Writer · the poems, the books, the jar

Cheryl Lerena

Her collection «Poems, Writings & Diary of a «Nutter»», transcribed entire and in her own order — 94 separate pieces: poems, letters, stories and the 2004 writing-course exercises, with every word of prose she wrote around them.

Cheryl Lerena is living. This archive's rule for the living is name only — no dates, no places of residence, no photographs — and that rule is kept here. What is published is her work, at her son's request, and nothing about her life.

She is a writer, and the folder says so before a word is read: eight book projects, one redrafted eleven times between 2005 and 2020; a shelf of short stories; a writers' group, The Write Company, with its exercises and its poetry competition.

Most of the poems below come from a page she assembled and titled herself — «Cheryl Anne Lerena Defranceski — Poems, Writings & Diary of a "Nutter"» — where she introduces her own work in her own voice: «this is another heartbreaking poem I wrote to him», «so I wrote a poem». This is her selection, not the archive's.

The largest thing in it is a pandemic diary in verse — at least a dozen dated poems from March 2020 into 2021, ending in a death. It is the most sustained piece of writing she has left, and nobody had ever set it out in order.

Her own preface

She opens the collection herself:

> I do not profess to be a poet or writer, however I do love to put down in words what often I cannot express. Psychologists believe «unhappy» people, «sad» people, «miserable» people, «depressed» people, write better than when feeling the opposite of these emotions. I tend to agree. I have had some miserable times in my life but the happy joyous elated times far exceed these and for that I'm extremely grateful. I'm privileged to be in this time called life with my loved ones, my reason for living.

And then chooses an epigraph — T. S. Eliot:

> POETRY IS NOT A TURNING LOOSE OF EMOTION, BUT AN ESCAPE FROM EMOTION; IT IS NOT THE EXPRESSION OF PERSONALITY, BUT AN ESCAPE FROM PERSONALITY. BUT, OF COURSE, ONLY THOSE WHO HAVE PERSONALITY AND EMOTIONS KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO WANT TO ESCAPE FROM THESE THINGS.

A woman who does not profess to be a poet does not open with Eliot on impersonality. The disclaimer and the epigraph disagree, and the epigraph is right.

Who she is, in the only terms this archive is allowed

She is living, so this page holds no dates, no places and no photograph. What it can hold is the work, and there is a great deal of it.

She writes in three forms and has done for twenty years. There are eight book projects, the largest of them eighty-one thousand words and finished, begun in May 2005 and still being redrafted in 2020 — eleven versions, three of them called Final. There are fifteen short stories and a folder of personal essays. There is a writers' group, The Write Company, whose exercises survive: describe anger, greed, hate, jealousy through the five senses — the drill that later produced her best poem. And there is a book club with spreadsheets.

She writes fast and short when it matters. The pandemic gets a rhyming diary kept across two years. A grandchild gets a poem before he is born and a nursery rhyme at three. A dead sister gets a life in couplets. A year of gratitude gets three hundred and sixty-five numbered slots, of which she fills half.

Her subjects are four, and she returns to them the way writers do: a marriage, a lie and its consequences, the deaths of two sisters, and a dog. She wrote the dog twice — once for laughs, once for grief — which is as good a description of her range as anything an archive could invent.

And she is her own editor of last resort. She kept the poems in a folder called Poems and filed two of them under Books instead, beside the eighty-thousand-word memoir. She did not rank her work by length.

Where she stands

Living people are **named only** — no dates, no places. The dead carry what the archive can prove.

Her parents

Nuno Fernando «Larry» Lerenahis father from Argentina, his mother from EnglandCatherinelater le Roux

Her generation

Cheryl Lerenawriter Catherine Tersia «Rene» Lerena21 May 1952 – 30 Sept 1999 Jeanette «Nita» Riekstinsdied Sunday 6 June 2021Paul Raymond LerenadeceasedPatliving — named onlyDianeliving — named only

Married

Ivan Defranceskimarried 1 July 1997Her first husbandnamed only as that, at David's instruction

Her son

Davidliving — named only · the compiler of this archive

Her grandsons

Alessioliving — named only · «a poem for our grandchild», 2016Mateoliving — named only

Two sisters dead twenty-two years apart, and a poem for each. It is the single fact that shapes everything on this page.

How to read what follows

The poems come in three clusters, and they are not arranged by quality.

First the ones she wrote as poems — signed, dated, filed under Poems or Books. These are the made things: Two sides, with the five senses hidden inside a refrain; Infidelity, spoken in a voice that is not hers; A poem for our grandchild, which never once says I.

Then the Corona diary — a dated sequence across two years, written the way other people kept sourdough. It is the largest single thing she made and nobody had ever set it out in order.

Then the jar — three hundred and sixty-five slots, one line each, which turns out to hold the date that fixes an elegy.

And two poems in the folder are not hers at all, which matters as much as the ones that are.

What this is

Below is her whole collection, in her own order, word for word: the prose she wrote to introduce each piece, then the piece, then the next — exactly as it stands in the document she assembled and titled herself.

Nothing is summarised and nothing is rearranged. Where the archive has something to say about a poem it is set underneath it, in a smaller hand, marked as the archive's — never in place of her words and never before them.

Everything she wrote separately is numbered separately — poems, letters, stories and the writing-course exercises from 2004 alike — and the number is only a handle for talking about it; she numbered nothing. A piece begins where she began one: at a heading she wrote, at a date, or at an exercise prompt copied down from the course before she answered it. Those prompts are set as headings here, because that is what they are — «describe a setting: a dentist's room from a child's viewpoint in first person incorporating all five senses» is the instruction she was given, and what follows it is hers. The short passages of prose she wrote between pieces, introducing what comes next, are left unnumbered: they are connective tissue, not works.

Two poems she wrote twice. «Hidden from view» (25 March 2020) is a short rhyme about the virus; eighteen months later she reopened it, kept its first two lines and wrote her sister's death onto the end of it. «Around the corner» stands under 14 May 2020 and again under 27 October 2021 with a single line changed — «Lifting moods» became «Mood lifts». Both versions are printed under both dates, because both are what she wrote.

The text was recovered by optical character recognition from a screen capture with no text layer, then read back against her Word originals wherever both survive. Small errors are possible. Where a reading is unmistakable — «van» for Ivan, «lve» for Ive, «Iam» for I am, «IIL kill me» for I'll kill me — it is corrected, because leaving a scanner's slip on the page is not fidelity to her, it is fidelity to the scanner. Where a reading is genuinely uncertain it is left as scanned and flagged rather than guessed: «Even though a physis», «Like the roots of a madrona» and «Cn when vow coudah» — this last one plainly a line about coughing, in a poem that gets the same line right nine lines later — all stand as the machine read them, and all three need her eye.

One name has been removed at David's instruction. Her introduction to the first poem names the man she was married to; this archive's rule is that living people are named only, and never accused, and an allegation of adultery against a named living person is not the archive's to publish. The sentence now reads «my marriage was over». Nothing else in her text is altered anywhere on this page — this is the single exception, and it is recorded here rather than made silently.

A note on stanza breaks. These are no longer guessed. The capture has no text layer, but it does have geometry: re-read line by line with each line's position on the page recorded, her document turns out to space text in three distinct measures — about 3 to 7 pixels between the lines of a stanza, about 20 to 25 between one stanza and the next, and about 40 to 57 between one piece and the next. The stanza breaks printed here are the middle measure, read off her own page. The check that it works: «Forever», whose four stanzas were confirmed against her Word original months ago, comes out of the geometry with those same four breaks and no others.

Where she gave a piece a title on its own line — whether ending in a colon-dash, as «Sitting at Cafe Bon-Bon in Bedfordview :-», or standing in capitals, as «LIFE IN A GATED COMMUNITY» — that line is printed as the piece's title rather than as its first line. Paragraphs follow the same evidence. A line that runs to the right margin is one she let wrap, and is joined to the line below; a line that stops short is a break she typed, and is kept. That is why the paragraphs here now match her page rather than the scanner's idea of it.

Five passages on this page are not from the scan. A word-by-word reconciliation was run between the raw scan and the published page — 11,530 words in, every substantial line checked — and it found five places where a noise-stripping rule of mine had destroyed text of hers along with the machine's nonsense. Each is restored from the original and marked. One passage could not be restored from anything and is marked as a gap rather than filled in.

The worst of them: The account of Paputchka's death was destroyed by the scanner — its opening sentence came back as «WS CAPES FUG PS PEPE AU SII Pony FRU» — and a filter of mine then deleted the whole paragraph with it. It is restored word for word from the original document, supplied by David, and marked here so that nobody has to wonder which text they are reading.

The collection, entire

Cheryl Anne Lerena Defranceski - Poems, Writings & f a "Nutter"

I do not profess to be a poet or writer, however I do love to put down in words what often I cannot express. Psychologists believe "unhappy" people, "sad" people, "miserable" people, "depressed" people, write better than when feeling the opposite of these emotions. I tend to agree. I have had some miserable times in my life but the happy joyous elated times far exceed these and for that I'm extremely grateful. I'm privileged to be in this time called life with my loved ones, my reason for living.

"POETRY IS NOT A TURNING LOOSE OF EMOTION, BUT AN ESCAPE FROM EMOTION; IT IS NOT THE EXPRESSION OF

PERSONALITY, BUT AN ESCAPE FROM PERSONALITY. BUT, OF COURSE, ONLY THOSE WHO HAVE PERSONALITY AND EMOTIONS KNOW WHAT IT MEANS TO WANT TO ESCAPE FROM THESE THINGS" - T S ELIOT

After having a long standing affair, committing adultery for years without me even suspecting, until I received a phone call from "the other woman", my marriage was over. It was the final countdown, the last act of a dramatic performance. I wrote this poem after he pleaded with me to stay. It speaks for itself. (I entered this poem into The Write Company competition and came 2nd)

The archiveIt is not written in her own voice. It is a **dramatic monologue spoken by the man** — the refrain *«Please don't go / I love you so»* six times over, and underneath it every excuse in order: *just one more chance, you're to blame, I didn't mean to, it was the heat, it won't happen again, I was weak.* The rhymes are nursery rhymes. The last stanza is a threat.
A judge placed it **second**. She gives the man the microphone and lets him convict himself in couplets.

This was the confusion and uncertainty about my life. Ivan and I always struggled to be together. I'm uncertain of the dates the following poems were written but it was some time in 1993.

So much hurt and painstanding in the rainI'm so sadI think I'm going madIt's such a fightI don't know what's rightWe're bonded for lifeThough I'm not your wifeI'm going awayBut should I stay?All I can sayIs maybe one daywe'll find a way to be togetherFOREVER

The archiveThirteen lines of interior argument, and then the fourteenth breaks format entirely — one word, in capitals, standing alone: FOREVER. It is the only shouted word in her poetry.

After moving from Durban to Johannesburg, Ivan and I still had interference and were tormented still trying to be together where we belonged. This is another heartbreaking poem I wrote to him in this tumultuous time.

The archive«To you I give not myself / But my son» is one of the hardest first lines she wrote, and she never explains it. The pet names at the foot — *Muffet*, *I.D.* — are the only signature.

This is my translation of how I felt when the end was nearing.

The archiveNo rhyme, no metre, and the longest lines she ever wrote. It moves one way only — *screams* to *numbness* to *nothingness* — and the verbs turn passive as it goes, until the last thing that acts is not her. ***«Death lusts»*** is two words and it is the middle of the poem.
It is the only poem here with a **reader** in mind: she calls it a *translation*, as though the feeling were a language somebody else would need help with.

On the "advice" of my dearest son and his wife Cris I was encouraged to do the Landmark course. My two wonderful friends Jacqui and Carla decided to join me. I am well aware I have issues and these issues prevent me from letting go of much of my past. I will say I am more forgiving, however forgiveness of self is much more difficult. This is a continual work in progress.

LETTER TO DAVE WRITTEN ON MY LANDMARK FORUM COURSE 27th AUGUST 2015

My Dearest most precious child. My belief that to withhold the truth, to not tell, is not a lie, is both ludicrous and absurd. The person, the only person who believed I was getting away with it - is me. Through my stubbornness | lacked the ability to face the fact that I did lie. I told the most despicable lie and then lied to myself by saying "I did not lie - 1

just never said anything".

For this I am sorry. I can only be forever and eternally grateful that you metamorphosed into the most beautiful, amazing man I have ever met.

You never allowed my "lie" to hold you back. Your strength gives me pride and joy. Your love for me has never been tarnished when it should have been.

You set such an example to me of what a human being should be. If I only

get this admission out of Landmark Forum, then it is one which will help me in recovering from a past I shoved into the deepest darkest corners of my mind

Cobwebbed but nevertheless there. It exists. It's in my being and it's time to let go. It's time to forgive - myself. You forgave me a long time ago.

I thank you for your caring, your kindness, your love.

From a Mother filled with love and pride.

I love you.

XoXoxO

LETTER TO MY MOTHER AT THE LANDMARK FORUM ON 27TH AUGUST 2015

My Dearest Mother

My entire life you only always wanted the best for me. You gave me love, even at times when I did not deserve to be loved, you gave it. I loved you. I always did but as life moved forward and you lost two children, you lost your will to live. I tried desperately to make you understand you have 3 other children. Live for them. You just could not. This despair and mourning dragged you down further into a deep dark hole, and as you sank, my heart sank and I became angry at you. Angry you did not want to pick yourself up. I should have tried harder. I started distancing myself from you. I tired of your mourning and your complaints. I should have tried harder. I became angry not only at you but at a family I believed did not do enough for you. Each time I looked into your eyes, I saw your sadness, I saw your pain, I watched as the life drained from you and I became angrier. You always said "Don't come to my funeral and cry. Come sit with me, talk to me, while I am alive. That makes me happy". Family did not do that so | got angrier. Instead of focusing on you and forgetting who was not doing for you, I could have done so much more. You had a family, a large family, and should never have felt lonely - but you did. I should have tried harder. I did not see you at your funeral. I stayed behind to be at the side of my son. To help him with his mourning. He loved you dearly. If Diane did not phone me, I would not have had the opportunity to talk to you one last time. I made you smile. Diane said so. Your last words to me were "I love you to the moon and back times 2". I will never forget these words. If I have realized one thing, it is I could have done more. I could have been more caring. I could have been more compassionate. I could have phoned you more. I could have visited you more. I did not. For all I did to you my entire life - the heartache, the rebellion, the lack of humanity - I truly am sorry. If you were here now, I would pick you up, squeeze you, hug you, kiss you and start over again, knowing I could be a better daughter a second time around and do all the things I did not do. I will love you always. Love you to the moon and back times 2хохохо

We experienced "true" love with our Siberian Husky Paputchka. She was a huge part of our family. As I did not trust anyone to look WS CAPES FUG PS PEPE AU SII Pony FRU. OI WC PI PO UT UU TET. Pi PS Ek Ge

after her we were unable to go on holidays together. She was a runner. Huskies are sledding dogs, working dogs so when she tasted "freedom" she would run for the hills. One day we found a lump. After x-rays and scans we discovered she had the dreaded "c" word. They could operate and believed it would be successful. So we went for it. She cried like a baby without us, in fact so much so the vet said she would be better off at home with us recovering. She needed a lot of care after the surgery. We had to take her back regularly for check-ups. As she could not get in and out of the car without hurting herself, we decided to use the office VW combi van to get her to and from the vet. We made a ramp out of a wooden plank so she could safety walk up into the van. Ivan sat with her in the back of the van while I slowly drove to the vet. She seemed to be recovering well. Every morning she had a special treat, a dentabone which she loved, however on this day she refused to take it. It made me uneasy but I thought she may finally be tiring of dentabones. After lots of hugs and kisses I left and went to the office. I felt anxious the entire morning. So much so I decided to leave early and go home. We never locked doors in our home as Paputchka loved to be inside but loved to be outside too!!!! She loved to lie on the bed in sheer luxury and comfort. I went inside, put my bag down and started calling her name. She was a snob and would often wait for me to go to and greet her first. Some days she would run up to me, jump excitedly waiting for her hugs, kisses and love, some days she waited for me to go to her while she lay on the bed with her legs wide open, ears back, with a smile, waiting for a scratch and cuddle. It just depended on her mood. There was no response to my call. I searched for her inside the house and as I searched I became more and more fearful. I walked outside to the garden still calling her name. No response. And then went to her favourite tree. When I lifted the palm leaf, I saw her lying peacefully "sleeping". Except she was not sleeping. I knew when I looked at her face this was not slumber. Her little tongue was slightly out of her mouth. I screamed. I cried. I ran to get my phone and phoned Ivan. Shouting I said to him "Paputchka is dead". Ivan said "No I'm sure she's not dead. Wait for me I'm coming home". Ivan arrived home at great speed. He looked at Paputchka and

immediately knew she was no longer with us. This is the first time I saw him shed a tear. I sobbed uncontrollably all the way to the vet. If I knew she would die I would never have put her through the awfulness of the surgery and recovery. If I knew she would die I would have spent more time with her. If I knew she would die I would not have gone to work. She died alone. Without her family by her side. The day she died will forever be etched in my mind. A very sad day!!!restored from the original — the scan destroyed this paragraph

THE LIGHTER SIDE OF LIFE WITH MY PET SIBERIAN HUSKY. — LIFE'S A BITCH THEN YOU BUY ONE

Freedom, um, it's vague, but I do remember.

Into my life came Paputchka, my pet Siberian husky, like a whirlwind. She was the ugliest little puppy I'd ever seen. Thin and scrawny she looked anorexic, and girl what an attitude! She was the last of the litter. An outcast nobody wanted. A sucker for punishment I said "Yes I'll take her, how much?"

It didn't take me long, a few seconds perhaps, and I was head over heels in love. Why I asked myself? Well it certainly wasn't her obedience for she's the most stubborn 'bitch' I have ever met. Does she come when called? Absolutely not, only of course when she knows there's something in it for her, like when she hears the words 'biltong", 'bone', "food", 'walk', she'll bolt at a speed unimaginable. Can my Paputchka understand words? Don't be fooled by her, she can even spell. "Do you want to go for a w-a-l- k-?* Leash in her mouth she comes running.

Days, weeks, months go by. The ugly puppy has mutated and is now the most beautiful adult you have ever seen. A shiny black, white and grey coat well groomed, with perfect ears, mouth, and nose and a full rounded body to die for. Ah and those big, brown eyes, yes brown eyes you just can't resist. "What do you want? Of course anything you say my dear."

Let's not forget the hair. Give me a head of hair, long beautiful hair, shining, gleaming and all over the carpet. "What a new vacuum cleaner?" says my other half surprised. What can I say? " It works over-time you know, seven days a week to be exact." I answer.

Years have come and gone. There are no holidays together with my family as one of us has to dog sit. Kennel! House-sitter! Are you insane? I trust no-one with my husky. No-one! She's unique, uncommon, a snob and a true northern suburbs bitch. How can I pull away when she comes running to give me a kiss, smack on my mouth? Her breath now a little smelly as she drools, dribbles and slobbers all over my cheek. Her body is no longer slim and trim but do you really think she cares? No way!! I have lived, loved and learnt from Paputchka. I've learnt about unconditional love, loyalty, dependability, I learnt about controlling

anger and rage, I've leant to give and not to expect anything in return. I've learnt it's the little things in life that give you the most pleasure and most of all I've learnt not to judge a bitch by her coat.

MY SIBERIAN HUSKY

My heart is heavy. My arms and legs feel weak. My head hangs limp and heavy with loss. Oh how I miss my little baba. The sunshine in my life now gone. I mourn and long for the walks to the shops to buy croissants and biltong. How proud I was of her as everyone raved about her beauty. They didn't even know her. Her intelligence and inner beauty. She had dignity and held her head high. She was my kugel and my lady.

I miss when I open the cupboard she doesn't run to see what's going on. I miss when I arrive home, she lies on her back as she waits for a tickle on her tummy, her ears and her back as she looks at me lovingly with her big diamond shaped brown eyes. I feel unsafe now even though I always knew if you went "boo" she would run a mile and hide away, but I do know if there was any danger she would protect us. I just knew it!!! I miss how every night she would climb up on the couch on the patio as though guarding us and keeping us out of harms way. I miss how she would gallop down the passage when she heard me preparing her food. I miss how with gusto she gobbled her food. The little bits which remained on her nose and mouth she would simply take her tongue and "smack" reach to get the last remnants. I miss how every morning she would run down the passage and jump on the bed and then face the door with her paws crossed, waiting for papa to arrive with her piece of biltong. She would listen intently for him and when he arrived she would first ask for her massage and would then grab and gobble her biltong. I miss when making breakfast she would ask for her bowl of milk with oil for her coat. I miss how when making lunch she would squeeze in between my legs and the cupboard, pressing tight up against me and raise her head and look at me saying "please don't forget me, I'm here.". She always got a piece of cheese or cold meat. I miss how every morning when I shouted "denta-bone" she would excitedly run to fetch it no matter what she was doing. I miss how she would hover around as we readied for work, knowing we were going to leave soon. I miss how I would switch the radio on for her every morning so she wouldn't have a deathly silence. I miss how she would howl together with Dave loud and clear and proud of her voice. I miss our daily walks, meeting friends along the way. I miss picking up her poo. I miss talking to her all the time. I miss saying to ID that she loved me more and how he would argue that no she definitely loved him more. I miss talking about her. I miss you baba with all my heart and soul.

The archiveSeventeen lines, none longer than four words, running a single night into a day and back to sunset. The only thing that develops is the pain: it *eats*, then it **feasts**. The heart is never *hers* — never my heart, always a heart.

13/08/2016

A POEM FOR OUR GRANDCHILD (Alessio) - by Cheryl Anne DefranceskiWe have not met you .... yetbut wait with bated breathto see if you're a boy or girlto count your fingers and your toesand feel the softness of your noseto touch your skin and hear your criesand smell the sweetness of your fleshto gaze deep in your eyesand whisper softly in your earsour endless love for you alwaysAnd as we wait with bated breathfor you who we have not yet metsleep well sweet child until it's timefor you to safely leave the wombWe wait for you with bated breath......

LIFE IN A GATED COMMUNITY

I look out my kitchen window and reminisce about my deceased father sitting on his rocking chair in front of our lounge window, a brandy and coke in one hand and a Peter Styvesant cigarette in the other, as he eyed, or should I say spied on neighbours comings and goings. He knew all the scandal. "Ask Larry, he'll know" they'd say.

But of course I'm not spying, although my mother insists, "You're just like your father. You love all the gossip."

But it's not like that at all. I admit I spend much of my time in this wonderful room, the room with a view of the entrance to my beautiful cluster complex, but that's because so many chores take place in this room. Therefore I can be excused for noticing all the shenanigans, can I not?

"What's Matthew doing at Richard's house? Isn't Richard's out of town? I bet that wife of his is up to no good."

"Just look at that! Those noisy tenants from unit number eleven just bashed the gate.

How many times have they been told the sensors have been removed? Who'll pay for the

damage? I'm going to report them to the Chairman."

"Hey that's Carlos and Jackie driving in with a brand spanking new BMW. They must be doing well."

"What's Louis doing home so early? That man doesn't know the meaning of work."

"Just look at that wimp from number six. How can he allow his wife to drive him around? Sandra really dominates the poor man."

"What's Gary doing driving Paula's cabrio? She won't be impressed if she finds out. When the cats away..."

"And as for that German in number ten, there's something really suspicious about his behavior. I'm sure he's a pedophile. When his third wife died he adopted his step-daughter and... well... I'm not accusing him of anything but there's certainly something very odd going on behind closed doors. She looks like she's being abused .... I'm not going to speak this out loud but maybe I should report him. Just look at how down in the dumps the poor girl looks."

"Darn! Why can't that old lady keep her yapping dog on a leash? And just look at that! He just pooped on my lawn. I must make a list of complaints for the next meeting."

Goodness, look at the time. I must prepare dinner.

HE/SHE MAN by Cheryl-Anne Defranceski (I entered this into The Write Company short story competition and came 4th)

"I'm half woman and half man" says my best friend's husband.

Oh no, when did this happen!

"Really, I'm in touch with my feminine side. Call me sometime for a woman to woman talk. We can go for coffee and chat about the kids and every day things." He says.

"And our menstrual cycle too perhaps?" I ask with a sneer.

I know what he has between his legs, or at least I think I know, and I'm sorry he cannot ever know what it's like to be a woman. Or can he?

Somehow I don't think the fairer sex has any idea what a huge load our testosterone male partners have to bear.

Take for instance tears. We cry if we're happy or sad.

“What did I do?”

"What did I say?"

He still doesn't get it. We like to cry. It makes us feel better.

Cowboys don't cry. It's a sissy thing. Man must hold his head up high and support his woman. He's strong and is always there to lean on, to fetch and carry the heavy things, to fix the car and connect the dishwasher.

Is he really as strong as what we think he is?

I don't think so. Take the male and female chromosomes. We know the X female chromosome is much stronger than the male Y chromosome. He may be able to swim faster, but we are stronger.

So how come we cry and he doesn't?

"Do you know why I prefer female company to males?" says my friend's husband.

"No, tell me." I say with interest.

"Have you ever asked a man how his children are? They'll reply in just one word. FINE!"

"And that's the problem. I cannot communicate with men. When I ask how your son is you tell me his entire life story. Woman love to talk and share their lives"

True. Woman can chitchat about anything. Woman are uncomfortable with silence. Men can sit around a TV snacking on crisps, and say nothing to each other. Eyes glued to the TV they watch other men push, shove and grab each other and call it entertainment. They scream and shout but they never actually have a conversation with each other. They never talk about feelings.

Is my friend's husband a sissy?

He picks her roses from his beautiful rose garden and buys her sexy underwear.

So would I trade my macho man for this half he/she man?

Not on your life!

My macho man is not jealous of my female friends. He doesn't feel threatened by them. He knows | love him but understands I need female company to communicate with and talk about my innermost feelings.

My friend's husband insists she stays at home. With him! He can be both lover and best friend.

I say to all the macho men out there "Well done. It's a tough job and one I won't trade my ovaries and uterus for. Not ever!™

23/5/2020

DedaBaba
Two heartsBeat as onelubdub lubdubDedaBabaDedaBabaIn the eyes of a child we are onethe cyco did bile we are brieWithout the otherWe do not comeAlways togetherThrough thick and thinIn the eyes of a child we are oneTwo peopleseen and heardas oneTill death us do partIn the eyes of a child we are oneSharing this timelubdub lubdubDedaBabaDedaBaba

1/6/2020

Sharp daggerStabs an aching heartInflicting woundsOn hidden scarsWarm bodyChills overAs life flashesThrough teary eyesMemories blurHead numbsWeary and afraidSleep looms

7/3/2019

Beating heartPierced by a knifeBlood runsTears wellEyes waterShould I tellOr even askIs it deservingWalk awayDon't stayIt painsLingering longerNot making me strongerDistance becomes vastRun away fastInto the sunsetLonely and sad

The archiveThis block runs to ninety-six lines and is almost certainly several poems the scanner ran together. «Sharp dagger» at line 91 opens a poem printed separately above; «Sad, oh so sad» at line 35 opens another printed below. But nothing in the capture marks where one ends and the next begins, and guessing the breaks would invent a shape she did not write — so it is left whole and flagged. It needs her eye, or the Word original.

Tired, oh so tiredPetty tiffsCausing riftsSadness creepsInto crevicesSwallowing joyLosing sanityNo peaceSleep deprivedTired, oh so tiredWaitingBreathing slowsListeningSilence pleaseNo moreOn kneesQuiet .... sssshhhhh

Sad, oh so sadJoy grabbedRipped from a bleeding heartLosing willSinking deeperInto darknessLight fadingNumbness creepsLike a thiefSlithering into crevicesStealing feelingsA struggle of powerWeakness appearsMinds battleMisery risesCome backDon't leave nowStay and fightTired, oh so tiredTake me

The archive«Like a thief / Slithering into crevices» is the line she reuses, word for word, in the 2021 elegy for her sister — written for a private grief eighteen months before she gave it to a virus.

An indestructible loveIn dangerPillows separate where heads once rested togetherEmpty hands hang looselyWhen once they clasped tightly togetherBodies that held each other tightNo longer touchEyes that met and held a gaze foreverNo longer meetWords spoken with compassion and careNow hurtful and disrespectfulHow did this indestructible love become so fragile and destructible

Like a pendulumMood changesCreating oppositesCalm watersStormy seasSwinging pendulumTo and froLifestyle qualityDeeply troubledNo escapeYearning for serenitySilence brokenChaos emergingHopelessness hangsHush .......

Tears fallHeart achesLife disappointsPendulum swingsTo and froThis way then thatHurt from those lovedPain againWhen will it stopSharp daggerPierce's a heartStabbed repeatedlyStop please stopEyes mistTears fall

The archiveThe first time she calls it a hunter rather than a thief — «Sneaky and sly / Hunting for prey / So you can slay».

These are some of the exercises I did when at a Writers Write course in 2004 :-

A Stinking suppurating tramp falls in front you ....

A stinking suppurating tramp collapses in front of you. You want to vomit. The smell is revolting. You don't know whether to run away from him or to help him. You don't want to touch him. All those micro-organisms! You can't see them but you know they are there. You wonder about his life. You decide he is responsible for his own life, he chose this way. You will not feel guilty. He is just a stranger. You have your own problems. You run away as fast as you can.

Ode to a beggar
She looks richthe white bitchWon't look my way'cos she don't wanna payWhat a carit could take me farHow 'bout it lady, gimme a dimeI don't do crimeIt'll pay for foodfor my large brood.I can't liveif they don't giveDamn them allin their fancy mallI hope they rotin this parking lotSnatch, grab, yank, pullCastah arsh vsel pullGimme your bagyou old hagRun, scurry, bolt, fleePuff, pant, gasp, wheezeThank you lady I'm outa the sleaze

Wife/husband discovers infidelity. No-name brand dialogue. No he said/she said.

"You fucking piece of trash. How could you do this to me?"

"I never planned it. It just happened. I'm sorry Trish, really."

"SHUT-UP. For eight years this has been going on behind my back. I'm probably the last one to know. This is it Craig. Pack your bags and get the hell out of here."

"This is my house. It's my hard work that pays for this roof, so forget it, I'm not leaving."

"'If you don't get out you'll never see the kids again. I swear I'll make your life miserable."

"It's because of you that I did it. I can never talk to you. You're always tired, complaining and nagging. I'm sick to death of it."

"Don't try to make me feel guilty for your immoral behaviour. Be a man, take some responsibility."

"I am a man Trish but you seem to forget that. You're so domineering. It's always about you, you, you."

"I don't have to listen to you. Just get out of my life once and for all and don't come back. I don't ever want to see or talk to you again. Speak to my Lawyer from now on. Just go, Please.

First Person - You're the opposite sex in a swimming costume.

I love dressing up in girls clothes. I have loved doing this ever since I was a little boy. I love the pinks, florals and bows, the stockings and suspenders, the bras and panties, and yes even the swimming costume. I do look very sexy in my swimming costume with the little red roses, revealing my arched back which is one of my better qualities. All of these fabrics rubbing against my masculine flesh giving me the sexual thrill I so need.

I really would love to be a girl but this way I can be either, for I am a transvestite you see, one day a girl and the next day a boy.

Scene/dialogue.

A couple sit at the breakfast table, she is 39; he is 45 - married for 10 years. One of them wants a child, the other does not.

Sitting at the breakfast table, Zurita looks at Louis lovingly. The sweet aroma of fresh filter coffee fills his nostrils.

"Hmmm smells good," he says as he pours, "would you like some?"

"Please."

"Louis I have something to tell you," she says spooning his scrambled eggs, just the way he likes it onto his plate.

He looks up at Zurita. She looks so good in the morning with no make-up, almost child-like. "What is it, hon?"

"I know we both agreed we didn't want a family, but all my friends have started and I'm getting broody. Just imagine a Louis junior running around. It would be great."

"Zurita I told you from the beginning I don't want any children. Please don't start this now. Besides I'm too old anyway. Now can I eat in peace, my eggs are getting cold," says Louis impatiently.

"I think I should tell you. I haven't used contraception the last month and I might ......."

"What? How dare you. You can't make this decision without me. I hope you're not pregnant!" screams Louis, scrambled egg flies out his mouth. Pushing back his chair he storms out the kitchen, "You'd better not be." The front door slams.

Zurita whispers "That's what | wanted to tell you - I'm pregnant"

EXERCISE - DESCRIPTIONS

Look at a building and a person you see every day and describe it, using 2 or 3 lines.

BUILDING

The house with lights spaced systematic on its bright, yellow walls. Imposing electric gates waiting to be opened and closed. Neat pots filled with colourful daisies stand at the entrance. Ivy grows furiously against the outer walls. Wooden window frames with glass that reflects the trees.

PERSON

Strong, bold features with piercing green eyes look right through you. Ears jut out from the long silver-grey hair which glows like a halo, virtuous.

NAMING MY BOOK

For what I have in mind I find it difficult to come up with anything bizarre. As this would be the last act, performance, or deed, l would go with something like :-

The Last Act/ShowWinning WaysThe Final Show/ActDesperate EndDesperadoCriminal MindFierce ConductMonster DeedsBrute EvilSavage FeatShowdownFearless BanditEvil ActSpeak, See, Hear all EvilChemical JourneyDeath Trap

My character is the worst of all evils so I would have to think of a really strong name to depict this. The above are not strong enough. I would probably name the book at the end.

The inspiration may come to me in the end.

(I did finally title my book LIFE AFTER LIES)

EXERCISE

Choose 4 or 5 descriptions of your own for your loves (as similes) and hates (as metaphors)

My love is like (Simile):
A butterfly in the breezeIce-cream in a cool swimming poolKnees knocking the first time you kissThe coo of doves as the sun rises
My hate is (Metaphor):
A love story with no endingA weaver chirping on a quiet morningChalk scrapina on a blackboardFloured, sticky hands without water

EXERCISE

Take the following abstract words and describe them in concrete terms.

Laziness is a slob who leaves his underpants on the floor
Ecstasy is dancing in the sunlight.
Loneliness is a deserted island
Envy is a slow, slimy snail crawling in the sand
Bitterness is the biological father who loses the paternity suit
Pleasure is sucking on a Wilson toffee, taking forever to melt
Lust is a sweet sticky toffee apple
Love is the flutter of a butterfly
Joy is the birth of a child on a blue moon

EXERCISE - Do you know your character? Describe a different part of 'Neely's' house.

I hope Neely doesn't see me snoop but I'm curious. I want to know more about her and how she lives. I enter her bedroom. Wow, is she neat or what? The blue duvet cover, crinkle free, with tiny black stars, lies evenly spread on a bed with black base and black leather headboard. How can it look so smooth? Does she sleep in the bed? I'm sure she irons it. Scatter cushions in different shades of blue rest at the head of the bed, perfect and even. A dark blue sheep skin blanket is stretched out at the bottom of the bed with a black throw placed on top. This matches the black persian with cream stripes which is sprawled on grey wall-to-wall carpets at the foot of the bed. Two abstract paintings hang above the bed. How bizarre, I can't make out what they are supposed to be, looks almost like a volcano, or maybe the black hole. In the corner of the room stands a silver and black hat- stand where Neely's eccentric black hat with a peacock feather hangs. Silver lamps with black lamp shades stand on the black and silver pedestals, dimly lighting the room. Black marble vertical aluminium blinds cover the wooden sliding door which opens on to a patio. Neely must love black, it's everywhere. A grand mirror reflects the beauty of the room, and makes it seem larger than it really is. Everything seems to be so contrived. Neely doesn't look neat. She's always wearing those damned tight slacks and sloppy jersey with sneakers. Suddenly I hear Neely call out, "Hellooo where are you?" I dash out the bedroom more intrigued than ever Who is she?

Exercise - Describe a character through another characters viewpoint. Let some of the describing character's nature come through.

Standing there in his Georgio Armani suit, Peter looks quite handsome, although he's not my type. He's such a lover boy, so suave. Listen to that laugh, it's so false. Look how he glances round the room to see if he's been noticed. It's so irritating. Why does he bring out the worst in me? Sally thinks he fancies her, that's why she keeps inviting him to her dinner parties. He loves woman, all woman. He says there are no ugly woman only lazy woman. They're all beautiful he'll say. He can't resist woman. Must he always touch me when he walks passed? I hate it. He'll leave with someone, anyone at the end of the evening, you'll see. I tried to tell Sally she doesn't stand a chance of ever having a meaningful relationship with him unless of course she is prepared to share him, but she won't listen, she just thinks I'm jealous. If she only knew the truth about him she would stay away.

Your leading lady stands in front of her wardrobe. What's in it? Why can't she decide what to wear? Write an internal dialogue.

"I've never got anything to wear. My friends have seen me in just about everything. I don't like them seeing me in the same dress twice. How about this slinky black number, it's so sexy? Mmmmm, maybe not, shows too much cleavage, and anyway I wore it to Mandy's wedding. I'm sure she'll recognise it. This one's quite nice. The low pockets on the hip make me look quite slim. This is a possibility, although I'm not sure | like no sleeves. The top of my arms are a bit flabby. No, it's definitely out. I must get rid of all the sleeveless dresses and shirts in my wardrobe. It always looks as though I have so much to wear. I feel so much more comfortable in my jeans and t-shirts and I have so much to choose from. Now this one's nice. I remember when I bought it. A real Jane Norman number, I just love it. Nope, this one's out as well. Look at how fat my bum looks! I'm going to have to do something about the way I look. Oh what the heck. I think I'll just go to Sandton and buy something.

Your protagonist is sitting down to a meal at a restaurant. Describe how he is dressed, how he sits at the table, make him speak to his dinner companion, let him order from the menu.

Sitting at a corner table of the Italian restaurant, shoulders back, hands resting on the table, fingernails clean and manicured, Jack wears a black turtle-neck sweater which looks good against his dark, tanned complexion. Jack glances at Cate, who fidgets nervously, and says "Are you ready to order darling?"

"I'm not sure what to have, perhaps you should decide for both of us," she stammers.

"Oh, all right," he replies. The irritable tone in his voice unmistakeable.

"Waiter, we'll have the beef carpaccio with parmesan shavings to start. Mmmm, the seafood risotto sounds good. Are the prawns fresh?" asks Jack.

"We just got a shipment in from the Cape of fresh large tigers" replies the waiter.

"Excellent. That will be all thank you," says Jack, feeling hungry.

"Cheers Cate, to long life and love." They raise their glasses filled with ruby red wine. Glasses clink.

"Now tell me Cate, why do you need the money? It is an awful lot of money."

"I'm being blackmailed." Cate replies. Tears stream down her cheeks. "He said he'd tell Martin about us if I don't give him what he wants. I'm so scared Jack. What must I do?"

"Who is he? How does he know about us?" asks Jack concerned.

Cate looks lovingly at Jack. He's always been there for her. "I'm not sure," she says, "I think Martin hired him to follow me and now he says he won't tell if I pay up."

"Leave it to me Cate. He doesn't know who he's dealing with." Smiling Jack squeezes Cate's hand, thinking of how to get rid of

Martin,

EXERCISE - write a scene and sequel in child's viewpoint. Child finds out his teacher committed a crime, and the child witnessed the crime.

Sally loves playing hide and seek with her best friend Kim.

"Don't start counting yet Kim give me a chance, OK?"

"It's not fair Sally, you always want a chance. I'm starting now, ready or not. 1.....2........"

Sally runs from the playground as fast as she can towards the classrooms. Maybe I can hide in one of the classrooms. Standing on tip-toes she peeps through the window of the first room. Oops, there's Mr Gerber at his desk. Sally ducks and crawls away quietly to the next room. She stands on one leg stretching as high as she can and peers into the room. Hey, that's Miss Chase. What's she doing in Mrs Cragg the hags' class? What's that she's putting in her pocket? It looks like a purse. I'm sure she's not supposed to be in there. Sally loses her balance and knocks the window with her hand. Oh no, she's seen me. Sally freezes. Miss Chase storms outside, pulls Sally by her ponytail away from the classroom so no-one can hear. "What on earth are you doing spying at the window?"

"Ouch that hurts", squeals Sally. "I never saw anything Miss Chase, I promise. I'm just looking for Kim."

"Don't lie to me young lady. You'd better not tell anyone what you saw or else there will be trouble, do you hear?"

"Yes Miss Chase, can I go now?"

Miss Chase grabs Sally's arm roughly. "Yes you can and remember you're not supposed to be up here Sally, so if I were you I would keep it very quiet."

Sally runs off heart pounding. What am I going to do? I think Miss Chase was stealing Mrs Cragg's purse. It's a sin. God will punish me if I don't tell the principal. Maybe God should rather tell. Sally walks towards the principal's office. As she is about to enter she sees Miss Chase come around the corner. She sees Sally. Sally gulps, no words will come out. She can't move. As Miss Chase nears she sees the evil glint in her eye.

EXERCISE - describe a setting. A dentist's room from a child's viewpoint in first person incorporating all five senses.

I'm so frightened. I have never been to a dentist before. My mommy told me I would get holes if I ate sweets. I did not listen to her. I love sweets, especially jelly babies; they're the best with all the different colours. I love the black ones the best. Mmmmm it smells nice in here, like wicks bubble gum. I hope the dentist doesn't hurt me. Wrir, wrrr, wrir. "What's that noise" I ask my mommy. She tells me it is a drill. I don't understand. My daddy has a drill. He uses it to drill holes in the wall. I already have a hole, so I don't think the dentist will use it on me. The dentist calls me, "Jason you can come through" he says. My mommy holds my hand. What a nice big chair he has, I wish I had one in my room. Everything looks so white and clean, I'm sure I'd see an ant crawling if I looked. "Open your mouth wide Jason and close your eyes", said the dentist. His name is Harry. I know 'cos my Mom calls him that. I feel a prick. What is that? Wrrrr, wrrrr, wrrr. Oh no he is making a hole in my tooth. My mouth feels funny and tastes like dog biscuits. "Okay Jason you can open your eyes now, you're finished" says Mr Harry, the dentist. I look in the mirror. My mouth is skew when I smile. Wow how did he do that? I can't wait to show my friend Jimmy. I'll bet anything you like, even my black marbles that he can't pull his mouth like this.

EXERCISE - Describe a minor character. Do a paragraph. Who are they in relation to the main character?

Jack's sister Clare floats into the room. All eyes turn in her direction. Wow, she's gorgeous. Jet black shiny smooth hair falls onto her bare shoulders, her tiny black halterneck top only just covers her breasts. A slim, tanned body with skin-tight jeans shows every curve of her perfect frame. Clare's so unlike Jack who is quiet and secretive. She's outspoken, blunt and totally honest which is rather an embarrassment to Jack especially when in the company of all his pompous upper class friends. Clare hates pretentious people with a passion and loves to bring down these fakes a peg or two.

EXERCISE - Do dialogue only, between one of the following :-

Pen/paperGold/silver earringsKettle/carving knifeLawnmower/garden furniture

PEN/PAPER

"You need me" said Mr Pen

"No, YOU need me. Without me where would you write?"

"Without me, you would be nothing. I can write anywhere and on anything, and besides no-one was killed for me, so I'm better than you.

"'If you want your words to be read and taken seriously, you must use me."

"I suppose you're right."

"Let's make a truce. We need each other."

"Ok, agreed. I can live with you, if you can live with me."

"I can't live without you, only with you."

"Let's write."

LAWNMOWER/GARDEN FURNITURE

"'I wish I did not feel so used", said Mr Lawnmower, "I'm only taken out once a week. I have to do all the hard work. He would much rather watch the soccer than push me around."

"True. I'm so lucky. When he's tired of you he relaxes with me. Sitting down he gulps his beer and rests his weary, dirty and I must say smelly feet on me. I don't know how much longer I'll be able to hold his weight. God he's so fat and getting fatter by the day. He really needs to use you more", exclaims Mr Garden furniture.

"I wish he'd take me out more, only he's so rough with me. I can feel the way his hands clutch at my handle that he's angry. He just wants to get the job over. You get the best of him. He never smiles when he's pushing me around."

"Just accept it. You can't have all work and no play. It's all about balance so don't feel bad. You could be on the scrapheap so be grateful, you're still useful.

EXERCISES:

Write half a page of dialogue on:

A boy angry with his friend for crashing his bike:

"Now look what you've done, you've broken my bike," said Jason.

"It's not my fault. You told me to look at your stupid hat" cried Brad.

"Did I tell you to turn around and smash into the tree? You're just silly man."

His leg dripping with blood Brad hobbles up the road. 'I'm bleeding, don't you even care? You're just worried about your bike. It's old anyway," screams Brad.

"My Dad's gonna kill me. You'd better tell him you did it, else he's going to give me a hiding."

"I won't take the blame. I'm going home so my Mom can fix my leg."

"You're such a cry baby. Go home then but I'm not going to play with you ever again." screams Jason.

A grandmother telling her granddaughter that she's a disgrace:

"Just look at you. Plastered with make-up, your panties sticking out of your jeans, and what's that in your belly-button? You're definitely not going out like this young lady. It's shameful."

"Oh Gran, get with it. Times have changed. It's the fashion, hipsters are in. And this is a belly-ring. It's cool hey?"

"You're just asking for trouble. Running around half naked, it's not respectable. In my day we covered up. Boys shouldn't see you like this. What's the world coming to?"

"You're so old fashioned. All the girls dress like this."

"Well I think you should go put on something a bit more decent. At least cover your stomach."

"Then what's the point of having a belly-ring. You're supposed to see it not hide it."

"'You don't know what damage you're doing to your skin. You'll realise later when it's too late and you'll say 'Gran told me so"."

"Don't spoil it for me Gran. All my friends will be dressed like this. PLEASE!!!"

"Oh, all right. You always twist me round your finger. Just be careful and stay with your friends all the time. Now go on!"

EXERCISE - A couple are arguing over money. One of them thinks the other is spending too much on a luxury item. Dialogue only scene. No he said/she said, no narratives :

"WHAT! You want to spend thirty thousand on new couches. Are you out of your mind? That's a years salary for a lot of people you know."

"Have you seen what our couches look like?"

"Oh come on Anne, they're not so bad."

"You have no idea. Take the throw off and what do you see? It's finished Mike."

"Until the kids are older you'll just have to make do."

"'I won't. You've had these couches for ever, since before we married. It's crazy. I'm ashamed when my friends come around. I want something more modern."

"'It's my money Anne and I'll decide how we spend it."

"That's your problem. It's always my couch, my money, my house. Nothings ours. I'm getting sick and tired of your selfish attitude."

"I'm the one who works all day and puts up with all the crap, while you're at home having tea parties spending my money."

"Oh, so that's all I do, is it? Who keeps the house looking the way it does. ME that's who, not a Selina like all my friends. You're such a scrooge. We should at least enjoy YOUR money while we're alive."

"Our old age Anne, remember. And the answer is no. Read my lips NO. If you can't have what you want you must want what you have. My mother always told me this."

"Oh shut-up about your mother. I'm not interested in what she said, and you can just shove your money up your arse. Goodnight Mike I'm going to bed".

EXERCISE - It's a dark night. You're walking to your car. You hear a sound. What happens next?

What's that? The crack of a twig. It's him I just know it. I can't breathe. RUN, RUN. My legs are stuck. Move damn you, move. What's that smell? Sweet, stale .... oh shit, cigar, cuban. Yes, it's him. He said he'd get me. He's been patient, biding his time. Please not now. I don't want to die. I've still so much to do. PLEASE let me live. Oh no, the wrong key, please let this one fit. Click. Oh thank God, it's open. Shut the door, lock it hurry, turn the key. Please old girl please, please start. YES vrmm, vrmm, that's my baby. Accelerate, push flat, more, more, faster, faster, go, go, go.

Shivering | look back. My breathing steadies as | shout, "you bastard, you fucking psychopath I beat you again." Phew that was close, too close. You're going to pay you madman.

EXERCISE -do the beginning part of a scene. Do a flashback, and then resume to present story.

"How're you doing Mom? Are you comfortable?" asks John.

"I'm in pain John. So much pain. I just want to die."

"Don't worry Mom. I'll look after you. Here take your medicine. The morphine will help. Are you hungry? I'm making your favourite. Macaroni cheese."

"Not right now John. You're so good to me. I've lived for you and only you," whispers John's mother.

John hides in the closet. Screams, shouts. Oh my ears they hurt.

"He's not mine Grace, you know it. Times have changed. Have DNA tests. Prove it," stumbles Dave. The stale smell of booze enters John's nostrils. Makes him want to vomit.

"I only slept with him once Dave, believe me."

"Once is enough Grace. I will not bring up another man's child. Forget it, do you hear me?"

"Please Dave he's only a child, an innocent child."

"I'm leaving Grace, goodbye."

John looks at his mother. BITCH, WHORE, TRAMP. He holds the empty bottle of morphine and smiles. I've wanted to do this for so long mother. Goodbye.

EXERCISES — TREES

I Love trees. The beautiful colours - green, gold, brown. Full of leaves in summer - noleaves and naked in the winter. The sound of the wind that hisses through the leavesand branches quite eerie. The branches are like a family tree. Different routes, changing ways,different ways of thinking, but they all come together making us all compatible andtolerant of one another. Different shapes and sizes - small, tall, fat and thin. Whatstories could they tell if only they could speak? Trees are part of me, of us - withoutthem our world would be bare. Life in all these trees, without them we could not exist- we need oxygen, we need you trees. Let us nurture, water and take care. This isour existence. Cherish the tree that gives us life. Be responsible. Thetree gives shade when we are hot and sweaty. The tree is refuge for birds who nest andhide their chicks from predators and bad weather. Collecting leaves and twigs tomake nests for their young, to keep them warm. Yes I am only a tree, you see meevery day all day. I am useful. I am warmth and beauty and taken for granted.

EXERCISE - WRITE A PAGE STARTING "My mother never..."

My mother never gave careful consideration when she re-married after my father's death. She was very dependant on my father. He was the head of the home, king of his castle. She did what he told her. She was a lost soul after he died even though she had five children. Your children cannot give you the comfort you need when you are grieving, especially when they too are trying to find themselves. Children all with different needs, thoughts and ideas, going through puberty and all feeling this great loss, How could they understand? She married a colleague who she had worked with for several years. He was the complete opposite of my father. I found it difficult to relate to him and shortly after their marriage, I left home. My mother even today does not know my reasons for leaving. He does not drink, smoke or swear. He does not abuse her physically but he was so jealous of her relationship with her children he drove them further and further away from her. Is this not mental abuse? This is just what he wanted, my mother to himself. The result is that she missed out on all her grand-children's lives. He was always too busy washing cars, painting the house, always an excuse why they could not attend functions. He never made any effort to be a part of our lives. Sadly now my ageing mother wonders why there is this distance between her and her grandchildren. Why do they not visit her like her neighbours grandchildren?

DESCRIBE THESE ABSTRACT WORDS THROUGH THE SENSES :- — LOVE

Feels like silkSmells of rosesTastes like magnum ice-creamSounds like musicLooks like a butterfly

HATE

Feels like a prickly cactusSmells of fishTastes like chalkSounds like a weaverLooks dark and bleak

JEALOUSY

Feels heavy like leadSmells like rotten socksTastes bitter like a lemonSounds like the morning traffic jamLooks slimy and green

PITY

Feels cold and clammySmells of ammoniaTastes of stale breadSounds like a cat's meowLooks like a mouse

LUST

Feels sticky like toffeePeels sUCRYy NKG WeeSmells dampTastes of oystersSounds like a cat's purrLooks like lingerie

ANGER

Feels hot like fireSmells of bloodTastes of saltSounds like a beating drumLooks like a red light bulb

GREED

Feels rough like sand-paperSmells dank and mustyTastes of sandSounds like a trumpetLooks like an anaconda who just ate his prey

Our 21st birthday present to Dave was a car and the money below :-

Acknowledgement of debt

We, Mama and Papa, the said parents of, David Defranceski

Hereby pledge to pay the said child the sum of u.k. pound sterling 1500.00.

The said amount being redeemable in London, providing bearer has adequate identification and a local bank account into which funds may be transferred.

The above being our gift to you on your 21st Birthday on the 6th day of January in the year 2000.

Your ever-loving Parents

I.D and C.D

(Better known as Mama and Papa

In 2010 on finding out Jax & Carlos chose Ivan and I as the Godparents for Sophia, I wrote this letter :-

Dearest Jax & Carlos

What can we say?

Two old farts living in a fish bowl and we have been given the trust, honor and love by you guys to be the Godparents of Sophia Adriana!!!!

The day you asked us came as a complete surprise to both Ive and I. I knew I would cry. On the way home the tears gently flowed down my cheeks and Ive said "What now? Are you crying?" I said "No of course not. Just got something in my eye." He said "Don't lie, you ARE crying." The tears were of joy, happiness, glee, ecstasy, and every emotion you can think of. I wanted to jump up and down on the bed when we got home. I know I'm a little loony - well sometimes!!!! You should know cos you've seen a little!!!! Ummmm come to think of it so has Cristiano and Sophia seen some drama!!!!

Our friendship has developed and blossomed over the last few years and is very special to us. The age difference has never been an issue for us. What we see are two beautiful people who we love and love to be with. We treasure each and every moment we spend with you. We are privileged to be a part of your lives and the beginning, the very beginning of the lives of your two beautiful children. A son and a daughter!!!! Your dream has come to fruition. As these two little lives grew both Ive and I touched your tummy Jax and felt the life growing inside you. And now we've had the absolute pleasure of holding these two little lives, of being involved in their lives, of experiencing this miracle of life, this innocence, and all I can say is we love Cristiano and Sophia and this love grows each and every day.

Then there were two, then there were five, now there are seven. Wow!!!! How rich is your life??? And we are a part of this rich life so that makes us rich. All we can say is THANK YOU and WELL DONE to you both.

With all our love & gratitudetwo ecstatic Godparents Ivan & CherylXXXXXXX

"Anyone who thinks woman are the weaker sex have never given birth - but then no woman has got herself caught in a zipper."

A letter written to Jax & co December 2015 - the month we left South Africa to come live in Australia :-

Jax, Carlos, Cristiano, Sophia

Life, love and everything in-between

Well after months of packing, months of counting down, months of talking about this "big day" it has finally arrived. Thank goodness for busyness!!! Throughout all this madness we have had no time to reminisce. For me it's been a stress. But I stress about stressing and then proceed to stress even more. It's just in my nature!!! Thank goodness for my lifeline, my beautiful best friend, lover, my everything, my all. Ive has grabbed me umpteen times by my feet as I floated off into the blue skies, to bring me back down to earth. I think we can be quite proud of ourselves. Not only did we move offices ourselves, but we have spent months packing house ourselves, and doing a pretty good job if I may say so myself.

You guys have been so awesome. We treasure your friendship - and always will. To say we are going to miss you is an understatement. You are a part of our lives and have filled our lives with so much love, so much happiness, so much joy, so much friendship. We have been such an integral part of Nano and Sophia's life. From the day of their birth when Ive held them in one hand, to carrying them around today with legs dangling around his waist, with so much pride. There has been so much in- between. From watching them crawl, walk, talk, run, taking solids for the first time, making a pee and poo in the potty and shouting "Cherol come wipe my bum", to spontaneous kisses, to tantrums, Criatiano telling Ive at the dinner table "I loooove you Ivan", sitting on Ive's lap eating his froth, flying like a bee when he saw the forklift shouting "I can't believe it", going to school, to kumon, to gymnastics, swimming, tennis, parties, birthdays, and of course the humour. "I pretended to be asleep so I did not have to brush my teeth" says Nano with a big smile on his face. "I want to be a tomboy when I grow up. Nano do I look like a tomboy?" says Sophia. "Yes you do" says Nano nonchalantly. We have a bond with you all. A bond that will forever keep our lives entwined. We may not be blood relatives but you guys are our family. We may be separated by thousands of miles but you will always be in our hearts and in our thoughts. I sincerely hope you will visit us one day soon so we can share our new life with you and show you our new country, a country we have come to love, a country where we will grow old gracefully and without fear. And a country that make the greatest "hamburgers!!!

We wish you much happiness, joy, peace and love in your new home. You will make new memories and new history in your home. It's your castle. The castle built for a King, Queen, Prince and Princess who will live happily ever after.

We wish for you all a sun that shines all day every day.

We will not say goodbye for it can never be goodbye. It will only be "ciao" until we see you all again, one day soon.

Have a great Christmas and New Year. We have asked Father Christmas to remember we will be in Australia, so he must deliver the presents for Sophia and Cristiano to us in Brisbane. He wrote back to say he will remember. He told us in his letter that "good" children get nice presents, like toys and books and all things nice but naughty children get black coal. We told him Sophia and Cristiano were the best children in the whole wide world and were very good. He also told us his reindeer know Australia very well so he will not get lost.

We love you to the moon and back times gazillions.

Much love, hugs, squashes & squeezes

Ive & Che

p.s. See you all soon .... very soon and yes Nano and Sophia I do have a glass of wine in my hand and I will be going

“cookoo0000000!!!

Date 21 November 2015

LINA - 60 - 14 December 2015

My Beautiful ya-ya sister

We have a history that spans over about 43 years. From the wonderful memories I have of Frankel & Seahoff when I met you in 1972 to the present moment, you have been an awesome friend to me. I remember the mortadella and mozzarella sandwiches which were to die for. This was the first time in my life I had even heard these strange words for food. The strolls we took at lunch times "window shopping", the memory game we played in the back of the accounts department with Mrs Hartley, the "slap" chips we ate at lunch times, sitting in Oppenheimers Park chatting and laughing like immature school kids, which we really were. I remember your clothes - you dressed so modern and elegant and I envied you. You had a body that one could only dream of (still have). There has been laughter, tears, sadness, gladness, hope, love, and many more emotions which we have shared. There has been such tragedy in our lives, but we survived because we are survivors, we are fighters, we are warriors. I will cherish all these memories I have and hope there will be loads more to come. I will think of you on the 14th with much love and hope your day will be filled with an abundance of love, health, joy & happiness and most of all a sun that shines on your head forevermore. The bracelet has a charm sun which I believe is vital for all living things. Life cannot exist without the sun so | hope this little charm will remind you of me and the life we shared together. This is not a goodbye. This is just a "ciao" till we meet again which I hope will be one day soon. There will be thousands of miles separating us and beautiful blue oceans and skies, but the world is but a small place, so we will keep in touch and who knows one day you may decide to visit me in my new land. I love you with all my heart and soul. Till we meet again. With much love, hugs, squashes & squeezes, "your friend and ya-ya sister" Che.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

After the surgery on my neck to remove the carotid body tumour I wrote to Dr Snyders and sent him a bottle of exceptional red wine to celebrate him "saving" my life:-

November 2011

Dr Dave Snyders

I thank you for your brilliance. I never doubted you for one second. The Christmas lights on the tree you really are. I thank you for your confidence and perfection when doing my delicate operation.

I hope you enjoy the wine.

I wish you and your family a wonderful and safe festive season.

"Men are like the stars; some generate their own light while others reflect the brilliance they receive". (Jose Marti quote (Cuban Writer - 1853-1895)

Best Regards and many thanks

Cheryl Defranceski

A letter written to "Boris" our dearest Alessio :-

Our dearest Boris

Time sure is fleeting.

You are in your 33rd week.

On Friday you and your Mom arrive in Brisbane. Yippee yah!!!

And on Sunday it is a special day - it's your baby shower.

Sadly your Tata will not be in Brisbane as he is still working in Singapore.

You must stay in the oven and bake a wee bit more until your Tata arrives in March.

Tell your Mommy to "knype" hard. That is an Afrikaans word which means "pinch".

We have made you a pressie for your baby shower. We will take a photo so your Tata can see. We hope you like it.

As the time nears when for you to exit from your Mommy's womb our excitement grows and grows just like a flower garden. We want to hold you and give you all our love. We have a lot of love to give. You will find that out when you arrive in this time called life.

We love you dearest grandson.

Baka Cheryl and Deda Ivan

A Suicide Avenged by Cheryl-Anne Defranceski

By the time I reach my sister Kate's house, the Paramedics are busy working on her limp lifeless body on the luscious green lawn in front of her double story cluster home. In horror I watch as her throat is slit and a tube inserted, and wonder when I'll wake from this nightmare. Desperate and helpless I observe the Paramedics as they try to revive her, oblivious of my presence.

Desperate and helpless I observe the Paramedics as they try to revive her, oblivious of my presence. Kate's long beautiful sleek jet black hair usually neat and shiny, lies matted with vomit next to her unmoving head.

I turn my back on this dream, this nightmare and sit on the damp lawn a few meters from this terrible scene. I clutch my legs to my chest, and sob as I rock to and fro.

Kate was going to leave the bastard tonight. It was a big decision for her. Her dull brown eyes wide with fear she said to me this afternoon "I'm scared of him Jackie. If he even suspects I'm going to leave him.... he'll kill me.""

The animal's been abusing Kate for years.

"I can't live with him anymore. I don't know who or what he is. Everything's been a lie."

Kate discovered that Carl was not Spanish as he claimed when they first met several years ago, but he's in fact a Cape Coloured. Kate found documents revealing all this a few nights ago.

Kate looked so thin and gaunt. If only I could've eased her pain.

Kate kept her abuse a well guarded secret until of course today when she opened up to me, divulging her life of mental and physical abuse. I always suspected, but never found the courage to question her. If only I did.....

Why did she do this awful thing? In a few hours she would've been free of him. She told me he was a psychopath and said no- one would believe her, but I did.

I had no idea she had thoughts of suicide. If I did I would never have allowed her out my sight.

Although Kate's sadness was evident, today she did have hope. I saw a glimmer in her sad brown eyes.

My thoughts are interrupted by the gentle voice of the paramedic. "I'm so sorry. We can't do anymore for her."

He truly is sorry. I can see he was desperate to save her. I know he did all he could but still I scream at him, hysterical "Please try just one more time. PLEASE. Just maybe....*

"I'm so sorry. It's no use" he says as he turns his back on me, unable to face my suffering.

I shiver as I watch the paramedic remove her soiled clothes from her cold and pale body. Soiled with urine, blood, vomit and faeces. Kate was shy and would never undress in front of anybody, but now all around gawp at her unclothed body. The paramedics lift her body off the damp lawn and carry her to the police van. She'll be taken to the mortuary for a postmortem. POPES HEL IRR LPUPkay AEE APPR Mea? bead cad Acai TIRE RMP APES POKER RS WaT, SOP ARS PT MPR RUSTY WP LEEKS PPP Rca PT ct POU A,

Startled, I jump as the door slams shut and before I have a chance to say goodbye the van disappears into the dark of night. The warm heart that pumped blood through Kate's blood vessels just hours earlier is now cold and still.

Kate didn't die peacefully. The sheer terror on her face is evident.

The paramedic hands Kate's clothes and jewellery to Carl who all the while has been standing by, silent, trying to look the part of the distraught husband

Numb and in a daze I stroll to the garage. The door of Kate's red BMW stands wide open. The vomit smell overwhelms me. An empty bottle of whiskey lies on the front seat. How odd. Kate didn't drink. Not ever. The swimming pool hose that carried the poisonous odourless gas into her lungs, suffocating and killing her, lies on the garage floor. I always thought a hosepipe was used in a gassing, but how clever to use a thick hose like this. The killer gas would fill the car much quicker than a hosepipe. Could Kate really have thought this up all on her own?

"Do you know how your sister cut her forehead?" I didn't hear the paramedic come up behind me.

When she left my place this afternoon she definitely didn't have a cut on her forehead.

Like a slap it hits and jolts me into the harsh reality. Why didn't I see this before?

Empty and hollow words leave my lips. "No. Maybe she fell."

"We also found an obstruction. It appears as if she had some sort of injury to her larynx. Her throat was so swollen that we had to do a tracheotomy so we could insert a tube to assist her breathing. This will be in my report.*

Now I know! HE killed her and made it look like a suicide. When the police arrived he told them she was unstable. They didn't even take fingerprints. Should a suicide not be treated as a murder of self? And of course there's no suicide note.

Once again the paramedic expresses his sympathy as he makes his way to the ambulance parked on the pavement.

I watch Carl thank the paramedics for their assistance. He certainly doesn't appear to be in distress. I feel the hatred build up from deep within my stomach and rise up into my throat. The warm sour liquid reaches my mouth and as I swallow the vomit, my eyes burn into the back of Carl's head. As though he feels my hatred he suddenly turns to face me "Are you feeling alright Jackie? You look quite ill. Shall we go inside? It's a little chilly out here." Carl's shifty close set eyes stare right through me. I'm sure he wonders how much I know.

"I'm fine." I say as I quickly climb the stairs to the kitchen, eager to get away from him. I cannot bear to speak to or even look at this monster.

As I get to the top of the stairs I see James. "Hello Madam."

"Hello James."

"Haw. The kettle she's not working. I cannot make the madam tea."

That's strange.

"Has the main switch tripped?" I ask.

"No, I don't know madam. My madam she used today to make tea. She make sandwich same time."

Is this the behavior of someone about to commit suicide? Kate comes home, makes tea, has a sandwich and then what? Goes into the garage and gasses herself? I don't think so. Something is wrong with this picture.

I stroll in to the pantry to look at the main switches. Now this is peculiar. The switch for the garage door is off. Why? Did someone push the switch down?

Oh my God! That's it! Why didn't I see this all before? He hit her. This explains the cut above her forehead and her swollen throat. He knocks her out and carries her to the car, puts her in the driver seat with an empty bottle of whiskey on her lap. He then fetches the swimming pool hose and connects one end to the exhaust and the other he puts through the window. He starts the engine, closes the car door and makes his way up the stairs to the kitchen, locking the door behind him. He must make sure if she comes around she can't open the garage door with the remote control attached to the car key in the ignition. That's why he switched the power off. He had to make sure the automated garage doors couldn't be opened by her or anyone else. Why didn't he just remove the remote control from the keyring? Perhaps this would've aroused suspicion.

"What are you doing?" I jump at the sound of Carl's voice.

"Why, you look so nervous Jackie. Is something bothering you?"

"Oh no, no. ..... it's nothing Carl. I'm just looking for the teabags." My hands tremble. I hold them behind my back so Carl can't see my fear.

"It's been a long day. I'm just very tired. Do you have any idea why Kate would've done such a thing?"

I don't know if you're aware but Kate's been very depressed the last few months. In fact I was going to take her away tomorrow. I thought a change of scenery would help."

"Oh." Liar! Kate never mentioned this to me!

"I must be going Carl. I need sleep.

"What about that tea? Stay a while Jackie. We need each other now that Kate's gone."

"No Carl. I'd like to be alone."

4s I walk out the front door I take a deep breath, inhale the crisp fresh night air and smile

o I have plans for you Carl? Plans I need to ponder alone. Oh it's going to be so easy. A dysfunctional police force and jus another car-jacking. He won't get away with your murder Kate. That's a promise!!!

5 February 2019

POEM BY Cheryl Defranceski for our unborn grandchild (Mateo)
lub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dubthe sound of your heartas it beats and repeatspulsating, giving you lifelub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dubas you flourish in the wombthe home where you'll bloomand ripen till birthlub-dub-lub-dub-lub-duba hand to holdlike an ingot of goldhearts beat with joylub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dubtiny and healthywaiting to see youto cuddle and love youlub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dubsleep like a doveas you dream and smilesafe in the womb all the whilelub-dub-lub-dub-lub-dub

Corona virus peek-a-booYou see me I don't see youHidden from viewLike a sneaky shrewAs small as a dotLooking for a spotTo land on your handOn your noseOr even your toesTravelling through the airFast as a rocketSo when you cough_ - e-,”-.- -_:or when you sneezeRemember corona travels with easeDon't let them do as they pleaseLet them knowThey must goSo lift your elbow to your mouthWhen you cough or when you sneezeThen soap your handsRub them, scrub themFingers, palms, wrists and nailsLeave no trailsCount to twenty while you washSplosh, splish, splashLeave no traceAnd don't touch your face

25/3/2020

Hidden from viewLike a sneaky shrewCorona virusYou are like a sirisSpreading diseaseAs you pleaseGo awayPlease do not stayloses do not ctorYou need to heedAs we all plead

The archiveEvery one of its opening images is recycled from her own earlier poems. «Hidden from view / Like a sneaky shrew» is the children's hygiene rhyme. «Slithering into crevices» is the undated grief poem «Sad, oh so sad». «Like a bandit you came» is 25 April 2020. She reached back into twenty months of her own writing and assembled the elegy out of lines she already had.

Then the rhyme abandons her. «Scared and alone / Fighting for breath» is the only place in a hundred poems where she says what the dying was actually like, and it is six words long. What is left at the end is not verse — «I hate you parasite / Perish you murderer / Suffocate and die» — a woman swearing at a virus.

26/3/2020

Will you goWill you stayI say noKeep at bayWho will you spareDon't make us payCausing turmoilAround the globeWe recoilWill it explode

27/3/2020

Stay home isolateYou hear me mateOr you'll get sickReal quickInfect othersLike your MothersBe smartTake heartBefore you dieAnd families cryStay homeOr be in a catacomb

28/3/2020

Creeping into spacesIn many placesSpreading your rootsIt's time to scootHiding we fleeTo get away from theeDefeated we're notLooking for a shotTo bring you downFrom your crownOn your kneesYou will pleadDon't kill meJust wait and see

CORONA

Capturing
OurRevelationOfNecessaryActs

29/3/2020

Faster and fasterLike a rocket blasterOut of controlHeading for a holeHere comes corona—_——__ ar.Like a deadly cobraReady to biteGiving frightThe world slowsCorona growsGrinding to a haltCorona's faultKeep your distanceAt laws persistenceStay at home isolateOr face your fate

31/3/2020

Stay at homeDo not roamObserve the rulesDon't be foolsFlatten the curveLet's conserveHuman lifeIt's worth the fightDuring the plight

2/4/2020

Looking for your weaknessIn all this bleaknessTo eradicateAnd annihilateThis filthy diseaseBrought upon usWith turmoil and fussCreating strifeSeizing lifeTo seal your fateExperts will createA vaccineTo kill and cleanEradicate ..... Annihilate ...All livesSo we can thriveYoung or oldDo not be coldShow heart

4/4/2020

Flatten the curveLet's conserveAll livesSo we can thriveYoung or old iDo not be coldShow heartAnd be smartStay homeDo not fucking roam

The archiveThe only time she swears in a poem. «Stay home / Do not fucking roam.»

10/4/2020

Going round and roundSpinning, twirling, swirlingFast without soundRotating, gyrating, revolvingAround a sun burningUnaware of the snareStrangling our worldWithout careControlled by coronaLike the roots of a madronaSmothering, throttling, stifling

The archiveThree consecutive lines of nothing but present participles — spinning, twirling, swirling · rotating, gyrating, revolving · smothering, throttling, stifling. The poem turns as fast as the world it describes.

13/4/2020

Down and drearyGetting wearyGo awayDo not staySpreading diseaseAs you pleaseDraining lifeInfections rifeFrom WuhanCausing ruinLike a grubWash scrubSplish splashSquish squash

The archiveThe only poem that names Wuhan.

17/4/2020

Tears fallAs you trawlSneaky and slyHunting for preySo you can slaySecretly, silentlyChoosing your victimVindictive and cruelQuenching your thirstAs lungs burstGasping for breathBefore death

19/4/2020

Through this crisisEven though a physisCorona won't thriveOur world will surviveAs we find a cureLife for you will endSo our world can mendOf that I'm sureWe will be boldAnd sever your holdDeath will comeFor the corona scum

22/4/2020

In a cageLiving in a menageCounting daysLooking for waysTo exterminateYour growthSo you don't blowthAround the worldSo very boldDevouring livesForcing solitudeWith your wretched attitude

23/4/2020

Sneeze ......Is it the breezeOr coronas sleazeIs it the blowthOr coronas growthis it a whiffleOr coronas stifleCough .....Is it the blowthOr coronas growth

25/4/2020

Inflicting painLike a bandit you cameHave you no shameSpreading germsAround the globeLike wriggly wormsA dangerous microbeYou probeLooking for weaknessAmongst the meekestBefore you strangleBringing more deathTime to scrambleSo we can take a breathInhale, gasp, gulp, pant, sniff, expelBreathe in the air

26/4/2020

Tortured soulsAt homeShelteredLike fugitivesLocked awayBreathe inSwallow the airGulp the oxygenBreathe outExpel the WasteHeart beatsLub-dub lub-dubSun risesNew day dawnsSun setsDusk fallsBirds take flightSlumber whispersYield to me

The archiveIt abandons the virus halfway and becomes a poem about breathing and daylight: breathe in, swallow the air, gulp the oxygen, breathe out, then sunrise, sunset, birds, sleep. The «Lub-dub lub-dub» in the middle is carried over from Mateo's poem.

14/5/2020

Around the cornerLiberty peeksGetting warmerNot so bleakFreedom comesPiece by pieceIsolation easesHearts elevateHigher and higherCurve straightensCreating calmClouds fadeLight emergesLifting moods

2/7/2020

Sad, oh so sadHeartbreak everywhereTumultuous pandemicWreaking havocChoosing victimsImpeding livesSomatic pain mergesPsychogenic achesOur world writhesCorona loitersRelentless and fierceDays and months blurNeedles coming for youJust you wait and see!!!

14/7/2020

Don't touch meStay awayAll those micro-organismsSo minusculeHidden from viewBut you're thereLingering, waitingTo ambushAnd swarm on your hostCausing havocEverywhere you goNeedles are coming for youSoon very soonSo stay awayDon't touch me

15/7/2020

Sick always sickCough splutterSniffle snuffleBomb explodesHead throbsBreathing slowsEnergy dwindlesTime pausesConstant combatInvisible enemyCreeps deviousQuiet and unseenMicrobes roostBody weakensFight is over

07/11/2021

The archiveEvery one of its opening images is recycled from her own earlier poems. *«Hidden from view / Like a sneaky shrew»* is the children's hygiene rhyme. *«Slithering into crevices»* is the undated grief poem *«Sad, oh so sad»*. *«Like a bandit you came»* is 25 April 2020. She reached back into twenty months of her own writing and assembled the elegy out of lines she already had.
Then the rhyme abandons her. ***«Scared and alone / Fighting for breath»*** is the only place in a hundred poems where she says what the dying was actually like, and it is six words long. What is left at the end is not verse — *«I hate you parasite / Perish you murderer / Suffocate and die»* — a woman swearing at a virus.

27/10/2021

Around the cornerLiberty peeksGetting warmerNot so bleakFreedom comesPiece by pieceIsolation easesHearts elevateHigher and higherCurve straightensCreating calmClouds fadeLight emergesMood lifts

21/7/2020 - written for Alessio about the mouse they discovered who was eating all the vegetables they were growing

Carefree and merryRed like a berryDimples on cheeksDelighted you shriekNeat plaits by your sideFly as you rideYour bike round and roundShrieking with sound
Diligent and dedicatedStraight a's celebratedCruising through 12 yearsAmid great cheerEntering College with ambitionNow on a missionTo accomplish the bestWith your immense zest
Marrying your soulmateYou go on to procreateFour children with loveAnd blessings from aboveYour empire createdEveryone elatedIndestructible and strongAll six where you belong
Four children and marriagesThen more baby carriagesSix becomes thirteenYour family tree completeMaternal and devotedDedicating your lifeThriving and drivingOn cloud nine afloat
Then without warningEarly hours Sunday morningThe monster appearedOne you so greatly fearedHis disease so rifeCold and bold he seized your lifeStealing what's oursToppling our towerEyes mist as tears fall

To my dearest sister, the older one, the wiser one, you will be forever missed and loved to infinity and beyond from your heartbroken sister Che

Relentless and never-endingYou don't surrenderContinuing on your pathClaiming lives, causing strifeSlinking, lurking, skulkingLike a panther creeping on its preySeeking out a host to infectWith your destructive diseaseBreathing vital for lifeViciously cut off for yourNarcissistic needsFatigued we fight backInject to protectDie you scoundrel die

My Grandson Alessio calls me Baba or Babi and Ivan Deda or Deda. He thinks of the two of us as one. So I wrote a poem.

Deda BabaTwo heartsBeat as onelubdub lubdubDedaBabaDedaBabaIn the eyes of a child we are oneWithout the otherWe do not comeAlways togetherThrough thick and thinIn the eyes of a child we are oneTwo peopleseen and heardas oneTill death us do partIn the eyes of a child we are oneSharing this timelubdub lubdubDedaBabaDedaBaba

Three poems stand outside the compilation, in her other folders. They are set here so the collection is complete.

Dated 12 July 2017, filed under Poems.

The archiveThe most **built** thing she wrote, and it comes straight out of the 2004 course above: one of those exercises was ***«describe these abstract words through the senses»***, and she filled in *love, hate, jealousy, pity, lust, anger, greed*, five senses at a time. **Thirteen years later she used the drill to make a poem.** For its stink she reaches past the obvious and picks a **titan arum** — the corpse flower. The close swaps *eyes* for **ears**.

From the memorial address for her sister Catherine Tersia Lerena, called Rene, 21 May 1952 to 30 September 1999, read to the family on the first anniversary of her death. Both poems stand inside it as ordinary paragraphs, which is why nobody had ever seen them set as verse.

The archiveNine lines, no rhyme, ending on an ellipsis rather than a full stop — the same trailing dots she uses all through the prose around it, as though the sentence could not be finished. ***«She knew pain as her friend»*** is the line it turns on. It is not a comfort and does not try to be.
**Two sisters, twenty-two years apart, and a poem for each.**

The archiveIt sits immediately before the sentence *«In October of 1992 a card arrived in the mail … here it is, I will share it with you»*. So it may be hers, or it may be **the verse off that card**. The document does not say, and this archive will not decide for it — **printed as uncertain rather than claimed or dropped.**

}

What the archive makes of it

Everything above is hers. Everything below is the archive's, and is set here rather than among her work.

Reading the Corona diary

Twenty-three dated poems across twenty months, in order. She gave the sequence an acrostic, and the acrostic is the argument:

> Capturing · Our · Revelation of · Necessary · Acts

It is dated like a diary and rhymed like a nursery rhyme, and the pairing is the whole effect: cobra against corona, sleaze against sneeze, blowth — a word she appears to have made — against growth. The lightness is not levity. It is somebody rhyming her way through two years, and the rhymes hold until the last poem, when they stop mattering.

It is the largest single thing she made, and nobody had ever set it out in order.

Read the dates now that they are all here. March is almost daily — the 25th, 26th, 27th, 28th, 29th, 31st. April is where she works hardest: nine poems in twenty-six days, the 2nd, 4th, 10th, 13th, 17th, 19th, 22nd, 23rd, 25th and 26th. May brings the turn — «Around the corner / Liberty peeks». Then July, three poems, and it stops.

Fifteen months of silence. The sequence resumes on 27 October 2021 by rewriting the hopeful poem of May 2020: the same fifteen lines, one word changed at the end — «Lifting moods» becomes «Mood lifts».

Eleven days later she wrote the elegy.

Reading the elegy

The sequence ends in one death. A sister she calls «the older one, the wiser one» and «the Matriarch of our tribe», taken «early hours Sunday morning» — Jeanette Riekstins, born Lerena, called Nita, who died on Sunday 6 June 2021.

She wrote her sister's whole life first, in rhymed couplets, from a girl on a bicycle to a family of thirteen — and only then let the disease into the poem.

Every one of the elegy's opening images is recycled from her own earlier poems. «Hidden from view / Like a sneaky shrew» is the children's hygiene rhyme that opens the sequence. «Slithering into crevices» is the undated grief poem «Sad, oh so sad». «Like a bandit you came» is 25 April 2020. She reached back through twenty months of her own writing and built the elegy out of lines she already had.

Then the rhyme abandons her. «Scared and alone / Fighting for breath» is the only place in a hundred pieces where she says what the dying was actually like, and it is six words long. What is left at the end is not verse — «I hate you parasite / Perish you murderer / Suffocate and die» — a woman swearing at a virus.

And before all of it she wrote her sister's whole life, in cheerful rhymed couplets, from a girl on a bicycle to a family of thirteen. Forty-one lines, and thirty-three of them are a life being lived. The disease gets eight.

Reading «Dark and lonely»

Among the poems she chose to publish is one she prefaces with a single line: «This is my translation of how I felt when the end was nearing.»

It is printed here because she printed it, and because a collection of somebody's poems that quietly drops the darkest one is not their collection any more.

No rhyme, no metre, and the longest lines she ever wrote. It moves in one direction only — from screams to numbness to nothingness — and the verbs turn passive as it goes, until the last thing that acts is not her. «Death lusts» is two words and it is the middle of the poem.

It is the only poem here with a reader in mind: she calls it a translation, as though the feeling were a language somebody else would need help with.

My Gratitude Jar for the Year 2021

A third form, and the one that turns out to hold the key to the elegies. Three hundred and sixty-five numbered slots, one line each, kept through 2021. She heads it with a list rather than a sentence:

> Gratitude is attitude. Believe, receive, forgive, respect, heal, connect, feel, soul, truth, love, peace, purpose, harmony

Most of it is small on purpose — that is the form. «Rainy days.» «Waking each morning.» «Clean house.» «Good coffees.» Her husband recurs as a running joke with three names: «my indispensable Sous Chef», «my in-house hairdresser — my man — PRICELESS!!!», and simply «my Man who works hard in the garden». On two days in March she gives up on sentences altogether and writes one word: «MEMORIES.» «FRIENDSHIPS.»

The shape of it says more than the entries

She filled 180 of 365 days — forty-nine per cent — and the pattern of the blanks is the year.

January is complete. Thirty-one days out of thirty-one, the resolve of a new jar. Then it thins to thirteen or fourteen a month and stays there.

Except June. June jumps back to nineteen — the fullest month since January — and June is the month her sister died. She wrote more in the worst month of the year, and what she wrote in it was gratitude.

And then: December is empty. Not thin — empty. The jar's last entry is 25 November, and it is «Chats with Dainis reminiscing about our beloved Nita.» She never picks it up again. The year does not end; it stops.

January 31

February 19

March 14

April 13

May 13

June 19

July 14

August 15

September 13

October 16

November 13

December —

June

The entries around her sister's death are the reason this document matters to the archive as well as to the reading of it.

6 June«That Nita did not suffer — her death came quick.»

15 June«Alessio for his wise words "Babi I'll send an angel to heaven to bring your sister back".»

18 June«All the family and friends who attended Nita's memorial service (even with Covid)»

19 June«To the Lerena family for attending Nita's memorial service, and Robert's kind words»

25 November«Chats with Dainis reminiscing about our beloved Nita» — the last entry in the jar

6 June 2021 was a Sunday. The Corona elegy opens «Then without warning / Early hours Sunday morning» — and the sequence, the jar and the calendar agree. The sister of «the older one, the wiser one», «the Matriarch of our tribe», is Jeanette Riekstins, born Lerena, called Nita, and she died on Sunday 6 June 2021.

That is a fact this archive did not have an hour ago, and it came out of a gratitude journal.

What is not printed here is most of it. The jar names living people — a daughter-in-law, grandchildren, cousins, friends, an aunt, a hairdresser, a roofer — and it records their surgeries, their test results and their falls alongside the weather. Those entries are hers and theirs. The form is published; the file is not.

The books

Eight projects sit under My Books, and two of them are the poems above — Insanity and Infidelity — filed as works in their own right. The other six are prose, and they fall into three groups.

None of them is published here. What follows is a catalogue: what each is, how long, and how long it took.

Life After Lies

a memoir by «Mrs D» — filed as My Love Story

81,602 words2005 – 2020

Her life's work, and it is finished. It began in May 2005 at 1,908 words and reached its present length by 2016; there are eleven drafts in the folder, three of them named Final, Final maybe 2 and Final Maybe.

It opens with a dedication to her husband and her son, and with an epigraph from Oscar Wilde — «Death must be so beautiful … to have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace.»

Its subject is a lie she told and later confessed, and it belongs to more people than her. This archive describes it and does not quote it. Whether any of it is ever published is not its decision, or David's alone.

A Murder

fiction

2,068 words

A story in which a woman called Anne cannot prove that her sister Kate was murdered by Kate's husband, whose death was recorded as «suicide — a murder of self».

It is her own sister's death, written as fiction, with the names changed and the facts kept. She wrote a statement of the same events in 1999; twenty years later she wrote it again as a novel, and the novel is the version in which somebody is guilty.

Neither is published here — the statement because it names a living man and makes criminal allegations this archive cannot test, the fiction because it is transparently the same man.

Desperate End

fiction — chapter one written for a creative-writing course

636 words + drafts

The same events again, and this time from inside. It opens «Oh my God where am I? I can't breathe. Why can't I move?» and it is the voice of a woman coming round in the dark, working out what has been done to her.

The file that carries her name in its title — Cheryl Defranceski – Desperate End Chapter 1 Creative Writing — is the coursework version. She took the worst thing that happened to her family and made it an exercise in point of view.

Soul Mates — a memoir

memoir

1,697 words2005

Opens: «It's the year 2005. I'm forty-nine years old and looking forward to celebrating my fiftieth birthday this October. I'm alive. I'm happy to be alive.»

Then, in the fourth paragraph, it becomes an account of losing her faith — convent, mass on Thursdays, confession on Saturdays — and of deciding that «life after death is memories you pass on to your children». Which is, read at this distance, a description of what she then spent fifteen years writing.

Husky

comic memoir · «The lighter side of life with my pet Siberian husky»

455 words, plus a 950 KB illustrated file

Subtitled Life's a bitch then you buy one. Paputchka arrives «like a whirlwind … the ugliest little puppy I'd ever seen» and ends up «a snob and a true northern suburbs bitch» who can spell — «Do you want to go for a w-a-l-k?»

The funny book has a companion piece that is not funny at all: an account of finding her under a palm leaf in the garden, «sleeping», and of the first time she saw her husband cry. It is the only subject she wrote twice, once for laughs and once for grief, and the two together are the best prose in the folder.

Insanity · Infidelity

filed as books; they are poems

59 and 112 words

Both are printed above. That she filed them here — under books, each in its own folder, beside an eighty-thousand-word memoir — is worth noticing. She did not rank her work by length.

Around it sits the rest of the writing shed: fifteen short stories, personal essays, and a writers' group file thick with exercises — describing anger, greed, hate and jealousy through the five senses, which is the drill that produced «Two sides».

Nothing in this section is published, and none of it is quoted beyond a line. It is here so that the poems above are read for what they are: not the occasional verse of somebody who did not write, but the shortest things made by somebody who wrote for twenty years.

Two poems that are not hers, and are not printed

«Life is a sojourn here on earth» sits in a letter she wrote to her surviving sister in November 1999, six weeks after Rene died. It is by Helen Steiner Rice, the American writer of devotional verse whose poems went out on greeting cards by the million — almost certainly how it reached a Johannesburg letterbox. In copyright. Not printed.

«Each day I love you more, today more than yesterday and less than tomorrow» is a single line kept in the Poems folder. It is a translation of Rosemonde Gérard, L'éternelle chanson, 1889 — «chaque jour je t'aime davantage, aujourd'hui plus qu'hier et bien moins que demain» — one of the most quoted lines in French. Not hers either.

Both are named rather than dropped in silence, because a woman keeping a poem she loves is not the author of it, and an archive that prints everything in a folder ends up attributing greeting cards to grieving people.

What else is in the folder, and why none of it is here

The poems are the smallest part of it. Also in the folder: eight book projects — My Love Story, redrafted eleven times from 2005 to 2020; Husky; Soul Mates; A Murder; Desperate End, whose first chapter was written for a creative-writing course and carries her name on the title; Infidelity; Insanity. Around fifteen short stories. Personal essays. A writers' group file thick with exercises, character sketches and competition entries.

None of it is published, and none of it is quoted here.

And a warning that has to be given plainly. Several files in the Poems folder are not poems. They are private prose, and some of it is about named living people — including her son — written in distress and never meant for a website. This archive has read them only far enough to know they are not verse, and has published nothing from them, quoted nothing from them, and will not.

If more of the writing is to appear, it is Cheryl's to release, piece by piece. This page will take whatever she gives it.

A note on how this text was recovered

Her own compilation exists as a screen capture, not a document — four tall images with no text layer at all (the file carries no fonts, only pictures). Everything here was recovered by optical character recognition, read twice: once for the words and once for where each line sits on the page.

That means small errors are still possible: a «blowth» that might be «blow», an «a physis» that is almost certainly something else. Where a reading is genuinely uncertain it is left as scanned and flagged rather than guessed — «Even though a physis», «Like the roots of a madrona» and «Cn when vow coudah», this last plainly a line about coughing in a poem that gets the same line right nine lines later. All three need her eye.

Two poems — «Gratefulness for 1 year» and one Corona piece — remain locked in Apple Pages files this archive cannot open, and are still missing from the page. They need exporting to Word or PDF.

The illustrations were made to a written brief, one per poem, as a single matching commission — muted, painterly, no faces and no lettering: the poems are the text, and the living-people rule forbids photographs of her in any case. Each picture holds only what its poem holds.

Source From the family's own writing folder, read 10 September 2026 at David's request. Poems transcribed exactly: line breaks, spelling, and the trailing ellipses are hers and are not corrected. «I had a darling sister» and «If love could change the way things are» come from the memorial address for Catherine Tersia Lerena, first anniversary, September 2000. Attributions for the two excluded poems: Helen Steiner Rice, and Rosemonde Gérard's «L'éternelle chanson», 1889. «My Gratitude Jar for the Year 2021» supplied in full by David, 10 September 2026, and quoted selectively.

Cheryl Lerena

Don't Go

Forever

Sitting at Cafe Bon-Bon in Bedfordview :-

LETTER TO DAVE WRITTEN ON MY LANDMARK FORUM COURSE 27th AUGUST 2015

LETTER TO MY MOTHER AT THE LANDMARK FORUM ON 27TH AUGUST 2015

THE LIGHTER SIDE OF LIFE WITH MY PET SIBERIAN HUSKY. — LIFE'S A BITCH THEN YOU BUY ONE

MY SIBERIAN HUSKY

LIFE IN A GATED COMMUNITY

HE/SHE MAN by Cheryl-Anne Defranceski (I entered this into The Write Company short story competition and came 4th)

These are some of the exercises I did when at a Writers Write course in 2004 :-

A Stinking suppurating tramp falls in front you ....

Wife/husband discovers infidelity. No-name brand dialogue. No he said/she said.

First Person - You're the opposite sex in a swimming costume.

Scene/dialogue.

EXERCISE - DESCRIPTIONS

BUILDING

PERSON

NAMING MY BOOK

EXERCISE

EXERCISE

EXERCISE - Do you know your character? Describe a different part of 'Neely's' house.

Exercise - Describe a character through another characters viewpoint. Let some of the describing character's nature come through.

Your leading lady stands in front of her wardrobe. What's in it? Why can't she decide what to wear? Write an internal dialogue.

Your protagonist is sitting down to a meal at a restaurant. Describe how he is dressed, how he sits at the table, make him speak to his dinner companion, let him order from the menu.

EXERCISE - write a scene and sequel in child's viewpoint. Child finds out his teacher committed a crime, and the child witnessed the crime.

EXERCISE - describe a setting. A dentist's room from a child's viewpoint in first person incorporating all five senses.

EXERCISE - Describe a minor character. Do a paragraph. Who are they in relation to the main character?

EXERCISE - Do dialogue only, between one of the following :-

PEN/PAPER

LAWNMOWER/GARDEN FURNITURE

EXERCISES:

A grandmother telling her granddaughter that she's a disgrace:

EXERCISE - A couple are arguing over money. One of them thinks the other is spending too much on a luxury item. Dialogue only scene. No he said/she said, no narratives :

EXERCISE - It's a dark night. You're walking to your car. You hear a sound. What happens next?

EXERCISE -do the beginning part of a scene. Do a flashback, and then resume to present story.

EXERCISES — TREES

EXERCISE - WRITE A PAGE STARTING "My mother never..."

DESCRIBE THESE ABSTRACT WORDS THROUGH THE SENSES :- — LOVE

HATE

JEALOUSY

PITY

LUST

ANGER

GREED

Our 21st birthday present to Dave was a car and the money below :-

In 2010 on finding out Jax & Carlos chose Ivan and I as the Godparents for Sophia, I wrote this letter :-

After the surgery on my neck to remove the carotid body tumour I wrote to Dr Snyders and sent him a bottle of exceptional red wine to celebrate him "saving" my life:-

A letter written to "Boris" our dearest Alessio :-

A Suicide Avenged by Cheryl-Anne Defranceski

CORONA

The shape of it says more than the entries

June