hot coffee

I thought of you today dear heart,
And wondered at the pain.
As I stared across the cobbled streets,
All slick with misty rain.
Was staring from a window,
Smudged-out people blurring by.
Hands warming on my coffee,
Hiding from a winter sky.
Eyes caught you in the melee
A blue calmness in the crowd.
Jolted at your presence,
Strangled whimper sighed out loud.
You sauntered through my reverie,
Passed within an easy reach.
Am hit with fresh reminders
Of the lessons that you teach.
Of the learning that you gifted
With such generous aplomb.
And helped to turn my life into
Some cliché-strewn sitcom.

And the noise around me swells
With the busy lunchtime surge.
Every thing in slow-mo
Each conversation starts to merge.
You still have my attention
As you cross the shiny street.
I  will myself to turn from you
But cannot move my feet.
Your stride is strong and confident
Without sign of hesitation.
And must concede it yet torments
I still await your explanation.
The window framing your betrayal
Begins to mist again.
So I raise my cup in toast to love,
As you retreat down Memory Lane.

kari-shea-188474-unsplash


 

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And I am a fraud. A middle class, middle of the road, middle aged, middling to mild, creation. One whose dreams bounded beyond borders but have only achieved mediocrity. While heroines rose high, reality was a catalogue of muddling through. Nothing colourful or qualified, a remix of sameness, repetition of the similar; looping with no crescendo. A myriad of almosts, no climax. Dull and dowdy, the self-delusion of sophistication. I can dine with seven sets of cutlery, but have never been invited to. I am widely read, but never the right authors. Somber at the wrong times, joking at the worst. In my head I speak, in turns, with the seduction of Nin, and the wisdom of Angelou. To you, I am comedy relief. The voice of a clumsy prankster. Not the beguiling creature you had hoped. I am not who I dreamed I am. And not where I pretend to be. Yours will be a polite slow seeping boredom. The visuals, a disappointment.
But at least you will laugh. With me or at me.

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

 


“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.

 


 

with lime and sunshine

Latin beats. Doesn’t matter how hard I try, I can’t keep still. No matter where I am, no matter my mood, my state of sober, the company or lack thereof. There’s nothing I can do. It taps into my soul. It makes my nerves fizz, my muscles move. Even as I am sitting here, in this chair, solo, in a nightclub. Watching young couples partner off, find a rhythm, connect, contract, swing wide. It is hip-swaying and joyful. It is an unfurling and the taste of freedom. Uninhibited, sensual. It is at once wisdom of generations and an expression of youthful hope. A frenzy, a focused movement. A step away, a coming together. It never ceases to make me smile, to make me relax, to create a desire to let go; growing small tidy steps into sweeping motion.
This is where hearts heal. In the grounding, in the crawling over a dance floor, in the evolution. Up on to toes, back down into release.

Written at 3am, in a bar.

empty vessel

Twelve months ago I made the decision not to engage with Stoopids. For a period of six months. To let unfounded opinions fly. To accept the varying levels of educational deficiencies and life exposure, and not take on the frustration of seeing such saddening ignorance. The benefits were so life-changing, I gifted myself another six months. I am avoiding contact or interaction with The Ignorant. Or those with an inability to explore the multi-layers of any political or theological argument. I chose to step down off my soap-box and not Tall Poppy myself amidst the thousands of sheeples that on a dime, transform into abusive trolls. Be an examplar not an educator.

I have spent most of my adult life being a passionate and highly vocal advocate of human rights, anti-bigotry, and equality. A speaker-uperer of gender issues and animal welfare. I joined WWF (the animals, not the lycra-cladded) and BWC (Beauty Without Cruelty) when I was a young tween. I have been a disciplined recycler and conscious global citizen. As a kid, I suffered a myriad of detentions at school for questioning authority and pushing boundaries on behalf of others who had not found a voice yet; the value of certain school policies and curriculum. I was forced to apologise to the teachers I challenged when they concentrated on uniforms rather than our ability to read. Have championed proactively befriending the lonely and forgotten in our society. And I have done much of this with a voice. Not to proclaim any elite morals but in the hope that perhaps one person will hear my call for help, to join our very large group of like-minded people.

And until last year I was comfortable to use social media as a forum to quietly but confidently state my beliefs; debate, learn, exchange ideas, change my mind, continually be informed of, and by people with, differing views. Until I realised that even in a private and somewhat isolated place like my Facebook portal, I was communicating with people who were just plain, and steadfastly determined to remain, Ignorant.

I would physically feel the manifestation of the sadness and frustration and disbelief. I would shake, not with indignation, but a pent up need to find a way to somehow help those I was communicating with, to see a different perspective and be ok with its existence. For them to be inspired, to look at the world with an open mind. An open heart. To be kinder. To forgive. To be inclusive.

We know fear and the anxiety response to change, the unknown, can be incredbly debiliating, inhibiting. Segregating. We understand that cultures and society structures can make enemies of countrymen, of families. Exposed as an inheritance of hatred; we see the father’s eyes, in the son spouting indoctrinated vitriol. I acknowledge all the paths we have trodden as individuals, as communities. To get to this place.

And so over the last year I have found myself disentangling from heated conservation about politics or religion or immigration or racism. From grammar pedants, mysogynists, or tabloid soundbytes. Remaining passive. Not detailing media misrepresentation, or mass misinformation. Ignoring poorly qualified statements of truth. It has been bliss. A peaceful and secluded existence, with rarely an impulse to rush in, encouraging or facilitating. Leaving the people to abuse each other, to fight, or to perpetuate shockingly myopic beliefs. But my two times six months is over. I wonder what I will do?