Francesca Bossert's Blog, page 11

THE ILLICIT CROISSANTS AT DAWN SOUNDTRACK: Because the songs know all the secrets

Good morning,

It’s here! My poetry book is available!

To mark the launch of ILLICIT CROISSANTS AT DAWN I wanted to do something special. I’d love to have planned a launch party, but I’m not exactly brimming with health at the moment. I don’t live in an Anglophone country, so the possibilities of doing readings in bookshops is limited. Nevertheless, a few months ago the owner of a pretty little boutique in a nearby village asked me whether I’d be willing to do a reading for one of their special evenings, and I told her I’d love to. The thing is, I have to factor in the unpredictability of living with two chronic illnesses, so making plans starts to feel a bit like “Living on a Prayer”. Soon, though! I hope.

Then I thought, ooh, how about merchandising? Of course! ILLICIT CROISSANTS AT DAWN tee-shirts and totes and tea-towels! That would be amazing, but - I mean, delusions of grandeur, Cesca? I had mugs made - which I already showed you, because I simply couldn’t wait - , and they’re gorgeous, and I’ve decided I’m going to make a few tee-shirts and tote bags. Because some delusions are fun.

(My mugs. I have no idea how to make photos smaller on here. Sorry.)

But what could I do for everyone else that doesn’t cost anything, or involve going anywhere?

And then, suddenly, I knew! ILLICT CROISSANTS AT DAWN could have its very own soundtrack!

Please note that I didn’t call it a playlist. Oh no! A soundtrack sounds far more curated, far more fancy.

The advantage of a soundtrack is that it can reach millions of people. Theoretically speaking, anyone who has Spotify could stumble upon my playlist. Not that they’d know it’s related to a poetry book, but maybe some sort of magical seven steps effect would kick in and lead them to it. And little by little, all this magic might eventually lead to world peace.

Please don’t send the loony-police; I spoke with my psychiatrist recently, and we agreed I need to think positive thoughts and socialize more. Life/health goals.

Anyway, my soundtrack has been a lovely project. I had a great time lounging on the bed in my office with my manuscript and my laptop, music blaring, pondering which song belonged to each poem. I felt like I was back in high school, staying up late making cassette tapes for my girlfriends with my little round, mono-speakered record player and a tiny, black, rectangular tape recorder, giving anyone who opened my bedroom door a stern telling off it because now I’d have to stop and record that particular track all over again. This took place in medieval times, long before most people had sophisticated HiFi equipment that allowed you to tape directly from record to cassette.

But there was so much joy, so much love involved in making those tapes, in getting the order of the songs just right. There was an art to it. Sharing your music was like opening a door straight into your soul. And if a boy you liked made you a tape, well, you wouldn’t hear a single thing any teacher said in class! The stakes were colossal, involving hours of inter-girlfriend note-passing under desks to dissect the potential sub-text that might vary, of course, according to the strategic positioning of a track. Music was powerful stuff. Pauses between songs made you hold your breath, wondering what came next. A mixed taped revealed who someone was, song after song. A slow dance introduced at exactly the right time might mean a boy really liked you.

Obviously, I had to dig deep and think outside the box when pairing songs with some of the poems. I’m sure plenty of the matchups come off as cryptic – which frankly might be for the best. I doubt any boy still lurking in my romantic archives wants to be forever linked to “I Ran (So Far Away)” by A Flock of Seagulls.

I have no idea whether the soundtrack to my poetry book will incite you to Shake Your Bootie (the track is on there, of course), get a little nostal-swoony (If You Leave Me Now Now), biturbo your feather dusting, or provide an eclectic mix for a road trip. You may never press play, because maybe you already know it’s not going to be your vibe. And that’s absolutely fine.

But if you do find yourself hovering a finger over the link, know that each track comes with a story, as well as – I hope – a colourful sprinkling of magic. I’d love to know whether any of these tracks mean something to you, and if so, whether you’d like to share any feelings or memories they invoke. Or tell me about songs I haven’t included on the playlist that are special to you. I’d love that!!

Please join me in this virtual disco launch party. I can’t wait to hear from you!

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy listening. The playlist is rather random, just like me.

Illicit Croissants at Dawn, The Soundtrack (and I even added the book cover to Spotify. Such a techno-genius). Please feel free to share it with your friends.

Happy Easter Weekend,

Lots of love,

Francesca xx

PS: don’t forget to tell me about songs that sweep you away to other times and places, whether illicit or aboveboard.

(My daughter Olivia Bossert designed the cover for my book, and also did some illustrations. The hardback copy contains coloured illustrations, whereas in the paperback version, I had to choose to make the illustrations black and white to keep the book reasonably priced.)

WEATHER FORECAST: continuous snowfall, with a 60% chance of ABBA

Wednesday afternoon, the three Gods of April time-travelled to an Abba concert in 1976 but missed the last DeLorean home.

 

They finally clattered back through their front door thirty-six hours later, wearing their matching sparkly fuchsia platform boots, blue satin hot pants and yellow puff-sleeved shirts, covered in glitter and still shit-faced from too many shots of Aquavit.

 

One of them – who prided himself on never throwing caution to the wind - turned on his computer and fired up the news, wondering whether there were any updates on the tariff palaver. He had shares in Lindor balls, so with Easter coming up he figured he’d have a quick look.

 

He saw the headlines, clapped his hands onto his head, and collapsed back onto the sofa in horror.

 

“Guys!” he yelled to the two other who were busy brushing their teeth. “We messed up!”

 

Two bleary-eyed, tangled-haired gods appeared in the living room in their Hermes Y-fronts, their toothbrushes hanging out of the side of their mouths.

 

“Huh?” they mumbled. Their toothbrushes bobbed up and down.

 

“We forgot to switch back to 2025 and accidentally dumped two metres of snow on parts of the Alps in thirty-six hours! It’s Casey’s Court out there! Villages are cut off, people marooned.”

 

“Yikes,” said one of the toothbrushed gods, removing his brush and pulling a face. “Well, at least the snow reflects our glitter nicely.”

The third god plodded over to the window and peered out at the chaos far below.

“We’re going to have to send down some sunshine to melt all that,” he muttered, scratching his bum. “But not too much. My hangover feels about as big as Stockholm.”

The first god groaned and flopped back against the back of the couch, clutching his glittery head. “Next time, we’re only going to see ABBA if someone remembers the return coordinates.”

“Good plan,” the others said, nodding.

A moment passed.

“Also,” said the second god, “did you notice how Björn looked at me during Dancing Queen? I felt a connection.”

Silence. Then the first god rolled over, looked at him with bloodshot eyes, and mumbled, “You were dressed like a disco duck. So, yeah, there certainly was some sort of moment.”

Outside, the snow kept on falling. Somewhere in the Alps, a snowboard instructor named Greg was digging out his car with his helmet, singing Bob Marley’s “Stir it Up”. Meanwhile, above the clouds, three hungover, glitter-spattered immortals found Mamma Mia on Starflix, brought out their crayons and began drawing sunrays.

*****

My poetry book, ILLICIT CROISSANTS AT DAWN, is now available on all the AMAZONS!

 

 

 

GOOSEBERRY

 

I am a gooseberry today,

Words crash onto the keyboard,

Great, lumbering doozies.

 

My fingertips won’t twizzle,

Or salsa or cha-cha-cha.

They cacophony, they kerfuffle

To boos and whistle-hisses,

Slipping on syllables,

Wounding haikus,

Bungling about like bad ideas

In spandex and stilettos

With even worse hair.

Pre-Launch jitters?

Wake me up when tomorrow comes…

SPACE KNOB

Image by Andy Hermawan, Unsplash

Did you see it,

That billionaire’s wet dream

Thrusting heavenwards

With its cargo of

Dyson-haired, nip-tucked,

Screeching daft cats,

All vacuumed-packed in Ass-Kiss Blue?

One picked a daisy and liked it,

Before brandishing a butterfly-shaped air freshener.

Another cutsied over a soft toy.

And then they all orgasmed by the light of the moon.

 

Well, that was money well spent.

 

Get set! Blast off!! Wheeeeee!!!!! (Imminent release!!!)

ABSOLUTE PANTS: words fail me

I’ll be back, he blustered,

Blundering belligerently,

His ego brimming with codswallop.

And we blew raspberries,

Slapping our knees as we

Laughed ourselves daft

At this absolute

Tosser

And his posse of pillocks.

 

No woman in her right mind will

Go for that

Waffling wanker (putting it politely, of course)

EVER AGAIN, we scoffed,

Shoulders back,

Chins high,

Adding substantial swagger to our power stance,

To show how certain we were that our sisters

On the other side of the pond

Would dismiss the barmy bastard

In favour of the lovely lady

We all thought was the bees’ knees.

 

Blimey, did we get diddled!

 

And now the diddling’s gone bonkers,

Everyone's gobsmacked,

Brassed off,

Drowning in constant cobblers, fed up with the faffing,

The wobblies, the shafting

And the constant kerfuffle.

 

Crikey America, you’ve really gone pear shaped.

Absolute pants.

 

 

 

Good morning!

 

I got a little creative with my British roots this morning. It wasn't easy, as I've never lived in England, so had to dive into the recesses of my neurones to find all these national treasures! I don't often write anything political, but the noise on the world scene is deafening, not to mention terrifying at the moment. I started listening to Kristin Hannah's The Nightingale, which is about the French resistance in WW2 and I started having nightmares, so I'm switching to something else for the time being. I recently finished her book about the Vietnam war, which was great, but two war books in a row would clearly do my head in.

 

 

My poetry book, ILLICIT CROISSANTS AT DAWN, will be released imminently! I encountered an issue with uploading my daughter's gorgeous colour illustrations on KDP Amazon. Including them in colour in the paperback would have pushed the retail price up to ridiculous levels, so I've had to settle for black and white, which is very disappointing. The hardback will offer them in colour, however the book will be more expensive than I intended. But it will be beautiful! If your kindle supports colour, there is no problem, otherwise they will appear in black and white.

 

To be honest, initially I'd imagined the book as more of a coffee table offering, in a larger format, but so far I'm stumped by how to do it. Does anyone have any thoughts on this?

 

Thank you so much!

 

Love,

Francesca xx

SNAILS ON PARADE: a memoir

(It looks kind of gross, but I think it’s an oasis!)

Mayday Mayday,

Paging Dr House!

I am

Marooned on Colitis Island,

My Type B percolating through my veins like snails on parade,

My skin oozing essence of damp flannel.

Coderedding, my Vagus nerve sends erratic twitch-flares from Fibromyalgia Central Station.

Saturday Night Fever never used to feel this way.

*****

Hey there,

It’s getting boring in here. I’ve been marooned in my house for weeks now, wondering when the immunosuppressants for my colitis will begin taking effect. So far, so bad. Worse, in fact. I’ll be paging Dr A tomorrow to discuss what to do, as I cannot go on like this. My husband is amazed at how my mental health is holding out! I tell him it’s writing and good meds…

Mr B played a golf tournament today, and there was nothing in the fridge I could eat - not that I eat much anyway, but there literally was zilch - navigating food with an IBD during a flare is…well, actually, it’s kind of pointless, but nevertheless I figured I needed to eat something seeing as my last meal was porridge at 4 in the morning. Yes, my schedule is doollaly, too.

So I ventured down the road to the shopping centre to buy a few things. Using my trolley like a Zimmer frame, I shuffled through the aisles as quickly as my feet allowed. Somewhere in between biscuits and herbal teas, my body began sounding the alarm, and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

I was terrified I might faint, my heart felt like it was echoing in an empty shell, and I could feel moisture pearling all over my face and down my neck. I managed to grab a bouquet of spring flowers from the florist on the way out - there was no queue, and then zoomed home. Thankfully, my son was home with his girlfriend, so I asked them to deal with putting everything away, and I went straight to bed. And slept all afternoon.

It’s now 9 pm and I’m back in bed, exhausted, and thanking my Fairy Godmother for my en-suite bathroom.

Tell me something exciting! What are shenanigans are you up to this Saturday night? Sparkles? Salsa? Sushi?

My only excitement is this:

Available very soon!

xx Cesca

TROPHY WIFE

She lurked,

Slim, aloof,

A panther-pawed

goldfish thief,

A white curl lounging in sun puddles.

Elegantly trespassing,

This natural born seductress

Made eyes at

The Chosen One,

Spied on his every move,

Precision timing her appearances

While playing hard to get.

When he was worthy,

She surrendered,

Draping herself around his neck like white gold.

 

Do you have any extra special companions in your life? Tell me about them! This gorgeous girl is called Badu, because when she finally decided to step paw in my son's studio, he was listening to Princess Erika Badu. She now shares her time between the Swiss Alps, where he lives with "the other woman", and the countryside beneath the Jura mountains, where she helps me write poems. She also features in my upcoming poetry book, ILLICIT CROISSANTS AT DAWN.

WHERE BONE SPURS LAND

Behold, the bulbous blabbermouth

Has twinkle-toed,

Baffling us with yet another

Political pirouette,

Pulling plugs,

Pinballing pensions,

Tormenting ticker-tapes

While insiders revel,

Gorging on dodgy deals,

Pigging on porkers.

 

Hey, come on down, it’s a party!

Wind him up,

Spin the bottle

And watch where bone spurs land.

 

 

 

 

ALTERNATIVE FACTS: my truth lies somewhere in between the dark and the light

Artwork by Olivia Bossert

 

I cling

To my meds,

To my pen,

To my words,

To hope.

I dress my nails in woohoo-pink

A candy-bright reminder,

To chin-up,

To keep-the-faith

Even as faint scratch marks

Etch alternative facts

Into surfaces as delicate

As my loneliness.

My poetry book, ILLICIT CROISSANTS AT DAWN, will be available soon.

Cover and artwork by Olivia Bossert

THE LOVE BOATS: a Haiku

Evil weighs us down.

Love floats on infinity.

Shall we launch love boats?

My new poetry book, ILLICIT CROISSANTS AT DAWN, will be available soon.

Check out my updated home page to see what readers are saying.

Francesca Bossert’s new book of poems, her sophomore endeavor after the poignant and hilarious novel, “Just Like A Movie”, showcases her compassionate wit and wisdom in a new format. Her poems are both vitamins and vaccines, uplifts and preventative medicine that let us laugh at our pain and sharpen our own insights through her humorous lens. Beautifully illustrated by her artist daughter, Olivia Bossert, this mother-daughter collaboration is a celebration of life’s truths and troubles, captured in deep poetic gazes that will startle, amuse and move you. 

– Skye Gibson, Writer