Francesca Bossert's Blog, page 14

SLOSH-SLURRED IN ALPHABET SOUP

(I THINK THIS IS MY NEW SPIRIT ANIMAL)

There is a warm, drunken element in waking from my afternoon fibro-naps, my brain and body slosh-slurred in thick alphabet soup, emerging but not quite, reaching for fog-drenched sentences, then free falling again. The stoner-struggle is otherworldly delicious.

RUDE MAN WITH CIGAR

There is something off about the acrid smell of a cigar

Contaminating the peaceful fresh, sunshiny air of peoples’ cappuccinos on a busy mountain terrace.

Also, the smoker, tanned the same colour as his stinker, exudes that wallop-worthy air of worldly entitlement.

This is definitely not his first anti-social misdemeanor.

Verdict : Rude!

THE MORNING AFTER

The sun rose once again,

Ignoring the dark clouds

Lounging all over the white mountains

Like obese, loud-mouthed bullies in ill-fitting suits.

The Alps had seen it all before,

Knew the sun would dissolve the squatters

And their bad attitude

With a quick sparkle of golden truths.

 

And sure enough,

The losers skedaddled,

Leaving the white peaks to glisten

In the sunshine.

Meanwhile, outside my window,

A bevvy of birds celebrates yet another morning miracle

By skipping between split coconuts

Filled with the best things in life.

 

SOMEWHERE IN THE WIND

Photo Marek Piwnicki on Unsplash

Do you see her in the furtive reflection of a revolving door,Or in the vanishing silhouette of a stranger with the very same hip wiggle,The very same confident bounce in her step?Or maybe you see her whizzing past you in a red convertible on the other side of the road,There and gone, wheeee,Her hair slicked back and Wayfarers on,Just like in the famous song you used to sing along to.And you smile as you remember how you’d promised each other that, one day, You would drive down California’s Highway 1 togetherIn a red convertible,Playing that entire album.And a tear pools in your right eye,As you ask Siri to play Don Henley’s Boys of Summer,And the tear expands and overflows,Before going to find her somewhere in the wind.My poetry book, Illicit Croissants at Dawn, will be available in April.

SUPPORT MY WRITING BY LEAVING ME A TIP!

SPREAD A LITTLE SPARKLE

 You can be a Sparkler, you know.Light up someone’s day, With just one small gesture of kindness.Maybe you couldSay something nice to the girl at the cash deskIn the supermarket,Ringing up groceries Feeling desperately invisibleAs she encourages your purchasesFrom left to right.Ask her how she feels today,Or notice her name badgeAnd tell her she has such a pretty name.Or simply ask her whether she has tasted the biscuits you have just bought,Tell her how delicious they are!Tell her you’ve noticed she has done something to her hairSince your last visit,Or that you like the colour of her nails.Watch her sparkle ignite,And feel your own sparkle glow a little brighter.Tell the tired lady in the liftThat you like her scarf,Or her perfume.And maybe,Just maybe,(But most likely, I promise)Her expression will change,And her eyes will sparkleEven just for a momentBecause she feels seen.Imagine that maybe your tiny compliment is the only thing Anyone says to her all day.Imagine your words inspiring herTo fold her old scarf just a little more carefully,To caress it with love as she places it in her drawer.Maybe she mightSpritz her hallway with her perfume,And close her eyes as she inhales the tiny cloud of delight,Remembering her joy when her granddaughter,Or her friend, or her husband,Gifted it to her.We are all just tiny sparkles,Hoping to sparkle back at someoneAs we go about our not so sparkly days.So why not leave a trail of sparkles behind you?Start the Sparkling Revolution!Change the world!Be a Sparkler!

 

Add a little sparkle to my day! Buy me a coffee!

STARSKY AND HUTCH AND THE STOLEN CAR

(The following takes place in the streets of Geneva and is based on a true story. But it wasn’t me…)

Oh, dearie me, what’s going on?

I parked my car here, now it’s gone!

I left it in this quiet street,

While I pursued new fitted sheets.

I’m most distressed, my car is new,

This really sucks very beaucoup!

I asked a lady selling bras

If she’d seen men kidnap my car.

She said, “Madame, I saw notheeng,

But maybe give the police a reeng.”

I called the cops, they sent two dudes

Starsky and Hutch but really rude.

“Madame,” they said, “with due respect,

Your memory is quite suspect.

Elderly women are renown

For losing cars all over town.

Now please sit down and have a think.

Why not consider fifty winks?”

Can you believe such insolence?

I called my husband, most incensed.

Hubby arrived, screeched to stop,

And the cops fined him fifty bob!

“You mustn’t speed, old man,” they said,

“Have you been drinking? Take this test.”

They made him blow into a tube,

They really were obnoxious dudes.

Sadly, my husband had downed some wine,

The test was positive, fuck my life!

“You’ll have to drive your old man home,

Old lady,” grinned those evil gnomes.

My problems now veered out of control,

I couldn’t drive my husband home!

His Porsche, you see, is a stick shift,

Not automatic, holy shit!

I stood my ground, I told those creeps

That some asshole had my Mini.

Just then my husband intervened,

“My love,” he said, “lets reconvene.

Let’s take a walk, let’s take deep breaths,

Because if we don’t, we’ll face arrest.”

So off we went, we left them there,

Watching the Porsche with envious glares.

And around the corner, oh goodness me,

What did we see? Yes, my Mini!

I felt so daft, I could have died,

Instead, I immediately told a lie.

“Who moved my car? Who played this trick?

Whoever did this is a dick!”

My husband laughed, he said “My dear,

Don’t pull the wool over my ears.”

So, we went back and told the police,

There’d been a mix-up, no big deal.

They parked the Porsche in a tight space,

Such petty show-offs, a disgrace!

We pootled home in my Mini,

And inaugurated our new sheets!

For B! This was a lot of fun!

Buy me a coffee!!

Wild words for emerging from a post anaesthesia snooze…

I wrote this nonsensical piece while trying to capture the physical feelings in my body as I fought to fully awaken from a nap after returning from a gastroscopy! I don't know what they put in the mixture they inject you, but it is potent (and rather yummy!) stuff! And now it is thundering outside... OUTSIDE! I promise! Ready?!Breath controlled pleasant rollercoaster, rising rolling, twitch speeding through black flashes in upside down heat hollows.

Texture-rich sudden turbulence-falling, releasing through twitch sighs and black-purple rolling fog heat.

 

 A delicious deep undercurrent sweeps me beneath sparkling rainbow stepping stones, body rolling in lilac fog soup as electric static warm-shines the coloured tobogganing of breath.

 

My breastbone flutters as I retreat into gentle light pulses and a psychedelic cloud float, willing myself awake but not really…

 

Now I twilight zone write in a deep delightful treacle swoop before another descent into a soft spinning realm of

not

quite

here

 

Maybe later…?

I really could do with a coffee…

THE WUSS, THE WIMP, AND THE SHETLAND PONY

When exasperation clatters in on a black stallion,

Tonsils vibrating with inflammatory accusations,

Calling me a wuss, a wimp, a whinge,

Empathy gallops to my defence on a white Shetland pony,

Waving a tiny gauntlet.

 

Exasperation rolls his eyes,

Whirls his horse around, gives the poor thing an almighty kick,

And races off into the forest.

Whereupon Empathy jumps off the pony and pats me on the back, there-there style.

 

I hear there’s a movie in the works.

 

Jokes aside,

When fatigue catapults me horizontal,

And I fret about plans slipping over the horizon,

About fun giggling without me,

I feel bad, not for me,

Not really.

Mostly I feel bad

For him.

 

Self-preservation has muted my emotional palette,

Diluted my possibilities.

So, I escape to other lifescapes,

Paint them pink

And dare to hope.

 

Of course,

I take the Shetland pony, too.

 

BUY SOME HAY FOR THE SHETLAND PONY? AND A COFFEE FOR ME! AND WHY NOT GET THE BOOK, TOO?!

WISDOM

Come and sit beneath me.

Tell me your worries, your secrets,

Your dreams.

I am made of wisdom.

Stay a little while,

Close your eyes,

Breathe,

And simply listen.

I KNOW WHAT WE NEED

(yes, it’s AI, and it’s much too small and has far too many stairs, but you get the idea!)

We need a place,You know.Somewhere to be together,When we’re old and wonkyAnd mischievous.Gummy, too, probably,But hopefully we’ll have Good false teeth,And a nice young ladyRegularly come to do our nailsSo we can hide our gummiesBehind rainbows.We need a place,You know.A place with character,Without too many stairs.Somewhere with an enormous, light and airy kitchenWhere those of us with cooking inclinationsCan gather to chop a spread of homegrown vegetablesOn a board as big as a small tree.There’ll be music playing,Not from a little transistor radioBecause - come on! - how old do you think we are?!But from those funny ghost-like things,Piloted by whoever gets onto Spotify first.And chances are we’ll bicker a littleOver Madonna, The Eagles and Genesis,Over jazz, too, unfortunately,But we’ll make our own playlists,And singalong to favourites from our funny old world.We need a place,You know,Somewhere large and sprawling,With enough land to take walks,Where Zimmer frames can trundleAnd wheelchairs can whizz,Where our dogs and cats can cavort,And chickens can run free and lay Perfect eggs.There should be a large pond, too,An enchantment ofWaterlilies and cobalt blue dragonflies. We’ll need someone fit among us,Someone who knows what might do well in that shady northern spot,Who knows a weed from a chichi daisy,And enjoys pruning rosesJust as much as their perfume.We need a place,You know,In a sunny, warm climate,With bougainvillea and plumbago,And the mesmerizing sparkle of the sea.We need a pool flanked by oleanders and pampas grasses,With shallow steps and an elegant rail to graspAs we make our squealing, joyous, ginger way into the warm water.We need a place,You know,With large bright rooms and pretty artwork,Where linen curtains flirt with the rosemary scented breeze,Where the walls don’t smell of disinfectant and fermenting soup.Where we can write, and paint, and do pottery,And read beneath olive trees so gnarledWe feel like teenagers of humanity.We need a place,You know.A place where we canLive joyfully, inspired and safe,Until we sleep happily ever after.

Buy my book, and a coffee!!!