Benandjerrygirl's Blog

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When we met

Again, years later, you said how you’d had a

Breakdown after we broke up

Taken to staying indoors and mithering





Because dear heart, you were the one who left

With the “it’s not you, it’s me” narrative ringing in my ears.


Except, in this case it was true.

You were just not that into you






Gemma, it will only get worse

Storming away from the champagne flutes
And silver-bell-covered butter curls
He strode from the restaurant while
She, meekly, followed after him.


The waiter brought the full plates
To the empty table and, appearing flummoxed,
Took them back through the kitchen door.
While fellow diners whispered behind hands.


The general hush when they returned
To reheated fare and an ongoing squabble
Only served to make it obvious this was a control scenario
Designed to suck all joy out of an alleged treat.


He will only get worse.
He’s isolating you barb by barb from the world.
Once behind closed doors, his anger will grow.
Leave him now, before you reach that point.

No return!

Little Boy

A tolling bell to remember unspeakable horror,
Flash and boom followed by
Blackened rain on the dead and dying.
Ash, smoke and fiery fallout –
An instant crumbling of edifices and tradition.

No country makes a weapon they
Are not prepared to use.
So Enola Gay’s Little Boy exploded
Over Hiroshima while little children
Got ready for school.

The Dying of the Light

Abruptly the power stopped
Obsidian pitch as far as the eye could peer
Drapes drew back to pick up ephemeral head-lights
Scattering illumination
The Christmas candles, long abandoned, languished on the dining table
Without a single match in a smoke-free house to dispel the murk.

No heat, no phone and worst of all, no internet
The dying devices waned without even a “Goodbye World”



Charmed and charming by turns
While the shot-reverse-shot of our lives entranced.
Your eyes smoldered cliche-like promise
My parted lips glossed over
Close-ups emoting disembodied passion.

Incendiary. I could not
Wait – your voice, compelling,
So unseemly, unheard of, unexpected
But I held your interest
With tropes of lace, lipstick

Afterwards? Well,
Distance is enchanting.

So here’s the thing

To you it’s just a spot to abandon your car

While you visit him and her.

After all, you’re home for the holidays

Full of good cheer.

You didn’t mean to be thoughtless, did you?

If you’d pulled up just a bit more

There would have been room for my car too,

Outside my own house

So I would not get soaked while lugging the shopping

For my family festivities.

Not that there will be many of course

What with the seriously ill parent in hospital

Who will still need visited, no matter what date it is

All the while waiting for the dreaded call

“You need to come now, things are worse…”

But you have it, it’s only a spot

When all is said – and done.

At First Sight

There was a spark, a crackle, the first time they met

Her heart soared, vibrantly pulsating

Lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes a-glister, passion on show.

A rush of oxytocin.

He, on the other hand, was purple faced

vulnerable – not for the last time.

Altrical, he balled his fists, screwed up his face and bellowed.

Vernix covered and demanding, he was quite,

quite perfect.

Memory’s Elixir

Our reality is a drunken construct

A mis-remembered past, full of subtle flavours and nuanced deceptions

Flattering presentations and misconceptions.

Chaotic events re-ordered to make a sort of sense

Truths backed up with the evidence that buys into our

Preconceived notions, our media chosen

To enhance arguments and make us seem

Like armchair pundits rehearsing, rehashing

And confirming long held fictions as fact.




She picked up his gift in a desultory fashion

Thumbing through the lines of text

Trying to fathom why he thought it important

Weighing up if it was about sex.


The snakes licked Cassandra’s ears and she foretold the future

But destruction of Troy  beggared belief

She lived long enough to crack their composure

That she was beautiful, intelligent but gently insane

The irony of predicting death while being unconvincing

Lead to a remaining lifetime of pain.


The book was a puzzle, why was it given –

She already knew the legend of old –

A comment about the human condition?

Or oppression and censorship, leaving her cold?


A woman disbelieved is rapidly silenced

Her insights overlooked, her madness unleashed

She rails against the norm, the accepted

Until she retreats, defeated,   stilled by violence.


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