it's true ...

That the last two poems here were inspired by Jude's journey in Caroline's gorgeous first novel
In Search of Adam. Please don't be upset if you read them, Caroline ... *gulp* ...

We're human. Allegedly.
Deliberate and inadvertent cruelty comes with the deal in confusing abundance *sigh* ...

And although it sounds weird, given how dark these poems are, thank you Caroline - you and Jude gave me these poems to give back to whoever wants them *smiles*

that night ...

how's the view out there?

I've only just realised how different this blog may look in the arms of IE rather than Firefox.

I haven't a clue how to resolve this since I'm still battling with odd line spacing.
Maybe there's always been this discrepancy too, I just never looked on the other browser.

SO I apologise to anyone out there who must think I have NO idea how to format.
You're not far wrong, of course, but I'm sorry.

If you stand on a chair, upside down, like you AND the chair ... then honestly, the view is fine!

not as "I do"

“Which isn’t what I mean,” but her words are
breaking strangely, twisting every breath;
less profound than handy home-truths’ reign
of blows well made and laid in kitchen’s haste.

Blindly egg spins over easy, membrane
burst, too ugly now for plate but still
in time for Genie’s cheapest happy hour.
Exhausted, fear is splitting hairs among
old crumbs, acrid stains - they never fade.

Door slam is peace, no lying there at least.
Later, bruises will assert fresh claim to
flesh - unrivalled. Truth spills in Friday's blood
and milk full of ghosts - "Which isn’t what I …"

re-write:

"Which isn’t what I mean," but her words
break strangely - twisting every breath -
weak in handy home-truths’ reign.
Blows make haste - lay kitchen waste.

A blind egg spins over easy, membranes
bursting way too ugly for his palate.
Still, time's cheap in Genie’s happy-hour.

Exhausted, fear splits hair - old crumbs
and acrid stains - they never fade.
Door slam heralds peace - no lie in that!
Latest bruises will assert - unrivalled.

Truth spills in Friday's blood and milk,
full of ghosts .... "which isn’t what I …"

when it rains ...

Tesco check out.

3 goes at pin. All wrong. Card locked.

Blush and fluster.

Repeat this sequence 3 times.

Different cards. All muddled up now.

“You’ve got half an hour then we have to put this stuff back”

Home. Phone bank.

Enter a zillion numbers at each prompt.

Can’t remember memorable password.

Blush and fluster. Hang up.

Try again. “You’ve just outstandingly failed at this.

Have another go - if you think you’re hard enough”

Can’t remember my name. Hang up.

Rip filing cabinet apart.

Find correct password. Success!

Phone bank. Triumphantly.

“I think we have to send you new pin numbers”

“Noooo! Cat food. At Tesco. Now. Unlock! Unlock!”

Done. One card. Sorted.

Cash point. Just to be sure.

No more flush and bluster.

Yayyy! Unlocked. I’m in!

Oh.

Typed 600 instead of 60.

Cancel. Try again. Card locked.

Message on screen: "phone bank, if you think you’re hard enough”

Home. Phone bank.

Enter a zillion numbers at each prompt.

Repeat conversation with addition of crashing cash point terminus.

“Oh. We’re sending you a new pin.”

“Noooo!”

“Sorry, it’s all in process now. Anything else I can do for you today?”

Don’t ask. Please don’t ask.

first after thoughts

It isn’t just that Jude is overwhelmed by whispers, secrets and demanding souls as misguided, broken and inadequate as she is innocent. It isn’t just that my own life has been full of the same. It’s that she is gutted at every turn of will and fate.

It’s that no matter how she tries she’s on her own with everything. Adam isn’t there but his myth is grail-like. With a twist of Janus. His suffering creates new martyrs then abandons them to tragedy without reprieve.

It would be comforting to think of Jude’s search for Adam as her journey towards herself. But things never flow smoothly or even in one direction at a time.

Love is pain and so is all the rest. Life is suffering – was it Buddha who said that?

In Search of Adam describes how desperately wounded we all are. How frightened, isolated and, dare I say it, ignorant - that it never occurs to ask the questions that might release stuck pain. The answers might be infective and dis-ease hurts more than ducking and diving.

How desperate we all are for Signs as well. Just a hint that even though things can and do get worse, there’s something beautiful that the cosmos might allow if we listen hard enough. Bleed enough. Wait long enough. If we can but stand before we fall. Apart.

As I did when I reached the Diary section. Those who went before me know what I mean. I'd been outraged, appalled, dreadfully sad before. This was breakdown point. Mine.

There are many proper reviews of this glorious book. Caroline has links to them on her blog.

This isn't a review - more a mindspill in emotion ...

In Search of Adam ...

is here. In my hands. I am touching the smooth cover. Savouring the weight of magic waiting. For me. Absorbing its deep promise of a journey. Sssssshhhhhh .....