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Each poem in Nicky Jones’ ground-breaking book is linked by a paragraph of prose, thus setting the scene and filling in any gaps in the story, but Nicky doesn’t go into great detail. This is not an autobiography in the conventional sense, the poetry stands alone.
Nicky’s ambition as a young woman was to be happily married with a family. The series of relationships she embarked upon (mostly marriages – she is the marrying kind), led her on a journey of self discovery and spiritual awakening. Discovering karma and reincarnation, and therefore life after death, when in her forties, made everything fall into place. Finding out that we are not alone, and that there is purpose to our lives, and that we really do live on after what we call death, allowed her to eventually live life to the full without fear.
Using the poems as a tool, Nicky takes a warts-and-all look at the things that have happened in her life. Married four times, she tells of her determined search for true love, and also of her spiritual search, which led to peace of mind and a greater understanding of what it means to be human.
Nuns and Pregnant Girls
by Nicky Jones
I will always remember the smell of lavender polish.
I had my own tin, and a bag full of yellow dusters.
The banisters at the home were always gleaming;
they didn’t need more attention, they were vain enough.
It was the pregnant girls that did all the cleaning,
lots of frantic elbow grease to shine and redeem.
The highlight of the week was Top Of The Pops,
pregnant girls and new mums allowed to view before bed.
We laughed and acted like normal teenagers for a while.
Then I started showing off: stood on my head,
bump perfectly balanced as I attempted a smile,
toes pointed like a gymnast, my agile body upended.
When the baby came I was as high as cirrus nine,
thanks to Pethidine and gas and air from a rubber line.
I gabbled away, confessed all, a silly goose in stirrups,
thinking the midwife-nuns in habits my best friends that day.
But they bound up my breasts to stop the milk coming in,
and wrapped my child in muslin before spiriting her away.
I was a just an ordinary human being being brave,
a slave to society’s convention and not a sinner outright,
even so, the pregnant girls were treated like muck shoe-stuck,
….enjoying the rugged ruck of romance their crime,
while the prim and proper nuns led their reproachful dance,
pointed shaky green fingers, expressions askance.
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