Jane Jago's Blog, page 458

Kissed

You are old, will you please tell me this
When was the last time you were kissed?
It was late Saturday
Having my wicked way
With a body too good to be missed

© jane jago 2017

Weekend Wind Down – The Thief

England – 1642

“My lord, Colonel, Sir – we found this and Taf – I mean Trooper Andrews – thought it might be important.”
Something glinted in the morning sunlight, Nick held out his hand and the trooper carefully pressed what he held into the Lieutenant’s glove. It was a ring. Heavy gold, not a modern design. Nick knew it at once and held it up for his uncle to see.
“This was his ring. We did not entirely fail.”
The trooper stood by, still clutching his hat. Sir Bartholomew nodded a dismissal...

The Thinking Quill

Bonjour mes enfants,

It is I, the exquisitely lubricious Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV. Ivy to one’s chums and Moons to one’s deliciously outre Maman. I am, of course, the pen behind that seminal work of imagination and anal rectitude ‘Fatswhistle and Buchtooth’ and the unimaginably enormous and generous intellect behind this programme of tutorials on the art of putting one’s soul onto paper.

I know you are all in awe of the crystalline perfection of my prose, and the lyrical lusciousnes...

Friday Friends – from ‘Drifting’ by Sean O’Leary

…I take the book and shove my Marlboros into my pocket with a small red lighter. I see light brown hair hanging over the back of an armchair. Ron Wilson is reading the news on Channel 10. I sit on a couch to the left of the armchair, opposite the windows. I look at a young girl in jeans and a light blue t-shirt. I guess she’s about eighteen or nineteen and when she turns to look at me I see those steel-blue eyes again. She has an oval-shaped face and the eyes are clear like the sky now. She’s...

A bite of… Sean O’Leary

Q1: You win either a house on the beach or a house in the mountains. Which do you accept?

By the sea, because you can swim in summer and the beach in winter is also great because it is deserted and brilliant for walking. I go to Apollo Bay on the Great Ocean Road in Victoria a couple of times a year and I lived in Bondi Beach for a decade in the 90’s.

Q2: If you had to write under a different what would it be and why would you choose that name?

Um, I think, Dekker. It is the name of Harrison...

Coffee Break Read – Durban Chola

Probably the most popular character in Fortune's Fools, this is the first glimpse a reader gets of Durban Chola in Transgressor in The Fated Sky.

Just before they entered the plaza, Caer noticed a figure leaning in the doorway of a tavern that had yet to open for business. The man wore a cloak of subtly embroidered, dark, felt cloth which trailed to the heels of his boots. His bright, golden hair was uncovered and exploded in uncontrollable curls over his collar and shoulders. His eyes gleame...

Lying hands

Lying hands, untruthful fingers
Truth may die
Dissembling lingers
Smiling eyes, with hate beneath
Chew through lives
With sharpened teeth
Lying kisses, cold caresses
Love denied
The heart distresses
Lying hands that grip and hold
Steal the warmth
And leave the cold

© jane jago 2017

Review of ‘Mercury’s Son’ by Luke E.T. Hindmarsh

Dystopic Directives, Deceit and Double-Crosses.

“You human, you are the problem. A miserable, short life is your just reward for your species treatment of this planet.”

The world has died, murdered by humanity and the Temple never lets those who still live on the Mother, crushed physically and psychologically into the crowded Plena to forget that and forget the guilt debt they owe to Her. Valko Gangleri is a Moderator, a sort of policeman but more along the lines of Judge Dredd, harsh, callou...

In The Wood

 

A spectral figure in a mist-grey coat,
running on soundless feet
A silent scream rent from a broken throat,
a life now incomplete
Whose feet and legs still know the ground,
whose body no substance feels
The storm that blew the forest down,
yet snapping at her heels
Pity the Dryad who lost her tree,
the dragon who lost her egg
Pity the one who runs foolishly,
who stops by the wayside to beg
Pity them all yet stay away
from the jagged stumps and mosses
He who enters the forest today
may not l...

Pulling the Rug II

When the last thing you remember is something that feels like a bee sting on the side of your neck, and you open your eyes to see a skeleton sitting in a wing-backed chair, apparently reading what looks like a very dog-eared copy of ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ by the light of a hissing Tilley lamp, the temptation has to be to close your eyes and wait for it to go away. So I tried that. But it was no manner of use. All that happened was that I heard a dry bone-ish sort of chuckle inside my head.

I...