotic poetry now for lets see...um...six days. So I'm a bit of a novice. In fact I wouldn't really call this an 'erotic poem' at all, more smutty images shaped by words that rhyme. Anyway, I'd like to thank Jolen, the true mistress of the genre for the inspiration.

The First Time (A True Story) Taken by doubt it couldn't be stranger, I do not even know your name. But your eyes are kind, there's no real danger. I have to trust, I'm yours the same. Anticipation, a twinge of regret, I undress my flesh and recline. Here in your hands and we've only just met. My maiden skin yours now, not mine. ''Stay still and don't tense. No, don't even flinch To some the pain is a pleasure.'' And so you enter and take, inch by inch My searing flesh in your measure. A slight pearl of sweat, a fine focused face, You drill at and fill in my whole. Then spill into me, that which can't be effaced The stain of your toil, my goal. Both seeing stars, in contentment I pay, Still sore from your touch too taboo. Now with delight I can view every day, My indigo star, my tattoo!
Archived comments for The First Time - (a true story)
e-griff on 28-11-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
hah hah! I don't like mucky stuff, but I had a read anyway.

you minx!

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

I'm glad you read it. I have a problem writing naughty words and blush like a teenager. I think there is a very fine line between erotica and pornography. I'm walking the fine tightope at the moment and when I slip, hope to fall on the side of the former.

Jackie

Jolen on 28-11-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
Super clever work, my dear, Jackie! You did gooooooooooood!

I hope this finds you well and I will try to write you soon.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thank you my dear,

the bench mark was high. Hope all is well and look forward to hearing from you.

Jackie.

Sunken on 29-11-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
Ahem. Well, Ms. Jackie, I read your poem with my laptop perched, as the name would imply, on my lap. Thankfully I was able to catch it in time (-; Ahem. I trust this speaks more than I ever could. Both my appendage and I enjoyed muchly.

s
u
n
k
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he was raised by benny from abba

Author's Reply:

Munster on 29-11-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
Hi, liked the poem, its hard as you mention to keep the a piece on the straight, which I must add you managed perfectly.

Tony

Author's Reply:
Thanks a lot Tony,

it wasn't easy at all. The poem's followed me around all week, it's been to the supermarket, come with me to work, and picked my kids up from school. So now that I've sent it out into this virtual world alone, I'm pleased to see it's fairing okay.

Thank you for liking it.
Jackie


BaBy_PoeT on 29-11-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
wow.. lol but i assumed it was a filling in the tooth, oh well better luck next time.
you did well,especially the rhyming it flowed, in some poems it sounds more forced and doesnt quite fit in but yours was done quite well.
take care
looking to read more of your post!
xXxBPxXx

Author's Reply:
Oooh! Having a tooth filled is much more gruesome and painful than having a tattoo.

I'm glad that you thought that the poem flowed. It's so difficult saying what you want to say, with a limited number of syllables which also have to rhyme...rhyme and flow that is. But I enjoy the challenge, even if my work can be a bit hit and miss.

Thanks for the comment BP
Jackie


Sunken on 29-11-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
Lol. I just read Ms. Poet's comment. How cute is that? Where did my innocence go? I had another read whilst I was here too. I'm hoping a Bernard (my own dodgy version of uka's very own 'nib') won't offend.

s
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k
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n




Author's Reply:

Mezzanotte on 29-11-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
You know Sunken, my family had a beagle when I was a child, I don't know whether it was a communist or not, although by the way it hogged the warmth from the fireplace, I don't think it was.

Anyway, the bloody thing used to bite me all the time, and my mum used to take its part over mine. So, until today I've naturally harboured a bit of a grudge against the breed. However, when I saw Bernard looking out at me from my lap top this evening I was so happy I could have jumped through a hoop, or given my paw...had I had one to give of course.

Oh, and on the subject of laptops, I'm so sorry to hear about your computer's close shave with death. I'm a laptop lover myself and would never knowlingly put one in danger. So please don't hold it against me...Ha ha.

Jackie


Author's Reply:

Sunken on 04-12-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
Sorry if Bernard caused you any psychological relapses, Ms. Jackie. The last thing he'd do is hog the warmth from your fireplace. He's more at home in the snow. I blame the cold war. To be frank, he's not that much of a communist. He just likes the cap. I think you'll agree, it does suit him?

s
u
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k
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his television aerial is pointed towards mars

Author's Reply:
Yes, he does look rather dashing.

Bradene on 04-12-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
Fantastic piece of work, something I would have been proud to write well done. Val

Author's Reply:

Bradene on 04-12-2008
The First Time - (a true story)
Fantastic piece of work, something I would have been proud to write well done. Val

Author's Reply:
Thank you Val, that's a real compliment. i wish I could say that it just flowed from my pen...but that would be a big fat lie. It took days of lip chewing and frowning and gave me a massive headache, but I'm happy with the result.

Jackie


Fragile (posted on: 21-11-08)
A short story which could be made shorter, but I quite like its repetition.

Fragile He's late. I've been waiting for fifteen minutes and he still hasn't come. Christ it's cold, dark too. Andgreat! Now it's started to rain icy, sharp drops which sting the skin. But, if I'm honest, the rain doesn't really bother me - I'm too preoccupied by his absence to worry about a few nasty little raindrops. One, two, three, fourcounting helps, gives me something to focus on. Five, six, I'm wet through; strands of lank, cold hair stick to my cheeks, and cling to the back of my neck. Seven, eight, my fingers and toes are numb, but this discomfort doesn't distract me from my purpose. I can wait, oh yes, I'm very patient. Nine, ten. Stiff. I'm stone. Don't want to move, but have to check the notebook again. Rummage through this bag. Too big, too bloody disorganized. Ha, like me and my life. My hand is damp, it sticks to the bag's lining. Damn. But here we are got you! Notebook. Turn to Thursday. Yes, he's due to leave work at 6 pm. Really, don't need to check the book at all, but do it anyway, need to feel good, to feel that all will be okay - I've got all of his movements impressed into every corner of my head and twitch of this bloodshot eye. A black fist of cloud passes overhead. Keep staring at his office window. While the light's on I know he's there and know more or less, what he's doing feel easieralthough for me that bloody place is impenetrable. God it frustrates mereally want to know exactly what he's up to every minute of his working day. Sometimes I call his extension number, just to be sure that he's where he should be and doing what he should be doing. Of course, I always hang up. Eleven, twelveWait and watchand watch and wait. And count. There goes the lightandandfinally he's out. Yes, he's coming, he's leaving the building. Sshstep back into the shadows. Hugging his coat tightly to his body, he lowers his head against the night and steps out into the rain. Whilst he walks quickly to his car, I run to mine. From stone to muscle, my legs are painful and reluctant to move, but the adrenalin hits. Whoosh. Ha ha. It's started powering through my veins, stone to muscleYes! I make it to my car before the bunched black cloud opens and the icy rain becomes a torrent which overwhelms the street. But here I am, it's okay, start the engine but no lights, not yet Okay, here we go signal and manoeuvre. As usual I need at least two cars between us. Adrenalin crazes my senses, crippling any desire for rationality. Okay - second junction. If he takes a left, he's going to his girlfriend's house, if he takes the right, he's going home to his wife. ''Which will it be tonight Mr. Brown?'' The sound of my own voice comforts me, my only bitter companion throughout the long hours. The rain's maddening the windshield, slap slap slapsslapslapslapslapslapslapslap. Squinting can't see a bloody thing. The windscreen wipers only give me one second of clear vision at a time. Red and orange lights flash and blur in front of me. The wipers with their dull squeak move, left, right, left, right. ''Squeak, squeak. Is Mr. Brown going left or right tonight? Left or right? Left or right? Left or right tonight?'' Then he turns. The bright orange haze of his indicator moves right. ''So, it's home to the wife is it?'' Follow him as usual; be careful, not too close. I know exactly where he's going, and indeed, could take a different route, less suspicious, but I enjoy the challenge. I feel excited, and again, feel a sense of power. He pulls into the drive, and buried under his coat as a famous pop star, or notorious criminal, runs inside the house. Turn off the engine and sit, alone. Always alone and always anonymous in my car. I watch his house. The rain's pounding the car roof, the doors, the windscreen. I like it, but it bewilders my vision. Damn, I can't see the house clearly, can't see a bloody thing, but it's okay because I know that he's in there. He'll already be under a hot shower, wondering how he can reject the desperate advances of his fat, ugly wifeor thinking, dreaming about his beautiful, blonde girlfriend. Who am I kidding? I don't know what Mr. Brown thinks about when he's under the shower. I have no more access to his private thoughts than to his private life. But I know what he does every minute he's living that life. Ha. ''I know what you're up to Mr. Brian Brown, and I think you're a very naughty, man!'' The time has come to take some action. Adrenalin, here we go. Take the key out of my pocket, it's cold like hoarfrost, squeeze it tight in my hand, feel its engraved icy hardness bite and numb my palm. One, two, three. Step out into the rain and walk slowly towards the house. No rush Inside, it's hot, bright and sterile; he's still under the shower. Ssh, creep up the stairs and wait outside the bathroom. I watch the door and I waitI'm very, very patient. Suddenly, the door opens, and in a swirl of steam he appears. ''Jesus, you frightened me to death,'' he snaps. ''What the hell are you doing standing there?'' Heart jumps, sinks, then splits. Can't find the words, thinkquick, think, quick, quick. ''I was wondering if you had enough clean towels.'' He pushes me aside to walk into the bedroom. I follow. He's naked except for a small towel wrapped around his waist. ''I'm fine.'' ''Here,'' I hurry to his wardrobe, ''I'll get you some clean clothes.'' He grabs my arm. ''Janet, I can do it!'' ''Okay.'' I stand in the doorway, and watch him. Brian doesn't look his age. He goes to the gym three times a week during his lunch break. He's in very good shapea fine figure of a man. Hard, muscled arms and legs, a flat stomach. There's that stirring again, from within, it arches and rolls - then stretches down, prickly, hot ''I can get dressed on my owndo you mind?'' ''Oh, sorry,'' Face is burning, curling in on itself. I'm the ugly manifestation of his loathing. ''Shall I get your dinner?'' ''No, I'm not hungry.'' ''But it's lasagne, you like that.'' So want to say the right thing but get everything wrong. ''I'm not hungry.'' Now he's getting irritable. Must try to shut up. He never bothers to mask his impatience with me. I always get on his nerves. Tonight, in bed, as always, I'll lie as close as I possibly can without touching him and I'll still sense his irritation at my presence - even though he has his back turned on me. My need to touch and be touched by Brian is a physical pain. It shoots down my arms it paralyses and brings intense misery I towel dry my hair and put on a dry tracksuit, maybe he'll be hungry later. ''Brian?'' Footsteps - he's sprinting down the stairs. God no! Quick, must get to him. I smell his aftershave and my heavy heart, my hopes slump. ''Brian?'' I follow him downstairs. ''Where are you going?'' ''Out.'' ''But it's cold Brian, and it's raining, you don't want to go out in that surely?'' ''I'll see you later.'' Shrugging into a dry coat, he's half way out the door when I grab him, too hard I know, but I'm desperate. He looks at me, scalded, I let go. ''I said I'll see you laterdon't wait up.'' He closes the door, it's final. I breathe in all that's left of him an empty space and his aftershave. Quick, must be quick. Okay, back in the car. Follow him as usual. I know exactly where he's going, and indeed, could take a different route, less suspicious, but I enjoy the challenge. I feel excited, and again, feel a sense of power. He pulls into her drive, and buried under his coat as a famous pop star, or notorious criminal, he runs inside her flat. Turn off the engine and sit, alone. Always alone and always anonymous in my car. I watch her flat. The rain's pounding the car roof, the doors, the windscreen. I like it, but it bewilders my vision. Damn, I can't see the flat clearly, can't see a bloody thing. But if I creep into the garden I can see inside her home very well. One, two, three, fourcounting helps, gives me something to focus on. Keeps me calm. Five, six, I'm wet through, strands of lank, cold hair stick to my cheeks, and cling to the back of my neck. Seven, eight, my fingers and toes are numb, but this discomfort doesn't distract me from my purpose. Oh yes, I can wait, I'm very patient. Nine, ten. Stiff. I'm stone. The curtains aren't drawn, and from my crouching, but prime position, I watch the show. He cups her the sides of her face as he kisses her, to hold her steady whilst he moves in deep, for his passion, in deep for his kiss. Christ, I feel so lowbut alsoalso excited! Eleven, twelve. I feel that familiar stirring in my stomach, it arches, rolls and then stretches down, hot, electricHis passionsuch a passion. He slips her size zero negligee from her shoulders and carries her to the sofa. And they move together, whilst I squat in the rain and the mudon my own, alone, and watch, and wait and wishtwelve, thirteen, fourteen. Wish I could look away, but can't stop myself. Watch and wait. My breathing increases with their passion. My open palms push up against the window, my forehead hard against the frozen glass. From below my eyebrows I watch as they make their love Later, he kisses her tenderly on the lips, and slips out into the night. Back to the wife, but he'll sleep in the spare room, he always does after he's been with her. But the wife won't be there''Where's your wife Mr. Brown? You don't know or care do you?'' My whispered question, wrapped in a swirl of hot breath, floats away unanswered into the bitter night. She'll already be in a hot bath now, wondering how he can possibly bare to return to his fat, ugly wifeor thinking, dreaming about his hard, muscled arms and legs, his flat stomachtheir lust for each other. Who am I kidding? I don't know what Ms. Blake thinks about when she's in the bath. I have no more access to her private thoughts than to her private life. ''But I know what you're up to Ms. Blake, and I think that you're a very naughty girl!'' My voice - an ugly rasp surprises and frightens me a little. The time has come to take some action. Adrenalin, here we go. Take the key out of my pocket, it's cold like hoarfrost, squeeze it tight in my hand, feel its engraved icy hardness bite and numb my palm. One, two, three. Now, step out from the bushes and walk slowly towards the flat. No rush Inside, it's warm, candlelight flickersfertile; she's still in the bath. Creep my way across her lounge to the bathroom. There's still his smell, his sweat, that aftershave And I feel, oh, I don't know - feel a bone splinter in my skull. Snap inside. Inside my head. The negligee still lays discarded on the floor. I look around, the room. She doesn't towel dry her hairshe doesn't she doesn't she doesn't I walk, that's it, keep walking towards the bathroom. Ssh! And wait outside and watch the door. Watch and waitI'm very patient. See my hand, it's stretching out in front of me. It trembles as it touches, then pushes open the door. And in a swirl of steam she appearslying, eyes closed, covered in bubbles. She hears the hairdryer and her eyes fly open. She jumps, shocked. The hairdryer is a salon professional which, like a size zero, seems to be the trend these days. It has a multi speed and heat settingand a long leadwhich can dangle provocatively from my raised hand, whilst stretching from the power point in the lounge. ''How'd you get in,'' she yells. Yaps, barks. Ha Ha. ''Taking your house key from my husband's pocket and making a copy is hardly rocket science.'' ''You're crazy,'' she says, her eyes don't leave the hairdryer as it hangs, inches above her bath. ''I know, he's always telling me that too.'' ''What are you going to do with that?'' ''I don't know,'' I may be crazy, but I'm also honest. ''I know that I want my husband back.'' I swing the hairdryer a little, and her large brown eyes widen. It excites and gives me a sense of power. I feel comfortable with this shift in command. ''He's my husband.'' ''Yes, but he doesn't love you,'' the hairdryer still swings, her eyes still follow. ''Yes, I know thatbut I love him.'' ''You're obsessed by him you mean,'' her eyes are still fixed on the hairdryer. ''You never give him any space you don't let him breathe. You're always in his face. Every time he turns around, there's his fat, frumpy, crazy wife. 'Where have you been? What are doing? What are you thinking about? Do you still love me?''' She mimics my voice, anger contorts her pretty face whilst mine is crumpling. I think it's on fire, I'm a volcano, big, ugly and potentially vicious. Something's boiling, bubbling in my brain. The hairdryer nearly slips from my fingers, and she jumps, sending a spray of water across the bathroom. ''Be careful!'' I warn. She has a temper though, and now she's not even listening to me. ''He despises you, you're needy and neurotic; a spineless and pathetic excuse for a woman. If anything did happen to me, he still wouldn't want you.'' ''Well, shall we put that to the testwhat do you say?'' ''You wouldn't dare,'' her eyes slide from the hairdryer to me. And she fixes me with her beautiful angry eyes. And she doesn't look away. Sneering with scorn and contemptthe same as him, she stares at me, challenges me. Scorn and contempt. She watches and she waits. Her face is becoming his, his, hers, hers his his hers hers his his. Boom. My volcano head pounds aches. I feel sick. Sigh. Boom. Boom. Cry, maybe die. My head's inside out. The bathroom's beating, swelling like a white ceramic heart. Feeling suddenly very weary. Boom, boom. She's shouting at me. God, I can barely hear her. ''Wh, what?'' ''I said turn the hairdryer off and put it down.'' I do as she says and rest it on the floor, as a caught criminal might surrender a gun. ''Now get out of my flat, you crazy, old bitch, and shut the door behind you,'' I turn to leave. She, like him, is stronger than me, they're right, the pair of them. I am pathetic - pathetic, neurotic, old, fat and ugly. God how I hate myself. Shoulders sag. I sag and drag under the weight of my self loathing. He broke my heart and they, together, have broken my spirit. It happens quickly. As I turn to leave, she leaps from the bath, and her slippery wet foot, lands heavily on the hairdryer which is on the slippery wet floor. Losing her balance, her feet fly high into the air, and falling heavily backwards, her head cracks on the edge of the bath. It makes a muted, stomach turning thud. And I watch as thick, purple blood begins to run down the back of her neck, and pool into blackness on the bathroom floor. Her eyes continue to stare, but this time, vacant and lifeless they stare at nothing. I feel no horror or pity - just extreme relief. This lack of basic, human compassion disappoints, but doesn't surprise me. Relief, and only relief. Wait and watchand count. One, two, three, fourWhen her life blood stops running, and her blushing skin turns blue, I step closer. Slowly, sshtouch her just softly and just once. I lightly run my fingers down the length of her perfectly dead body. He loved this body - but she no longer arches and sighs at a delicate touch. She's cold and will never respond to touch againhis touch again. Outside the night's still chilly, but it's stopped raining and the world is clear. Turning briefly I shut the door as instructed. Then, no rush, I follow the shadows to my car. Driving home, all the windows open, the air is crisp and fresh. Invigorating. A crescent moon gives a lovely lopsided smile. Now what's this? Ha! I'm humming, thought I'd forgotten how to do that. Wow it feels good. Smile with the moon. My shoulders no longer heavy. Home again. Ssh. Creep into the spare room. Brian's sleeping like a baby. I silently pull a chair close to his bed. We'll stay like this for a while. Just Brian and me and me and Brian. Watching Brian while he sleeps, my favourite, my only hobby. He snores slightly, his bare chest moves up and down as he breathes. I wonder if he's dreaming, and if so, what he's dreaming of. ''My poor babyso fragile.'' Only a whisper. ''You'll need me tomorrow won't youand of course I'll be thereI'll always be there''
Archived comments for Fragile
Ania on 21-11-2008
Fragile
This piece gripped me. I liked not quite knowing who was the waiting watcher at first. Was it it an ex, or even a private detective? When she entered the house the odds were on a muderous ex, so I liked the discovery that it was his wife. Then her jealousy and instability really takes off...
I thought the repetion worked really well as it underlines her obsessive behaviour.

Keep the work coming, Ania

Author's Reply:
Dear Ania,

Thank you for your comment. I was hoping that the anonymity of the watcher would draw these conclusions from the reader.
I've had the story criticised by a writing magazine for its repetition, but I included it to underline the protagonist's obsessive behaviour, exactly as you noted.
Thank you for 'getting' exactly what I was attempting to portray, and for your kind comments.
Jackie

sirat on 22-11-2008
Fragile
A very gripping and well-crafted piece. As you say it could be told in fewer words but those extra words weren't wasted. The best short story (I wouldn't call it a novella) that I've read here for some time. Well done.

Author's Reply:
Wow, thanks for the compliment Sirat. You've really made my day, well, my Saturday evening, no....my whole weekend. Thank you.

And you are quite right, this is not a novella, neither is it flash fiction, being new here I wasn't sure where to put it.

Where would you have placed a story like this? I know you're not going to say the trash bin so I feel safe asking the question.

Thanks again.
I look forward to reading some of your work.
Jackie

e-griff on 23-11-2008
Fragile
Like David says, this is very good. Overall, I'm not sure really if the girl-friend's death is needed or not, whether it would be stronger by not being so sensational - I'm wavering between.

Assume that, as i've already expressed my overall opinion on this above, the following is minor (but I believe justified) critique of some issues.

I had, throughout, some small editorial issues with punctuation, especially with the counting, but my major problem was with the absence of a subject (eg. ... runs in the house. Turn off the engine ...) in what seemed an erratic manner. I'm not averse to such techniques, they can heighten interest and convey immediacy, but I think consistency is called for, or the reader may be distracted from the story by the mechanics. Often such headless sentences are preceded by a dash to signal what is going on. But here, I think in many cases the immediacy etc would not be harmed by using a subject, but more importantly it would remove small potential glitches (for some readers), so widening your appeal to all.

In only two places did I have a small thought. 'Rummage through this bag' seemed wrong to me, you are assigning a positioning to her and the bag which isn't consistent with the rest - 'my bag' would sit better. And 'twitch of this bloodshot eye.' fails for me completely - one for the same reason, but mainly because you are mixing 'movements impressed into ... head' (which is okay) with the twitch (ie how can his movements be impressed in a twitch - summat wrong there)

Told you they were small. But when something is good, you begin to notice tiny imperfections more than when they are en masse ...

Very good writing, IMO.

best JohnG

Author's Reply:
Dear JohnG,

Thanks for the critique and the compliments. Through reading your criticisms, I can see that you know your stuff, so a compliment from you really does have value. In fact, I complimented Sunken on his critiques, saying each one was a mini-tutorial, but so silly me, I'd confused him for you. Well, at least you know you are appreciated now.

Now, these headless sentences, I agree that for many they would be glitches in the flow of the narrative, however, they are intrinsic to my writing. I love the 'stream of consciousness' style of writing, although, I must admit, that after many attempts, I still have never managed to finish Joyce's 'Ullyses'. I believe, as you mentioned that these type of sentences heighten interest and convey immediacy, but even more for me, they allow the reader to enter into the protagonists head, therefore IMO making them more believable. Perhaps in this story I should have done it more, or even less.

Your second point of 'this bag. I don't understand what 'assigning a positioning to her and the bag' means. I'd really like to understand it, so I would really appreciate it if you could take the time to explain this stange term for me. However, your second point regarding the 'twitching eye', I do appreciate.

Again, thanks so mych for the critique
Jackie

BaBy_PoeT on 23-11-2008
Fragile
wow... i think this was a brilliant stroy.. i really enjoyed it. and the repetition really worked and emphasised on the wife's feelings and the crazyness in her. But i do not blame her or him. i think you can make this into a greate novel by continueing it and maybe by being more in depth at the begining. But it deffinatly worked as a short story. !!! take care
xXxBPxXx

Author's Reply:
Dear BP,

Thank you for your kind comments. I also think it would be an interesting idea for a novel, but I've spent so much time on this, i just can't bear to touch it anymore.

Thanks again
Jackie

Jolen on 24-11-2008
Fragile
I told you that you had a wonderful grasp of the interaction between people, as this clearly shows. Very fine work and I'm thrilled to see it nibbed and nominated. You're going from strength to strength. I love it!
Perfect title too!

Congrats again,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Wow,

thanks Jolen. I did actually put in rather a lot of hours in rewrites with this one, so i'm glad my hard work is being appreciated. I'm Looking forward to your next email.

For you - always my very best wishes
Jackie

e-griff on 24-11-2008
Fragile
on the 'this' - since you asked, I guess what was in my mind is the general mood of narration. In simple narration, words like there, here, this, that, then are usually avoided as they imply a relative 'position' in time or space to the narrator, who is in fact outside the time and space of the plot itself. Here you could argue that this is a first person narration and the narrator therefore does have a 'position'. However it still 'felt' odd to me at least. Changing it to 'my' removes any similar objections from others and affects the story not one jot, so ...

best JohnG

ps Me and Sunky? - two halves of the same coin, to be sure ...

Author's Reply:


Something Bad (posted on: 21-11-08)
A poem about addiction...for both writing and 'Happy' pills.

Something Bad Something bad is going to happen. Livid pen-strikes ink my rage. The sheet, unbound, now shifts and slackens. A rip in reason scars the page. Scrolling screens, a scream, confusion Can't pace my breath my racing heart. Shivers, shocks of fear delusion? The pen snaps, shatters, spikes the dark. The page is torn, the page is barren. Fractured nights and fevered brain. Something bad is going to happen. Time for Cipralex again.
Archived comments for Something Bad
Sunken on 21-11-2008
Something Bad
Hello Ms. Jackie. A dark piece and no mistake. I had to google Cipralex (an antidepressant) as I stupidly thought it was some kind of automated comfy chair. Ya know, the type that old people have in order to help them to stand-up from a sitting position? I think Andrea (the boss) has one. Your poem makes much more sense now that I have the facts. Isn't the internet marvellous? A deeply brooding sub and no mistake.

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faulty electric toaster blamed for madonna's marital woes

Author's Reply:
Dear Sunken,

After I posted the piece I did think that I should have placed a comment explaining what Cipralex is, but you weren't too far off in your supposition...it does indeed help one to stand up from a sitting position.

Thanks for the comment
Jackie

sirat on 22-11-2008
Something Bad
I thought this was very effective (and I'm not much of a poetry person at all). We use Cipralex and cheaper generic equivalents at work, so to speak, but to save people the trouble of Googling I wondered if the phrase 'happy pills' might be used instead of the trade name? I think it would still scan pretty well, and maybe even inject an extra morsel of cynicism. Anyway, it works very well.

Author's Reply:
Dear Sirat,
you are right, 'happy pills' would scan, and clear things up greatly for the reader, whilst playing nicely on the word 'happy', but I quite often use my poetry as bookmarks in my life, and one day I'd like to read it again and think, ah, that was the tablet that cured then killed. I'm sure, with your knowledge of medicine you know what I'm talking about.

Thank you so much for the suggestion, and thanks again for your comment about 'Fragile', can't stop smiling - you work better than Cipralex.
Jackie

Ionicus on 22-11-2008
Something Bad
Quite a daunting poem, cara Mezzanotte, but effective. Well done. I too must confess my ignorance about Cipralex. One lives and learns.
Ciao.

Author's Reply:
Grazie Ionicus,

sei molto gentile. I'm sensing a little Italian in the air here. I'm not saying that you are a 'little Italian' although many are. I'm glad you found it daunting, my poetry is quite often dark, and this wasn't meant to be a comfortable poem.

Perhaps I should take your lead and submit something a little more lighthearted next time.
Ci sentiamo.
Jackie

e-griff on 23-11-2008
Something Bad
well, I don't know 'Cipralex' but it is more than clear what it is from the context - no need to explain it more.

I did wonder though if the last line could appear comic and destroy the quite serious mood of the rest of the poem (it did for me). Given the serious build up, it's almost a cop-out to throwaway a comic line. I'd think about replacing the last two lines with something telling, black and depressing that would strike home.

I found the rhythm and rhyme fine throughout, working well with the subject, kind of manic roller-coaster ride.

On the current, I found a few small suggestions:

Livid pen-strikes ink my rage. (fits rhythm better IMO)

Can’t pace my breath, my racing heart. (typo, and comma gives necessary pause to fit rhythm)

The pen snaps, shatters, spikes the dark. (the previous dash suggests too much of a pause which conflicts with the rhythm)

Time for Cipralex again. (if you keep this line, think this has more (if trad) impact.

best, JohnG





Author's Reply:
Wow, What a detailed critique, thank you so much for taking time to think about, and comment on my poem. As you can see, I considered your points and changed the poem accordingly. And, you were completely right, it now reads much better without the stumbling blocks of bad syntax and spelling - I always get breathe and breath confused, they're words I always have to stop and think about, and unfortunately I tend to use them a lot...and get them mixed up alot.

I didn't agree however, with your comment about the final two lines being comic. I wanted to repeat the first line of the poem as the penultimate line, as a sudden withdrawl from Cipralex can leave one with a hunted feeling, of very bad forboding, which to me was serious enough for emphasis. However, I do agree that the final line is more forceful by omitting the 'it's'.

Again.
Thank you so much for your comments.
Jackie

BaBy_PoeT on 23-11-2008
Something Bad
i figured out what Cipralex was thanks to the knowledge that i gain about medicine while working with doctors and in a pharmacy. !! but back to your poem...
a very dark but well written poem that i enjoyed very much.. looking forward to your future posts.!!!
take care
xXxBPxXx

Author's Reply:
Dear BP,

Glad you liked the poem. Looking forward to reading some of your work

Jackie

Jolen on 24-11-2008
Something Bad
Congrats on the nib, Jackie. This was very effective. I'm not hip to the drug de jour, but will research it now, however, you don't have to be to understand the feelings here. I have been a drug addict and you summed up many of my days very well. Very fine work.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Thanks Jolen,

I'm glad that you recognised what I was hoping to convey in this poem. Now, I'm being really sincere when I ask, 'have you written, or ever thought about writing your autobiography?'. I really believe it would be a fascinating read.

e-griff on 24-11-2008
Something Bad
Hmm -don't want to bang on, but ... I tend to sigh when authors say 'I'm happy with it ...' etc. Not directed at you specifically, but my general view is that (of course) an author is usually happy with what they write. The point really is: what do your readers think? Now, to be clear, I am not insisting I am 'right' - mine is one view only. I might be the only person who sees the end that way, I agree. (May be my sense of humour! 🙂 )

best JohnG

Author's Reply:
HA HA.

You're OK JohnG. I like you.

And I still like my poem.

Jackie


A Beautiful deformity (posted on: 17-11-08)
A lot of my poems come from dreams. This night I dreamt about an abused tree? Makes no sense to me either!

A Beautiful Deformity Willowy, wild and free I wrap my earth in a rooty embrace. With curious fingers sway to the gods. trace a way to the gods. Then you came. Tongue - sweet. Drop silver words to slip and steal between silken sheet leaves. And you snatch me. With greedy, clutching hands you pluck me. My downy fruit flush, you take and crush me. My velvet and gold, sold for a garland of flimsy words. And you slice me down. You bend and shape me, strip, saw break me. Against my grain again you take me. Pin, polish make me. A freak to show. A beautiful deformity. Groundless. My satin smooth back hosts your desires. My forever opened legs carry the weight of your wants. Hold you dinner parties.
Archived comments for A Beautiful deformity
Jolen on 17-11-2008
A Beautiful deformity
Oh Jackie, this is a great piece of metaphoric beauty...Subtle yet powerful! I can very much see this being about a woman, all women to some degree. Great descriptive lines and you leave plenty of room for the reader to draw their own conclusions. A great read in my book.

blessings,
Jolen

Author's Reply:
Dear Jolen,
Thank you very much indeed for your comments, having read some of your work I feel really flattered that you like it and can see something good in it. You're the first person to have read this, ever, and I really wasn't sure if it was clever or just stupid ( a very fine line in my work). You've given me some peace in this dilemma. I might relax a little more with my second submission...maybe.
Today I feel like a poet...Hooray!!!
Best wishes
Jackie


Sunken on 19-11-2008
A Beautiful deformity
Ahem. Blimey. You're a bit fresh and no mistake. I enjoyed your piece, but probably for all the wrong reasons (-; Welcome to uka. I'm the site's janitor by the way, so any problems you might encounter regarding cleansing issues can be directed to my good self. Thank you.

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he stinks of bleach

Author's Reply:
Comment posted by Mezzanotte (20-11-2008 12:40) Send Mezzanotte a Private Message

Dear Sunken,

it's nice to meet you, but what does a site janitor do exactly?
I read your poem 'For Dust' and really enjoyed it but couldn't think of anything intelligent to say, so didn't leave a comment.

By the way, I find your criticism of authors' work really interesting. Each one a mini tutorial. You sure know your stuff.

Jackie


Mezzanotte on 20-11-2008
A Beautiful deformity
Dear Sunken,

it's nice to meet you, but what does a site janitor do exactly?
I read your poem 'For Dust' and really enjoyed it but couldn't think of anything intelligent to say, so didn't leave a comment.

By the way, I find your criticism of authors' work really interesting. Each one a mini tutorial. You sure know your stuff.

Jackie

Author's Reply:

Sunken on 20-11-2008
A Beautiful deformity
Ahem. I can't help but think that you have me mixed up for someone else, Ms. Jackie. I can't really do crit so I usually just talk balls instead. I think you're the first person to call them interesting. It's very nice of you tho. Don't ever feel that you have to say something intelligent about my stuff. I probably wouldn't understand anyway (-;
As for my janitor duties, I clean out the toilets and empty the bins, stuff like that. I usually do it in the early hours when most ukaneers are asleep (or out on the rob). I hope this has helped.
Cheers Ms. Jackie of Mezzanotte fame.

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reach for the lasers

Author's Reply:

macaby on 01-02-2009
A Beautiful deformity
i think this is a great poem. the way you use metaphors is wonderful and the alliteration is great, especially in the 2nd last stanza( my favourite ) very effective.( although the vowel sounds rise and fall from start to finish). a lot of people forget these points when writing free verse but in your poems it always stands out, kind of like music.i think it's worthy of a nomination.

Author's Reply:
Wow,

thank you so much Macaby. I thought this one and been done and dusted. I'm so pleased you liked it.
A nomination...well what can I say, but, you've made my day. OOPs, really didn't mean that to rhyme.
Thank you very much. I've been feeling a little low about my writing the last couple of weeks, and have been subbing older stuff. Maybe I'll get the pen out later and see if i can spread my joy onto the page.

Thanks again.
Jackie