Francesca Bossert's Blog, page 10

THE NIGHTINGALE’S FIRST SONG: a lesson in patience, courage, and finding your voice

When night falls

The Scops Owl wakes.

He fluffs his grey feathers,

Blinks his big golden eyes three times

And starts the slow, steady beat

Known to forest creatures as “the heartbeat”.

 

When night falls,

The Scops Owl wonders,

Steadfast in his rhythm,

Watching the puddle of light

On the famous branch overhanging the lake,

Hoping the new star of the forest

Will find the courage

To share his voice.

 

When night falls

And the heartbeat begins,

The young nightingale

Shivers in the darkness,

Watching the puddle of light

On the famous branch overhanging the lake

Where young birds sing their first song,

And thinks,

“Maybe tomorrow.”

 

One day, when night falls,

And the heartbeat begins,

The nightingale takes a tiny breath

And tiptoes towards the puddle of light

On the famous branch overhanging the lake.

He fluffs his downy feathers,

Closes his eyes,

Opens his beak and sings

A song so clear, so bright

It whirls through the forest,

Rising high in the air

Where it swings from star to star.

 

And the Scope Owl

Blinks three times and smiles,

Because he knew

The song was always there,

Just waiting to be heard.

Illicit Croissants At Dawn is available on Amazon.

THE FINE ART OF LOITERING: take me to Shenaniganland

Professional swayer, hypnotist, mind-guru, aka The Willow Tree. Highly recommend.

Today, I simply sway,Mind-loitering back and forth in time.Mischievous thoughtsTickling my wanderlust.I meander, hammock-held,Drifting safely through the coliseumOf ancient blunders,The acropolis of what-on-earth-was-I-thinking,And the discos of yesteryearWhere shenanigans sparkledBeneath the disco-ballAnd the Bee-GeesShrill-trilled in tight-trousers.Staying alive

Have you discovered my new poetry book, Illicit Croissants at Dawn?

“If you’ve ever stared into your coffee and asked it philosophical questions, this book will get you. It doesn’t answer them, but it’ll sit beside you in a vintage kimono and recite something haunting about rain.

Would I recommend it? Absolutely. But don’t read it on an empty stomach or during a romantic crisis. Side effects may include sighing at clouds, spontaneous journaling, and whispering “illicit” under your breath for no reason”

Malin Emara

YOU’RE NOT CRAZY, YOU’RE JUST ADVENTUROUS

(I think a reckless idea just struck my Papa!!)

When a reckless idea strikes,

freeze!

Assume hunting dog pose.

Stretch your ears skywards,

lean in, listen.

Wait for the chest tickle

to smile,

For the eye-twinkle

to squeal.

If the bubbles rise,

and the gasp tingles,

A soupçon of collateral madness

must be smouldering,

eager for

a big bold

 

YES!

 

Praise for my new poetry book, Illicit Croissants At Dawn:

·       A grown-up, bohemian Shel Silverstein..."

·       “Mischief and meaning in equal measure.”

·       “Poetry that wears its cleverness lightly.”

·       " Not fussed about poetry? This book might just win you over."

And of course, my book is available on Amazon (Amazon.de or Amazon.fr if ordering from Switzerland). Please leave me a review!!!

THE QUIET COURAGE OF SAYING : I MADE THIS, or thoughts from a shy writer learning to speak up

I devoted yesterday to doing promo. I hadn’t decided to do this, it happened organically, because I wanted to make a little video of myself talking to a group of young women in California who are reading my romantic comedy, Just Like A Movie, for their book club.

Knowing that they’re reading my book out of the gazillions of romantic comedies on the market -not to mention all the big names (hello, Emily Henry! Hi there, Marian Keyes!) writing great stories - made me really happy. Admittedly, I know the mother of one of the girls. She’s an old friend and editor who, decades ago, was the first person to ever truly believe in my writing (apart from my mama, obviously!). But nevertheless, having this group of young women read my romcom is still a big deal to little old invisible me.

I also completely surprised myself by recording a coherent video in one take, where I told them how excited I am that they’re reading it, introduced the book, and then read a page and a half of Chapter One!

Afterwards, I figured that since the light was pretty good under the sunblind in the patio, maybe I’d do some promo. I went through Illicit Croissants at Dawn, my poetry book, and chose a poem to read. This took a few more takes. Reading aloud is hard, don’t you think? I so admire authors who can narrate their entire books in a vivacious manner! Marian Keyes is brilliant at it, but I’ve bought other books on Audible, expecting the voice to be as bubbly as the writing, and had to stop listening because, well, bleh.

Also, I always think I sound about six. But I believe few of us enjoy hearing ourselves, right?

But it’s all very well recording yourself reading a poem, or a chapter of your book. Then you’ve got to find cool, snappy words to explain what your book is about and make it sound amazing for, say, a post on Threads or Instagram. And that’s really hard! Because that’s what marketing specialists do in big publishing houses, isn’t it? Not the person who wrote the book. As an indie writer, I guess it might help if you’ve got a background in advertising or copywriting or whatever job is involved in writing these things. And although I know it’s controversial - and by the end of this sentence there might be people clutching at their beaded necklaces and gasping - ChatGPT is really good at this. As in, amazingly good. Sure, it gets it wrong a lot of the time, suggesting things so way off that it can be quite entertaining. But once it’s close, all you need to do is take what it gives you and adapt it to whatever it is you want. You fiddle, change words until you’re happy. AI is a tool. It’s here. It’s not going anywhere, so we may as well use it to our advantage.

I don’t use AI to write my poems (which hopefully should be obvious, as they’re all “mega me”). I’ll sometimes ask ChatGPT for a spell check on a long piece, or if I’m writing something and a word I want to use only comes to me in French, I’ll ask it for the word in English. I’ll ask it to translate an email to my Spanish gastroenterologist. I often ask it for information on how to bake a cake I make all the time (a Santiago cake) and have forgotten whether the oven temperature should be 160 or 170 (it’s 170 if it’s a fan oven, in case you’re wondering, because I asked the question yesterday). I ask it for directions, or for information about a city. I ask it about what might grow in a shady, dry spot in my garden. I’ve used it to translate some of my longer non-rhyming poems into French, and some turned out quite well—once I went in afterwards and had a fiddle! My French-speaking friends were happy to also be able to enjoy How to Tame Your Tulips. I asked it to translate this poem into Spanish too, but I’m not fluent enough to go in and edit afterwards, and I didn’t want to look like a total twit.

Anyway, this brings me to what I intended to write about: promo. Or bragging, as it feels like to me. OMG, bragging. I hate bragging. I hate hyping myself (hello, Lucy Werner!). I’m shy. I’ve always lacked confidence, so reading a poem and sharing it feels like a big LOOK AT ME! LOOK HOW CLEVER I AM! Far more so than just hitting publish, which is weird really, don’t you think? Because it’s the same. I’ve never considered myself particularly clever. I’ve never worked in a corporate environment, at least not in any sort of decision-making role. I have to psych myself up to say boo to a sparrow, let alone a goose. As I mentioned above, I don’t have too much of a problem hitting publish once I’m happy with a poem, or whatever it is I’ve written. But I can start hyperventilating in the middle of the night because I’m scared something I wrote as a comment to someone else might be misinterpreted and I sounded like a brat (hello, Patricia Cusack!). I’m insecure like that.

I’m currently working on an interview. It’s nearly done, but my goodness it took me ages to sit up straight, pull my shoulder blades back and stick my boobs out. Writing about myself in an elevated way doesn’t come naturally. And while I don’t think my husband would have a problem writing about himself and his achievements (he was highly successful in the corporate world), I also think it’s more of a personality thing than a woman-or-man thing, because my son would probably feel queasy about showing his six-pack (and he actually has one because, apart from being an amazing filmmaker, he’s a phenomenal snowboarder and skateboarder too), whereas my daughter has been promoting her brand for so long that showcasing her talents has become second nature. She will, however, occasionally have a little-tiny-turtle-retreating-into-its-shell moment when she’s feeling particularly attacked and vulnerable. People can be so mean and ridiculous (like the “lady” in the poem I read yesterday!).

Come to think of it, even posting good reviews of my books kind of gives me the ick. But I do it anyway.

How do you feel about putting yourself forward, showcasing your talents? Does promo give you the heebie-jeebies? And what are your thoughts on using AI to help with wording promotional material or anything else? Has it been useful to you? Or are you a die-hard never-in-a-million-years, Sauvage? (That’s a line from the film Johnny English, by the way, which is a classic in our family)

I look forward to hearing your thoughts. And I’m going to leave you with the reading of my poem, She Means Well, in case Notes hasn’t plonked it beneath your spectacles yet.

Love,

Francesca

A READING (because I’m a very serious poet, as you know…) And then lots and lots of praise!!!

5.0 out of 5 stars Verses Fresh from the Oven of Mischief!

Reviewed in the United Kingdom on 19 May 2025

This is a witty and heartfelt poetry collection. Blending humor, romance, and introspection, Francesca's playful rhymes and sharp observations make for an engaging and accessible read. A fantastic exploration of life’s quirks with both levity and depth. I love every single poem. I also love the beautiful book cover and illustrations by her incredibly gifted daughter Olivia. What a fabulous duo!

Bonnie Solomon

5.0 out of 5 stars A Bohemian Burst of Wit, Wisdom, and Wonder

Reviewed in the United States on 21 May 2025

Verified Purchase

Francesca Bossert’s poetry collection took me by surprise—in the best way. I don’t usually gravitate toward poetry, but this book is such a refreshing exception. With a voice that feels like a grown-up, bohemian Shel Silverstein, Bossert blends humor and heartache, mischief and meaning, in equal measure. Her poems bubble off the page, sometimes with a wink, sometimes with a sigh, always with truth.

This isn’t poetry that tries too hard to be clever or profound. It is clever. It is profound. But it wears both qualities lightly, inviting the reader into moments that feel lived-in, lush, and oddly familiar. Whether she’s laughing through heartbreak or marveling at everyday beauty, Bossert never loses her playful edge—or her emotional honesty.

The book is made even more special by the gorgeous illustrations from her daughter, Olivia Bossert—a mother-daughter collaboration that adds warmth and intimacy to every page.

In short: it’s funny, poignant, and full of life’s beautiful mess. If poetry usually leaves you cold, give this one a try. It just might win you over.

Stephen D. Forman

5.0 out of 5 stars You'll Light Up

Reviewed in the United States on 9 May 2025

Verified Purchase

I wouldn't want to write a review of Francesca Bossert's poetry without speaking to Olivia Bossert's multimedia art which delineates the sections of the book. Each piece speaks in a language that's both complementary and wholly unique, and it's a joy to see mother and daughter make art in sync.

The poems themselves are a frolic. They're accessible and authentic. They are bookmarkable and re-readable. My hunch and my hope is that Illicit Croissants at Dawn is just the *first* poetry book by Francesca Bossert.

A. Dixon

5.0 out of 5 stars My new favorite poetry book

Reviewed in the United States on 28 April 2025

Verified Purchase

This book of poetry by the talented Francesca is an absolute delight to read and unlike any other book of poetry I’ve read. It approaches modern life with verve, humor and sparkle. The light tone of many poems belies the truth of the human experience at the heart of Francesca’s poetry. This was such a delightful and touching read. I ended up gifting copies to my best girlfriends too.

Buy it here or on any other Amazon. If you are in Switzerland, you need to buy from French or German Amazon. Brexit….

DATE NIGHT WITH MONICA BELLUCCI (cancelled due to alien invasion)

Monica…

Never a dull moment with me! Living with an IBD ensures I am a Kinder Surprise. But for the past three years my surprises have been pretty crappy. Sometimes I’m surprised he hasn’t made a dash for freedom, away from all my drama.

 

Take last night: 2 a.m. He was out for the count, having been beeped to sleep by the owl we both thought was a Hoopoe bird, probably enjoying a lovely dream about a date with Monica Bellucci - he likes brunettes; go figure - when I appeared by his bedside, a ghostly figure reeking of vomit, with a stomach so bloated I’m surprised I fit through the door.

 

“Cedric,” I cooed - I’d brushed my teeth. About six times in six hours due to blehhhh. “I think we need to go to the hospital. There’s an alien trying to climb through the space beneath my ribcage.”

 

“Uhhhh”.

 

“Cedric, I re-cooed, louder now. “I’ve been vomiting for six hours. I don’t know what to do. I think we need to go. I’m sorry…”

 

Bless him. He got up, got dressed, and off we went to the Clinica de Girona, where I was immediately taken to a cubicle with horribly bright lights. A nurse stuck a catheter in my left arm and ran some magic liquid into my body. It wasn’t quite magic enough, so after a while she switched it to something else which my husband later told me probably wasn’t a good idea seeing as I’m half English and of Irish descent, and that Spain is one of the few countries in the world to still use this painkiller on a regular basis. Apparently, it has some sort of effect on your white blood cells, especially on people from northern European countries, some of whom have died… And there are guidelines telling them not to use it on foreigners from northern countries. I guess they missed the memo.

 

Anyway, I’m still here. Still rather distended, but at least the alien has gone. Maybe he was from a northern European country…

 

Jokes aside, it was horrible. I’ve had plenty of pain in my life, but this was more of a mega acute discomfort that would not shift no matter what I did. I tried peppermint tea, gas-relieving yoga poses, walking around the room, a small amount of fizzy water. Nada, nothing, zilch.

 

By the time we got back from the clinic it was 4 a.m.  (I was amazed it all went so fast; when you go to the ER in Switzerland you know you’re going to wait a minimum of one hour, usually more), and we were both zombies. I felt slightly less uncomfortable and managed to fall asleep. And I’ve more or less slept all day.

 

Poetry wise, I’m on a diet today. Too knackered. But I’ve managed to produce a little Haiku, which isn’t bad considering the state of my, well, everything.

 

I think the flower I wrote about is some sort of Verbena. We have loads of it, and it is a trooper.

 

The Purple Princess : a Haiku

 

Ambitious, she climbs.

Easy to please and barefoot,

Proud to be purple.

 

 Have you bought your copy of Illicit Croissants at Dawn? It’s getting wonderful reviews, but I need more! If you’re on the fence, consider this snippet of my latest review!

“A grown-up, bohemian Shel Silverstein... funny, poignant, and full of life’s beautiful mess.” Bonnie Solomon

STRENGTH YOU CANNOT SEE

Artwork by www.oliviabossert.com

Good morning,

 

After an oasis of hope over the weekend when a new medication briefly hinted at carefree days on the horizon (and I mean this literally, because I've still barely left the house since January), sadly that oasis vaporized and I'm more or less back to square one on the IBD front since Tuesday. But I battle on. I've written to my Spanish doctor and awaiting instructions. You know you're going a bit bonkers when you're excited to hear what fun drug your doctor might prescribe next!

 

Jokes (sort of) aside, while this time last week I was slipping off the tip of my liana and straight into the doldrums, I've rallied again, mostly due to the support of my Spanish gastroenterologist who doesn't just say, "sorry, I can't suggest anything other than stopping your SSRI," (antidepressant). This didn't exactly come across as common sense seeing as I probably wasn't giving her whoopdeedoo vibes. Also, if she'd bothered to check, the antidepressant I take isn't even in the SSRI category. But whatever. Doctors are just people, and the more doctors I see, the more this fact lights up. And while it's complicated to navigate the egos of several specialist doctors at the same time, they're not the ones suffering, and I'm sick of treading on eggshells around those who don't listen to what I'm telling them, especially when their only suggestion might be disastrous if I were feeling ultra vulnerable.

 

Anyway, I've now removed my grumpy pants and replaced them with my favourite bright pink bohemian floaties, and I shall leave you with a poem dedicated to all the chronic illness warriors out there. Onwards.

 

Ooh, and before you read my poem, yesterday I got a stunning review for my poetry book, Illicit Croissants at Dawn , from @Bonnie Solomon! It's on Amazon and it's phenomenal! Such great feedback does wonders for my mindset during these trying times, so if you've read my book and still haven't reviewed it, please PLEASE do (unless of course you think it's abysmal, in which case please refrain). Once I get enough reviews, the algorithm is sure to shoot me into the stratosphere of celebrity poets, which is certain to heal my IBD once and for all! Stranger things have happened. You know, while there's life and all that...

 

STRENGTH YOU CANNOT SEE

 

An illness that’s invisible

Is seriously not fun.

It’s people saying, “You look so well,”

While inside you’re undone.

 

And while it’s nice to know that

You don’t look like absolute crap,

You hate that they might think

That you’re a hypochondriac.

 

So you explain to them again

Why you can’t do fun stuff,

That simply getting through the day

Is often quite enough.

 

And when the eye-roll questions come,

You keep your cool and smile.

(But if someone suggests yoga again

You might commit a crime!)

 

So if you cannot see our pain

Please be assured it's there.

Invisible does not mean gone;

We're brave - but tread with care.

 

WHEN A FRIEND TURNS YOUR POEM INTO A SONG

I have a beautiful, talented friend who - artistically at least - goes by the name “Loopy Galore”. She doesn’t seem particularly loopy to me, but if she does have a few loose screws, she’s turned them into magical instruments, writing beautiful, soulful music.

Recently, Loopy spent a few months in America. We kept in touch by text while she was away; she sent me her latest compositions, and I shared my poetry. She returned to Switzerland just as I left for Spain, so we missed each other in person, but our exchanges continued through words and songs.

Loopy knew I’d been struggling with my health for a long time. She understood that poetry - and working towards publishing my book, “Illicit Croissants at Dawn” - had become my life vest in a sea of doctor’s appointments and social isolation.

Yesterday, she sent me a song. Upon listening, I realized that the lyrics are inspired by one of my poems, “Sunbeams Through the Mist”

The song is gorgeous, but beyond this I can’t begin to express how much her gesture touched me. When so many people who were once close to me drifted away in the months I was housebound, never calling, never visiting, Loopy’s generosity felt like a warm hug. She took my words, blended them with her own, and created something beautiful out of kindness, empathy and thoughtful understanding.

Maybe Miss Loopy Galore is as loopy as I am. Maybe “loopy” is another word for “kind”.

 

Find Sunbeams Through the Mist in my poetry book, Illicit Croissants at Dawn.

DON’T MIND ME, I’M JUST BIRDWATCHING IN MY NIGHTIE!

What a difference a little under 48 hours makes! The last time I posted I felt deeper than the dumps, worrying that I’d never be able to go for a decent walk again because my IBD has been horrendous these past few weeks. And while I haven’t yet been for a decent walk – have a little patience, as Take That says – since I began taking the medication my Spanish doctor prescribed the improvement is remarkable. I’m trying not to get too excited as I don’t want to jinx it, but at the same time I don’t want to be Deidre Doomedpants.

Anyway, so far, so much better. Yesterday afternoon I pottered down to the pontoon on the big pond at the end of our road, where there is a little bench. I sat there for ages, watching the golfers (we live on a golf resort near Girona), listening to the birds and watching for fish, otters and tortoises. I heard a couple of frogs in the reeds among the beautiful water irises, but I was mostly captivated by the birds.

The pontoon, where I geeked out with Merlin

So many birds! I recently downloaded an app that many of you will probably already know. It’s called Merlin, and it recognises birdsong, and identifies each bird for you with a photograph. You press a button, and it records the birds in the vicinity, until you stop. Each time it picks up a bird, the photo and name of the bird appears on the screen. It’s wonderful!

There are so many happy birds here, singing away all day long. I’ve switched it on now and see that quite a few beautiful yellow European Serins are chorusing close by.

A European Serin! So pretty!

They’re joined by a Zitting Cisticola, a Cetti’s Warbler, a European Greenfinch, a Song Thrush, House Sparrows, Eurasian Blackbirds, Great Tits and a Common Nightingale, the latter being anything but common as he sings beautifully. I had no idea Nightingales sang during the day! Late last night, after watching our latest Netflix craze, Yellowstone, which we’ve almost finished - and I’ll miss Kevin Costner, because he’s just gorgeous, I opened my bedroom door to record what for the last three years I’ve thought was a Hoopoe bird, because there are loads around. Well, it turns out that it isn’t a Hoopoe, but an owl! It’s not a barn owl, but some other specimen and sadly I can’t remember his name. But he makes a particular hoop sound at regular intervals, a bit like the sonar of a submarine. I then went and listened to the Hoopoe sound, and it’s similar, but has a triple hoop hoop hoop call. So, now I hope to find a singing Hoopoe, too. Maybe I’ll start wandering around the resort late at night in my nightie, phone in hand, like a weirdo!

A Hoopoe bird. I love them!

My daughter turned me onto Merlin, so we’re now both bird-listening geeks, and I was joking to her earlier this morning - after I got up and took my new magic medicine, then went outside with Merlin – that before we know it we’ll be off to nature reserves in full birdwatching kit! Which sounds really nice, actually. There’s a stunning nature reserve just up the coast, near Roses, which we visited in October. It was quieter than it probably is now, as most of the migration would already have taken place. Nevertheless, there were plenty ofpeople there fully kitted with telescopic cameras and binoculars. I’m pretty sure pink flamingos return there every year, so I hope to go when I’m feeling a little stronger, as well as more confident that my intestines aren’t about to pull a wobbly.

In other news, I’m excited to have registered to go to a reading at the Backstory Bookshop in Barcelona on the 10th of June, where @Daisy Buchanan and @Donna Freitas will be talking about using books to ease anxiety. I didn’t know there was an English bookshop in Barcelona, which is an hour away from our place here near Girona. The Backstory Bookshop looks amazing and regularly hosts all kinds of lovely events there, so I’m hoping to be able to go to more.

I received quite a few copies of my new poetry book, Illicit Croissants at Dawn, yesterday, so I’d like to organize a reading here at the resort, as soon as I feel confident enough, health wise. I think it would be fun. I also videoed myself reading one of the poems in my book, The Bohemians, and uploaded it to Instagram, and I’ll include it here, too. The sound is a little faint as my phone was a little too far away, but if you turn the volume up, I think it’s okay. I did it in one recording, which is a first, as usually I fluff my words over and over. I need to practise putting a little more “acting” into my reading. It’s hard, and I’m shy! Must be because my body is happy to be Spanish again! I only wish my voice could become a little more Spanish, too… However, I need to practise putting a little more life into my readings. It’s hard, and I’m shy!

What I’m reading: A Recipe for Sorcery a poetry book by Vanessa Kisule, and it’s beautiful. I’m also rereading Glennon Doyle’s Untamed, which I first read when it came out. I also find myself dipping in and out of Danielle Coffyn’s If Adam Picked the Apple, which I love.

What I’m listening to (apart from birds!!): I’m enjoyingChristie Brinkley’s autobiography, Uptown Girl. I’ve been a fan of Christie since the mid-Seventies, when she became the first supermodel, in fact I still have a book she wrote way back then which is really cute. She’s 70 now, and still looks incredible. Yes, she’s had work done, but she’s allowed, and whoever does her work does an amazing job; she’s not all lips and boobs! And I wish I had legs like hers…

New craving: Nespresso chocolate coffee capsules! I’ve been careful with coffee for a long time for obvious reasons, and on super bad tummy days I don’t have any. But I love cappuccinos made with Nespresso’s chocolate coffee and whizzy-whirled oat milk. The hazelnut capsules are also a new favourite. My husband hates both, so more for me!

No poem today (so far…), but who knows what can happen. Maybe my swim in the pool will inspire me. I saw a huge tortoise walking across the fairway yesterday while I was swimming, and I saw a fox recently. My husband told me he saw an otter the other day, which I’m hoping to see. It’s almost Disney!

What are your plans today? Have ever been birdwatching? What are you reading, and what do you recommend to add to my mountain of books? Also, if you’ve read Illicit Croissants At Dawn and not yet posted a review on Amazon, please, please do! It helps with my visibility. Thank you!

With love,

Francesca

SIMPLE MINDS, COMPLICATED LIFE

My IBD has been terrible these past few weeks, and I was at the end of my rope yesterday evening, worrying that I will never get any respite from the constant intestinal catastrophe my body inflicts on me day in, day out, preventing me from having any social life.Will I never be able to go for a walk again without worrying about whether my gut might throw a wobbly in the middle of a path? And what about the concert tickets I’ve bought for July and August at the gorgeous little coastal festival? We’re supposed to be seeing Simple Minds, and then Michael Buble. How can I possibly go? And what about my poor husband? Will we never be able to go to visit friends? And there’s that wedding in Portugal in September! I can’t possibly go! It will be so stressful! What if I get really sick during the reception?On and on my mind whirred. Living with this kind of anxiety day in day out is exhausting, and I often sleep for hours in the afternoon. I know it’s crazy, that I shouldn’t think this way, but I feel ever so guilty to be inflicting this on my husband when he should be enjoying his retirement. We should be able to do fun things together, but we can't.However, I am a little more hopeful this evening after contacting my Spanish gastrolenterologist this morning, right after speaking to my Swiss gastro who had nothing helpful to suggest, which made me cry in despair. My Spanish gastro - who is the most empathetic doctor I’ve ever met - sent me a prescription for a medication that should help, and told me not to worry because there are other options available. So, I’ve taken the medication, and I hope for a peaceful inner life. Keep your fingers crossed for me; I’m dying to go for a walk along the coast and a dip in the sea!Here is a poem I wrote early last year, from a prompt by Beth Kempton (the prompt was “bunch”) It was very short in its original form, so I’ve had a little play. I’ve completely re-written it, added a bunch of stanzas, and written it with someone in mind!Francesca xxTHE FIBBERI’m an excellent fibber,I can tell you a bunch,I fib before breakfast,I fib before lunch.I fib in the afternoon,I fib late at night,I fib when I’m wrong, I fib when you’re right.I fib to my wifeAnd to my kids too,I fib to my mistresses,- I have quite a few!I fib to my peopleDon’t mind if I do!I fib to world leadersHey, what can they do?I fib to make money,To make crooked deals,I fib to my people,The art of the steal.