Once I strode along the road
Tall and proud and in control
Life as it is sold to be.

Then I fell.

Lost in curling chaos
Crying in confusion
Making senseless, unfinished…

Driven by dark winds to dark places
Ripped by strong tides
Not me, not I
A stranger in my own flesh

Lost.

Broken.

I landed hard, torn in tears,
Wrapped in shreds of self
Tattered banners of lost pride
Here there is no sanctuary
No place of peace
Fear stalks darkly
Sorrow talks starkly
Each time I try to stand
The earth shakes beneath me.

Above, the road of the world
Stately, unheeding, strolls on…

E.M. Swift-Hook

One of the poems you will find in In Verse, a new collection of poems by Jane Jago and E.M. Swift-Hook.

From Iconoclast: Not To Be by E.M. Swift-Hook, the eighth Fortune’s Fools book and the second in Iconoclast, the final trilogy.

A slight buzz told her someone was at the door of her apartment and she pulled up a screen to see who was there. It was one of her neighbours, Nilis par-Yorken. Not much older than her own body made her appear, mid-twenties perhaps, scruffy cut hair which seemed to be the fashion and a face that looked like it would smile a lot.
She had run a check on him the second time he tried to get her to stop and chat. A local. Newly qualified as a pilot and working relief for the planetary run freight company, ATG, which was the only organisation running regular shipping to Arca. Another attraction of the place for Avilon was that in order to protect its own merchant fleet, none of the big corporations were allowed on Arca and any freetraders had to purchase a license to operate there.
So she knew Nilis would have been trained locally, but the fact he’d been offworld left him open to having been recruited by the CSF or the Legacy. She let out a breath in a sigh. That was the kind of paranoia that could cripple her if she let it run unchecked. 
It was late and she could use that as an excuse for not responding, if he bumped into her again and asked why, but through some sense of wanting to dismiss a phantom, she opened the door and moved to grab another drink from the synth. 
“What are you drinking?” she asked as her visitor walked in. He stopped a couple of paces from the door, his way barred by the couch.
“Uhh… Mys jist jooze, plars. Narms Nylees.”
Avilon grimaced internally and began to filter out his accent. It was one of the worst aspects of living on Arca, the isolationism had led to the development of a very heavy dialect.
“Maris,” she told him, turning back to persuade the synth to produce something that approximated fruit juice. “Maris par-Kenten.”
“Really?” he seemed surprised. “You sound like you’re from Central.”
She picked up the freshly created chilled drink and handed it to him, aware his eyes were not restricting themselves to her face. She returned the compliment. He had a good body. One he clearly looked after.
“No. But I spent the last five years there studying.”
“Studying what?”
“My master’s thesis was in Co-Regional Internexus Sub-Quantum Linkcast Technology.”
Nilis blinked.
“Uhh…?”
Avilon shook her head and chuckled.
“Mostly about how to optimise links from here to the main Coalition hubs.”
He smiled, slowly. “So, what do you do for a day job?” Avilon sipped her own drink and said nothing until Nilis looked uncomfortable. “Uhh yes, that’s a bit rude of me.”
“Not really, I just wanted to know why you were calling at my door this time of night before we got into the pleasantries too much.”
He hesitated so long she thought he’d not reply. Then he gave an embarrassed smile.
“Well, since you turned up here last cycle, I’ve been meaning to come round and ask if you needed anything, like a good neighbour should. I seen you in and out a lot so thought this time of day would work best.”
It was hard not to laugh. She put her drink down, feeling even older than her fifty-two years.
“You wanted to ask me out? Or were you just after a quick fuck?”
The sudden flood of colour into his face was comical.
“Uhh – I… Well, I mean-”
She put up both her hands in a gesture of contrition.
“Sorry. Central teaches you to cut to the chase in such things. I’m going to have to retune my sensibilities now I’m home.”
To his credit he didn’t retreat.
“I’m up for either. But I came round to ask if you’d like to come over to my place tomorrow. I got a few friends coming round, you might like to meet. Get to know some people.”
“That must be cosy,” she observed, gesturing with one hand to indicate the size of the room.
“Uhh, we won’t stay in, just meet up there and head out. Say yes? They’re all good people, most from this block. You’ll like them.”
She hesitated a moment then nodded. Better to accept one or two occasional invitations out with one young adult social group than wind up fending them all off with excuses. That would only make her stand out. This way she might be able to be accepted on the fringes of a group without needing to commit.
“Why not? I’m not busy far as I know.”
Nilis made a fist and hammered the air with it. 
“Yes! Kiss that! So can I ask where you work now?” 
Avilon had to laugh.
“Sure – it’s no secret. I’m doing some private consultancy work for the government.” No secret. Just a straight up lie, but one he’d find it very hard to check out. “What about you?”
“I work for the ATG – that’s the -”
“Arca Trading Group – what you do with them?”
She was regretting her earlier flippancy now, Nilis seemed to have taken it as an open invitation to hang around, he was lounging back in the seat as if taking root there.
“I’m flying shunts to some of the nearby Coalition places. Uhh, I mean, freighter runs. Works out well. I get a few days on then a few off.”
Avilon faked the start of a yawn and brought her hand up to her mouth. Then moved it away with a slight smile. “Sorry. Not you. Just been a long day.”
Nilis didn’t seem to take the hint.
“I can tell. So how did you get to Central? I mean I know a few who tried, but only one who succeeded and he got accepted on a virtual course. I mean just getting the visas and at that…”
“I got a scholarship to Central Main,” she told him, suddenly wondering if he was indeed the random neighbour being sociable or if her initial paranoia was merited.
“You did? Well kiss that! Impressive. Not just a gorgeous body, but an incredible mind.” Nilis smiled.
Avilon grimaced and turned it into another yawn
“Yeah. Well if you don’t mind, it is kind of late and I do have work tomorrow even if you’re on a break.”
She stood as she spoke and saw the reluctance in Nilis’ expression and posture, but under her insistent gaze he sighed, drained his drink and put the cup down before standing as well. 
“Of course. I shouldn’t keep you up. But don’t forget – we have a date tomorrow evening.”
Avilon managed a smile and opened the door. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I could do with making a few more friends.”
After he had gone she disposed of the cups and headed for bed, shaking her head at her previous doubts. Nilis par-Yorken’s motives were very easy to read.

E.M. Swift-Hook

When holding close a tiny child
When dressed in whiteness undefiled
Or when one’s love is on his knees
Why is it then one wants to sneeze?
When in a church in silent prayer
When combing tangles from one’s hair
When eating oysters with a toff
Why is it then one has to cough?
When visiting one’s aunt for tea
Or browsing in the library 
Or contemplating lovely art
Why does one always need a fart?
In contemplation or elation 
When one moves above one’s station
As some kind of celestial frown
One’s body always lets one down 

©️jj 2019

St Valentine’s Day…

Ah, that bitchfest in the name of lerv. That commercialisation of affection. That show the world how perfect your relationship is. That Gw***** P*****w of festivals.

In case you hadn’t guessed, Granny really don’t approve.

When I was a gel, your boyfriend sent you a card he had bought in Woolworths and probably forgot to take the price ticket off of. You showed it to your mum and your best friend and put it in a box with all your souvenirs. End of. And if nobody sent, well only you and your mum  and your best friend knew. No real harm done – unless your best friend was a bitch.

Nowadays nothing is that simple. Today you have to Instagram the card, the flowers, the jewels, the wine, the food, the guy, the naughty underwear…

Stop it. For the love of sanity. Do. Not. Do. It.

But. Given that it will occur and every halfwit on the planet will be posting the biggest lie they can concoct… 

Here’s the plan.

Buy yourself a bouquet of something pretty. Photograph it. Post it on all your social media with no explanation.

When somebody is rude enough to ask simply say the flowers were from your greatest admirer. Truth. And. Sorted…

Advice for chaps. If you are from the side of the room with dangly bits and facial hair the advice to you is Do Not Forget. Your life may depend on it… also a large present and a suitably soppy card can result in the sort of sexual favours you have only dreamed of.

Sarah braided her long silver hair, not so easy with inflexible fingers. Taking the crusts, she walked to the park. It was a daily ritual since her little dog passed, giving her reason to leave the house where she’d lived alone for years.

Sitting on the bench, scattering crumbs, bundled in her warm coat, she smiled when David joined her as he always did. His bald head and bare hands pale with cold.

She pushed a small parcel at him.

The warm knitted hat and gloves fitted perfectly. 

“Best Valentine’s gift I ever had,” he told her with a kiss.

E.M. Swift-Hook

“Now what do we grown-ups do?” Rod asked.
“We can sit outside and chat if you want” offered Anna, “I’ve got chairs in the garage. And if we’re just outside the door the little man won’t wake up alone.”
“That’s a good idea. If Sam gets the chairs out. I’ll go and get some drinks from the bar. Brandy Sam? What for you Anna?”
“Brandy too. And a cappuccino.”
“What a good notion. Three brandies and three cappuccinos. I’m on it.”
He cantered off leaving a laughing Anna to hand Sam the garage keys. He got out three chairs and a smallish table, before quietly closing the door.
“I don’t think we’ll get Rod to bed as early as last night.”
“No. I’m sure we won’t. But I’m glad to see it. Last night he was wiped. And hurt. Today he’s more like himself.”
“He is that,” Sam concurred as he watched the huge figure striding back across the garden with a tray balanced professionally.

They sat down and Anna took a sip of her brandy.
“Tell me how you two met. The cage fighter and the orthopaedic surgeon seem like an odd couple to me.”
Rod grinned.
“The first time I saw Sam he was wearing a pair of not too clean drawstring trousers and some flip-flops. It was in Thailand. I’d been offered an obscene amount of money to fight two Cambodian brothers. So much that I couldn’t refuse. Win or lose it would set me up for life. I was just sitting waiting for my fight when an English voice spoke behind me. It warned me to watch the smaller of the two Cambodians around my nuts, if I didn’t want them bitten off. I nodded, and my informant moved off. That piece of information was the last bit of the jigsaw and enabled me to beat the crap out of the Cambodian boys. Carelessly, I managed to dislocate a knuckle, and I was wondering what to do about it when the English voice spoke again. I turned around and saw this scruffy looking bugger, with two Chinese girls on his arms, and a doctor’s bag in his hands. Cut a long story short he fixed it, and his companions came back to my hotel with me. The girls were nurses, who worked for Medecins sans Frontiers. They clued me to the fact that Sam was actually not a local, which I found funny. So I sent him a bottle of single malt to show my appreciation. He reciprocated with a can of Red Stripe. And that’s how we became friends.”
“I see. But why was Sam dressed so scruffily?”
“I was blending. I enjoyed the real Thailand. Though it can be fucking brutal. A big black guy dressed like a local could go anywhere in relative safety. A Caucasian doctor not so much. If it wasn’t whores and beggars, it would be con men and muggers. I was safer…”
“I bet.”
Then Anna grinned wryly.
“I’ve never seen Rod fight. I always wanted to, but never been brave enough to go.”
“I could watch him all the time. He’s incredible. It’s not just how big and strong he is, he’s graceful, and unbelievably fast. The Lin twins – the two nurses in the story – had a theory that he could pluck flies out of the air if he wanted. Mind you, they also said he was a prodigious lover and had the best tattoos they had ever seen.”
“Oh yeah. Except your dragon.”
Anna raised her eyebrows. Sam got up and pulled the t-shirt over his head to reveal a broad, hairless chest, decorated with a rampant dragon, which started on his chest ran around his rib age and finished just above his navel.
“That is an excellent dragon. But. On an orthopaedic surgeon?”
Sam grinned and put his shirt back on.
“That’s the whole point isn’t it? Everyone needs a small rebellion. Smaug here is mine. Wanna show me yours?”
She laughed.
“I don’t have one. And what’s Rod’s excuse? He’s got more ink on him than the Sunday Times…”
“I dunno. It has a bit to do with the cage fighting culture. But mostly I just like the way it looks.”
“On girls too?”
“Especially on girls.”
Anna winced.
“Doesn’t it hurt?”
Sam grinned.
“Yes. It does. I nearly gave up at times, but once I started…”
Rod nodded.
“True. The worst bits are the sleeves, the underside of your arms is mightily sensitive.”
“If I live to be nine hundred I will never understand men.”

From The Cracksman Code by Jane Jago

The life of an elderly delinquent in limericks – with free optional snark…

You are young, and distressingly prim
As you rush from your work to the gym
With your buttocks clenched tight
And your politics right
Can you not see your outlook is grim

© jane jago

Breakfast was a happy meal in the tiny apartment. Although the three of them could barely fit around the table they always managed to eat and laugh together.  First up from the wreckage was twelve-year-old Tanith, who stuck a pink tongue out at her father.
​“You are outnumbered Dad, so just give up.”
​Tom waved a lazy arm. “School, child. At least you are outnumbered there.”
​Tanith grabbed her school bag.
​“I need a coat, Mum?”
​“Not today. But tomorrow you will want your high boots…”
​The door banged behind their beloved child and both parents watched indulgently as her coltishly long-legged figure leapt gracefully onto the private walkway that would take her to school.
​“Do we do wrong not the have a sibling for her?” Anna wondered softly.
​Thomas smiled his kind and reassuring smile.
​“She is happy, well adjusted, and loved. So no.”
​Anna briefly touched his face then got up and stretched until her bones cracked. ​“It’s going to be a long day. Overtime. I’m called to the centre of the Dome to do a sunset. Spectacular of course. One of the wives is having a barbecue (whatever that might be) and a beautiful sunset is essential to the endeavour.”
​“You be careful then. I know what the rich are like..”
​“Oh. I’m not pretty enough or young enough. And they badly want this sunset.”
She picked up her work bag and sauntered off.
He watched her with a little worry at the back of his eyes before clearing up the slip of a kitchen and setting out to his own place of work.
Much later in the day, Anna’s identification was being carefully checked before she was permitted to leave the central walkway. She was escorted to the weather station by a couple of respectful security operatives who were darkly suited, but with suspiciously bulging armpits.
​“What is it precisely that you do madonna?” ​The question was phrased politely, but Anna was in no doubt that her reply was essential to her wellbeing.
​“I’m a sky painter sir. The astral plain above our heads is merely the underside of the Dome. We control the weather, and we control how the ‘sky’ looks. Normal skies are computer programs. And I write the algorithms. For special occasions I can create a skyscape live.”
They still looked a bit pensive.
​“Can you show us?”
​She nodded. “See that perfectly plain blue sky over the purple-leaf trees.”
Anna tuned her light brushes to the frequency for just that square of sky and began the exquisite dance that is sky painting. What she did not see was how her work lit her small, plain face and how the beauty of her movement was enough to steal the breath. By the time she had finished, the men were enchanted – both by the artist and by the tiny skyscape she had created just for them. The larger of them bowed his head.
​“I think I am your slave forever madonna.”
​Anna blushed. “I thank you sir. It is enough that my work is enjoyed.”

From ‘The Sky Painter’ one of the incredible short stories in pulling the rug iii by Jane Jago

The humans were happily drawing water that the myora kept fresh and sweet for them.

Rescued from a dying world, the oddly appealing humans couldn’t shape reality mentally, lacked telepathy, and had an irrational urge to over-procreate. Some myora even considered humans to be sapient. Those who watched now didn’t care. They were here for entertainment.

The signal came and the culling began, with the smallest humans screaming as they were caught.

This way of managing animals came from the humans’ own history. And since the population had to be kept in check, why not have fun doing so?

E.M. Swift-Hook

“I know we’re not on Temsevar anymore,” Durban said. “If I played the dance tune there it was only because I knew the place much better than you and sometimes it would’ve taken too long to convince you that I was right.”
Avilon inclined her head very slightly as if acknowledging at least part of his point.
“Although there is the minor issue that you weren’t always right. Either on Temsevar or since.”
“Maybe we have both learned a little humility in recent times,” Durban suggested, his tone pitched to be modestly rueful. “I’m a very different person than I was when we first met. You’ve said as much yourself, more than once. You aren’t the only one who has changed. Maybe you should allow me that.”
“Maybe,” Avilon conceded, “but, I’m still waiting on your answers to my questions: what are you really trying to achieve, and why did you go to such extremes to restore me to life?”
Durban summoned a smile.
“I don’t see why you should find it so hard to believe that my motive wasn’t simple human friendship. Especially as I felt very responsible for you being in that place.”
“Except you’re not simply human,” Avilon observed, her tone growing acidic. “And you seem to forget, I know you were willing to literally trade your life for mine. I saw the state you were in after, and I helped bring you out of it. I didn’t really think much about it at the time. I had too much else going on with this new body, and then I had two years with just one thought driving me— getting back to the Legacy. But, these last three cycles I’ve had a bit more leisure to think it through. And when I did, a lot of things I noticed just didn’t add up. I started wondering why you even went through what you did trying to get me restored. That wasn’t just paying a debt or some kind of guilt thing. It went way beyond any degree of friendship you and I ever had. You were literally throwing your life away.”
Avilon stopped talking and Durban let the breath he had drawn in escape in a sigh. It was a scene that had played out in his mind only in nightmares and for once, he had no idea what to say. For a frozen moment the sea-blue eyes held his gaze, acute with accusation. Durban gave the smallest nod of acknowledgment.
“I hear and understand,” he said, simply.
“But you’re not going to say anything to it?” Avilon made a contemptuous sound and shook her head. “Why am I not even slightly surprised? It’s always been the same with you, Durban, from the first day we met on Temsevar. A one way street on trust and information. Well, maybe I’ve got to the point of no longer caring enough to even force it out of you. You saved my life on Temsevar at great personal cost and I’ve saved yours on Skapandir at great personal cost. And now, again, on Dyfrax. I think that seems a very good place to call it quits and end our association.”

E.M Swift-Hook

You can snag your copy of  Iconoclast: Not To Be now!