Francesca Bossert's Blog, page 4
July 8, 2025
THE SPACE BETWEEN US
How do we drag the clouds aside,
return to the sunshine,
and simply breathe,
together
in that blessed hush
where love always shines?
Can grace and empathy prevail
when white waters heaped
decades of emotional debris
in the space between us?
How do we take the initial
unnerving, tormented step
while too fragile
to withstand anything but softness?
July 7, 2025
LA FETE DU LAC: Pop-Corn et Fausses-Notes au Bord du Lac (the French version of Off-Key and On The Rocks)
Sur scène, rictus de rockeur bien calé,
Jambes moulées façon chipolata,
Il écoute l’intro.
Yeux fermés, moue de mauvais garçon en place,
Il hoche la tête au rythme,
Entre dans son personnage,
Et tire le micro vers lui.
Il sourit, ouvre les yeux,
Et hurle Livin’ on a Prayer
Dans une tonalité douteuse
Avec un accent bien français.
Et la horde d’enfants dansants
Explose,
Sautillant comme du pop-corn,
Tournant comme des toupies déchaînées,
Tandis que leurs parents
Aperol Spritz au bar,
Pleurant de rire devant le carnage.
OFF KEY AND ON THE ROCKS: Power Ballads, Popcorn Kiddies, and Aperol Spritz
Not the right poster, but you get the idea!
Centre stage and sneer-perfect,
Seasoned legs sausage-splayed,
He waits out the intro.
Eyes shut, pout in place,
Nodding, he feels the beat,
Steps into the role,
Pulls the microphone towards him.
He smiles, opens his eyes,
And belts out Livin’ on a Prayer
In a dubious key
With a French accent.
And the crowd of dancing kiddies
Erupts,
Bouncing like popcorn,
Windmill arms and dizzy-spinning,
While their parents
Aperol Spritz at the lakeside bar,
Crying with laughter at the mayhem.
Hello!A friend in Switzerland sent me some video footage of a band playing at small lakeside music festival and I was only drinking water, but I giggled myself silly watching! This poem came from the little video that I will not share because the band, the kids, and the parents were all having a wonderful time! And fun is to be encouraged.
Love
Cesca xx
July 5, 2025
A SPARKLE FROM JONATHAN POTTER: Two poems meet in a moment of synchronicity
A new poetry book arrived in the post yesterday: Jonathan Potter’s The Sweet Spot in the Chaos.
My first surprise was how big, chunky and heavy the book is, and the sheer number of poems! And here was I thinking I write a lot of poetry! What does Jonathan eat for breakfast? Is there something in the water where he lives? I’ll have to ask him his secret. Because this isn’t even his first poetry book. Are the others so big, too?
I flipped through it and marvelled at the gorgeous writing. I’d just finished filming myself reading my poem The Sparkle Revolution, which is all about noticing people, paying attention, and giving small, sincere compliments. I believe that saying something kind to someone, whether you know them or not, is always a good idea.
I’ll never forget a moment in a Spanish supermarket last Christmas. I was packing groceries with my mother, and the beautiful young woman at the till turned to me, right after I’d paid, and told me how beautiful I was. I was so surprised I literally blushed, thanked her, and returned the compliment. And then I sashayed home feeling like an (aging!) movie star.
Anyway, since I’d just taken a few photos of poems from my own book, Illicit Croissants at Dawn, I also snapped a picture of Jonathan’s book and posted it on Substack, tagging him.
A few minutes later, he commented, suggesting I turn to page 190.
Curious, I did. And my sparkle sparkled brighter than it had all day when I saw that he’d dedicated a poem to me! It’s called These Messages, and it’s lovely. What a wonderful thing to do, and such a great idea. Throughout his book, Jonathan has dedicated poems to people, which is bound to have the same joyful effect on them as it did on me.
I took a photograph of my poem and posted it on Instagram, along with the link to The Sweet Spot in the Chaos on Amazon.
Basically, yesterday, Jonathan Potter made my day.
Which just proves what I say in The Sparkle Revolution:
Small, unexpected acts of kindness are incredibly powerful.
Thank you, Jonathan Potter, for this wonderful gift.
Have you reccently had a “sparkle moment” like this? A small surprise that changed the colour of your day?
Lots of love
Cesca xx
July 4, 2025
THE SPARKLE REVOLUTION: Changing the world, one compliment at a time
Good morning,
How are you? Everything is pretty crappy, I know. Like, we’ve fallen into the bottom of garbage truck and we’re flailing in a sea of rubbish. I know, not the most appetising image, but I’ve just seen someone writing about thousands of books in New Zealand being destroyed - literally destroyed, not even being recycled, just sent to yet another landfill. Hence the garbage truck image.
But I bring you a little bit of sparkle to lift you up, and maybe inspire you to pay someone a compliment. This isn’t a new poem, but I’ve never filmed myself reading before. And since most of us are feeling cheesed off, I’m igniting sparklers, if only to give myself a bit of a boost, because what do I have to moan about apart from my eternal tummy woes, which are definitely much better than they were a few weeks ago!
I hope this poem inspires you to find lots of nice things to say to people.
Have a lovely day, and thank you for reading and listening.
With love,
Cesca xx
You can be a Sparkler, you know.
Light up someone’s day,
With just one small gesture of kindness.
Maybe you could
Say something nice to the girl at the cash desk
In the supermarket,
Ringing up groceries
Feeling desperately invisible
As she encourages your purchases
From left to right.
Ask her how she feels today,
Or notice her name badge
And 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 hair
Since 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 old lady in the lift
That you like her scarf,
Or her perfume.
And maybe,
Just maybe,
(But most likely, I promise)
Her expression will change,
And her eyes will sparkle
Even just for a moment
Because she feels seen.
Imagine that maybe your tiny compliment is the only thing
Anyone says to her all day.
Imagine your words inspiring her
To fold her old scarf just a little more carefully,
To caress it with love as she places it in her drawer.
Maybe she might
Spritz 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 someone
As we go about our not so sparkly days.
So why not leave a trail of sparkles behind you?
Start the Sparkle Revolution!
Change the world!
Be a Sparkler!
July 3, 2025
A RABBIT ON THE FAIRWAY AND OTHER SUMMER OBSERVATIONS
A letter about all kinds of cool stuff, such as cicadas, poetry readings, and the underrated power of a compliment
Dear You,
How are you? Where are you and what are you up to? It’s been a while since I wrote a letter to you – in fact, when did I even write you a letter?! I think there’s much to be said about writing letters, and if I could I’d write this letter by hand and scan it, but when my head is full of stuff – even if it’s just fluff and sillies, my handwriting is so horrendous that sometimes even I can’t decipher what it says. So probably better to type it.
It is CRAZY hot in Spain. I know it’s hot in most parts of Europe at the moment, and has been for a few weeks, but it’s only July 2. Will it be autumn in August? Or will we just keep on rising higher and higher on the temperature see-saw until Mont-Blanc loses its cool and Zermatt throws a temper tantrum like other Swiss mountains have done recently, throwing their glaciers down into villages and forcing everyone to move out? I hope not, but I read that it was above freezing at the top of the Mont Blanc the other day, which is 4’809 metres above sea level. And for all I know, it’s probably still the case.
I’m writing this from the terrace of my house, and I swear to you that even the cicadas sound like they’re panting. I wonder if they have little pink tongues that hang out of their mouths in the heat, like dogs. Meanwhile, there’s a rabbit on the other side of the golf course who is just stuffing himself on the fairway. Or maybe he’s on the rough. Clearly, I don’t play golf! Anyway, he’s there most of the time, getting fatter and fatter. I hope he’s keeping an eye out for the fox. Apparently, there’s a rabbit-gobbling fox on the prowl. Also, there’s a deer running around too. One of the security guards told me he ran straight through our property yesterday evening. I wish I’d seen him; I love deer!
I wrote earlier that I’d been planning on going to Barcelona tomorrow to attend an event at Backstory, the English bookshop on Carrer de Majorca. They’re doing a talk about Taylor Jenkins Reid’s new book, Atmosphere, and I wanted to go early and take a copy of my poetry book to give them, to see if they’d take a look at it, and be up for a reading sometime in the autumn. But my intestines have been playing up – as usual! I’ve been feeling a lot better since starting my subcutaneous immunosuppressant injections, but each day is different. On Monday I managed to go to the beach with a girlfriend for a few hours, which was wonderful, but yesterday I was pretty ill, and this morning was meh. And I’m always worried about going and getting sick.
And although I’m sure nerves are part of the problem, when you’ve been mega ill for as long as I have, it’s hard to trust your body again. I’d planned on staying in a hotel, which is expensive, and if I get there and can’t go and am just in the hotel, worrying about whether I’m going to be well enough to drive home again the next day, well I’d rather stay at home. Also, for a poetry reading I’d have to be confident in my intestines too. I’m hoping to do one here, at home, just a small one, later in the summer when more people are here. I guess it would be easier to cancel at the last minute if necessary. Chronic illness really mucks up your life.
Anyway, for a bookshop reading, I guess need to be a little more patient. Which is fine.
What are you reading? I’m listening to Kristen Hannah’s The Nightingale and I’m really enjoying it, although it’s very sad. It’s so well read, and I do admire Kristen Hannah’s storytelling skills, how easily her story just flows. I listened to her novel about Vietnam, The Women, not long ago, which is also excellent. I’m also reading Taylor Jenkins Reid’s new book, Atmosphere, and enjoying that. And lots of poetry, too, Hollie McNish and Vanessa Kisuule. I bought Jonathan Potter’s new book, too but it hasn’t arrived yet.
As for music, I’ve got one of my favourite Spotify playlists on repeat, The Big Green Tape, which is a wonderful mix of huge hits from the 70s and 80s, some 90s too maybe, as this is a big playlist that tends to grow organically! I’m writing a novel set in the late 70s, so the music brings back feelings and memories. And I do love all those songs!
I want to start compiling another poetry book soon. I’ve written so many poems, so I want to read through them and see if there are enough I think are good enough for a book. I haven’t written a poem today; I get the eebie-jeebies when I don’t write one every day, worrying I’ve lost my magic. Maybe one will manifest itself later this evening.
I hope this letter finds you well, and that my news hasn’t put you to sleep! I’m not exactly livin’ la vida loca at the moment… although Cedric and I are going to see Simple Minds at the Cap Roig festival in a couple of weeks (old fogeys like us – and they are far more my music than my husband’s), and then Michael Buble on August 18th at the same place, which will be fun. Jennifer Lopez has a concert in Barcelona on the 15th, and I kind of-sort of know her show manager and guitar player, and I’m sure it will be an amazing show, but I don’t know if my body is up for it yet. Although if it were Ricky Martin (who tours with the same guitarist!) wild horses couldn’t keep me away!
I initially planned on mentioning all the terrible things happening in the world, but I don’t think we need to be reminded, and there are so many people who are far more knowledgeable to write about it. I feel sad just thinking about everything, as well as so helpless and privileged. I hope America finds its way out of fascism, as what’s happening there sets such a terrible example for all the other political a-holes everywhere. As for Gaza, I have no words. And then there’s all the other wars nobody ever mentions because nobody cares…
I saw something nice on someone’s Instagram today. It’s a prompt to pay someone a compliment. Just say something nice to someone, whether it’s someone you know, or a stranger. I often tell strangers I like their shoes, or their coat, or their earrings, and it’s always lovely to see their faces light up. Imagine if everyone paid other people compliments every day, as we walked down the street! Imagine how lovely that would be! Hello, I love your tee-shirt! Hi, that lipstick colour looks great on you! Hello, you have beautiful hair! Shall we try it and see? Come on! Let’s make tomorrow International Compliment Day!
And with that, I am going to pour myself a glass of rosé. Because I feel like it.
Lots of love
Cesca
PS: Let’s make Compliment Day a thing. Compliment a stranger! And pass the idea on to your friends. Your smile might put a spring in someone’s hot, sticky feet!
CELESTIAL COUTURE: where the moon floats in on velvet, the birds bring the vibe, and the rabbit brings…nothing
Nonchalantly ravishing, dusk swans in
swathed in lavender and peach chiffon
trimmed with apricot luminescence.
Swirling swallows add flamboyance.
Note the opalescent demi-lune suspended on silk velvet
amid galaxies of diamonds, invisibly set,
flawlessly romancing the ensemble.
Live Soundtrack:
🦉🐇
Entrance drum roll performed by The Hoopoe Bird
Percussion performed by Las Cicadas
Serenade courtesy of The Nightingales
Buzzing, Los Mosquitos
Windchimes, Body Heat
Lakeside Canapés: mysteriously missing
Suspect: The Resident Rabbit
June 30, 2025
WHO WERE YOU WITH LAST NIGHT? : a mischievous meditation on the amuse-bouches of the subconscious
Imagine being able to preserve
The patchwork of delectable people
Who wander, uninvited,
Through your vivid maze of dreamscapes
Like appetizers of
Alternative dimensions!
The unpleasant ones would, naturally,
Be sent to ferment among each other
In the compost heap.
Who were you with last night?
June 29, 2025
SHE TOLD ME STORIES: A tribute and a love letter in whispers, teak and time
She told me stories,
Whispering so he wouldn’t hear us giggling
Over coffee and delicate biscuits
In a living room humming
With five decades of love.
He, the village rebel,
Wandering long-haired
And barefoot,
In a straightlaced Swiss German world.
Be a banker, not a baker.
Be a doctor, not a plumber —
Unless plumbing is your passion,
In which case you must turn it into an international empire.
An artist?
Gasp!
Close your eyes,
Clutch your chest, your diamonds and pearls,
Squeeze your signet rings.
Never in a million years, my dear!
But Papa, I love him, she said,
Not in the voice of a timid mouse
But in the voice of resolve —
Of the resilient woman she would become
By his side,
Taking care of business,
While he passion-poured himself
Into creating exclusive masterpieces
For a prestigious Italian casa of jewellery.
With effervescence,
She related last-minute adventures,
Flights in private jets
To places with legendary names,
Stories of delivering dazzling pieces
To the fabulous and famous.
She sigh-smiled at his love for handcrafted beauty,
For tending to their immaculate garden,
For restoring antique cars and boats.
She told me with ill-concealed pride
Of the wooden boat he made her,
Polishing its teak body to a smooth patina.
She told me of sailing holidays
On their boat on Lac Léman.
She glowed, recounting his dedication to his family,
Of his love for her and for their two sons.
Yesterday, she told me
Of his contented smile,
The gentle sigh he gave,
Lying beside her
As he fell asleep forever,
Early one morning
Last week.
RIP Hermann Reible. You were a wonderful neighbour.
June 28, 2025
WARNING FLAGS AND REPEAT OFFENDERS: when the heart forgets what the mind keeps whispering.
She crumbles sometimes,
Wafting clouds of pulverized angst
As her mind once again sweeps debris.
Under cover of light laughter
She kicks herself
For ignoring the ethically sourced warning flags
Flapped beneath her nose,
And the megaphone blaring the same old
Funky song of silence.
Only a glutton for punishment
Would revisit a one-way-street,
Thinking that, maybe this time,
After all this time,
After all these attempts,
She might find a digestive biscuit
And a cup of tea waiting for her
Instead of an absent repeat offender
Occupied by a sweeter offer.
