Ah. February. Your end does tease.
In a sulking, shrugging way.
Skulking out there in the grim.
Your grey cloak is no warming
Shoved down hat precludes my begging.
Shuffle off. I am chronically sickened by you.
Tag in the striding March. For we are ready
And it will be a pleasure to see April’s
Bi-polar sunshine and snow sweep forward.
Swap places now. We are done
You and I.
Take your fixed, determined stare
And go.

pretty-tea-cup

 


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“A timely reminder to me of the promise I made myself a few years ago; we are not able to control the actions of others, should not expect empathy or respect. They have their own journey and it is not mine to chastise. I can keep them company from a distance as they walk their path or stay near linking arms, but I must not make judgement from my view. All I can do is be the best person I can. At all times, kind, patient, and brave.”
~ Lifted from my Facebook post, 24 February, 2014
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So the fog is in again, you know
Another day of grim.
Daylight slow and strangled
Once light, starts growing dim.
But season, I have news
For the days will now get long
So Winter grab your coat
It’s time to move along.
The lowest sun is climbing
Trees will shortly start to bud
And my walk into the office
Will not be swathed in mud.
Though, hang on there a moment
I quite like the muffled sounds
As I trudge along the towpath,
Drag my feet through boggy ground.
And I do adore the evenings
Bundled up in winter clothes
Drinking by the fire
Whilst thawing out my toes.
Or sitting in the park, quite still
All cloaked in mystic fog
Watching the blurred lovers
Holding hands, out walking dogs.
And the romance comes with winter
The cosy and the close
It seems to feel more subtle
Like a black and white repose.
So wait, I think I’m saying,
I’m happy with the bleak
Even while it makes me cold
And cuts against my cheek.
I’m cheery with the kicking
Of autumn’s forgotten leaves
And to be perfectly honest
When you go, oh I shall grieve.

 


 

salt with your shot

I don’t want you to talk to me. You’re not required to smile. I don’t even need you to know I’m here. I’m not looking for a hook-up, an individual intimacy. I’m not here to make friends. I don’t desire your conversation. I am standing here, in the middle of this melee, for your energy. To be surrounded, engulfed, by a room full of anonymous vitality. I’m here to siphon. Be in noise. Breathe in the smell of humanity. Be charged with the end of week madness that draws and drives a crowd. In this, I cannot hear my thoughts. I do not hear the voices or my singular heart-beat. In amongst you I am lost. And it is good. Healthy. Perfect. I want to dance, give me space. I want to move to the music, so leave me room. If you stand in my space, I will smile, a hostess grin, big but dull. You won’t notice it is as fake as her tan. If you initiate conversation, I will be kind. I am mannered and noble. My eyes have glazed over at the thought of exchanging pleasantries, well anything, with you. Though especially words. But I know the game. To be afforded a safe-place, I must sacrifice. It is transactional. I pay the kind Barman for a drink; solicit a fleeting friendship. This too, a barter. He obliges the chat with my change.
And then you take my arm and drag me, smiling, outside for a cigarette. And I am tired of making excuses, exceptions. I do not have the fight to deal with your affront, if I say no. So I let you lead me. And you are full of banter and compliments and intense gazes. To accompany your full belly of beer. And I give you some mileage with my helpful narration of the people around us. You take cues, so easily crafted, and try to entertain. But you are boring me and annoying me and I have reached my tolerance. So request my leave, vaguely suggesting the loo, or call to a friend. And I have shrugged off the arm, or conversation, lightly, deftly. So as not to be rude, or hurt your feelings. So that you have no harm done, by way of me tonight.
And I am standing on the dance floor again. Having a sway and being alone in the throng. Having another drink; the music working it’s way into my soul, JDs in my veins. Smiling to myself at the privilege of being alive and enjoying life. And then there is another you, at my elbow. This one more inebriated, combative and forceful. Of course, you have been here for hours. This time, this you, wants to buy me a drink, suggests something foggy in my ear. And I am busted out of my reverie, to find your hand on my arse. A ring, I notice, on your wedding finger. Seriously? I match your certainty with an acerbity of my own. And at once you are angry and offended, and the defense is ugly on you. But you are like so many other yous in this bar, drunk and entitled. I am not ready to cower at your lurid comments or appease you for my own peace, this time. I am going to shut you down. You do not get what you want by bullying or harassment. And I will not let you. If politeness does not gift me a pass, you can have the whip of my honesty. I turn tail, and remove myself. 
Please. I am not looking for conversation, am not hoping you will initiate. I am here to immerse myself in the music, in the vibe. Please don’t think that because I am here by myself, I am seeking to change that tonight. If I am smiling, it is not an invitation to seduce. Pay me attention with respect, if you wish to make a connection. If I am interested, I will tell you. If you are interesting, you will know. 
[edited 27 November, 2016]