Category: Textual Encounters

First Month Fears

You are the first month of the year

You represent hope

Is that too romantic?

Is it a trope?

Are you forgiven because you are near?

Are you hated because you are here?

January, you offer so much

In the stakes

Eleven more months

To make mistakes

We buy into the twelve month thing

We buy into time if we dare

Seasons are truthful

Can’t lie there

But

It’s all one big year really

Look at the big picture

Four seasons

That’s all we really need to know

‘What’s Another Year‘

As Johnny Logan used to say

Don’t take it too seriously

Take this year day by day.

There Must Be A Way

Crack in the pavement

Pothole in the path

Snag in the scheme

Rejection on the road

Obstruction on the line

Blockage on the bearing

Travail on the trail

Occlusion in the tube

There must be a way of moving on

Hold up on the motorway

Prevention of the plan

Hurdle at the course

Exclusion on the highway

Barricade on the street

Hinderance on the route

Blockage on the beat

Hazard in the formula

There must be a way of moving on

Jam at the junction

Crisis in the crossing

Interference at the intersection

Clot in the system

Tear in the tactic

A Shut Out in approach

Concealment on the course

A Joke at the joining

There must be a way of moving on.

Selfless

There was a time

When photos

Didn’t trigger

Or determine

A flash fire emotion

Or a lazy sensory response

Requiring no effort.

There was a time

When the written word

Or a poignant meaningful photo

Painting a thousand words

Wasn’t replaced by a selfie

Railroading us down a pathway

Where no thought is necessary

And no imagination is required.

There was a time

When the written word could stand alone

Hold its own and speak for itself

Without that illustrated companion.

There was a time

Imagination was key

You heard that song

You had your own personal story in mind

And then you saw the video

And it was all gone, spoilt, in an instant.

Now is the time

Image is key

And photos of a certain type speak

Without need for any words at all

Would such a photo have as much to say

As a book read before bedtime

Would it keep us as warm at night?

Famous For 15 Days – The Life Of A Crane fly

You left the window open

So I came in

You had a light on

And it was warm.

You seem afraid

When I flutter

I do not mean

To frighten you.

I seem chaotic

Haphazard

Bouncing around

Just trying to find

Somewhere to land.

I hope we can

Co-exist peacefully.

Now, just a bit of back story

To make you less afraid.

Our larvae spend

Most of the year

In moist soil

We are food

For many animals.

We do not bite or sting

Or spread diseases.

When we do emerge

We don’t even have

Much time to eat.

We have between 10 and 15 days

To propagate the species

To love, to live

That time is precious

It’s like the lifetime

That you have.

In school playgrounds

Boys pulled off our legs

Our legs are decidious

Easily coming away

But even decidious legs

Shouldn’t be pulled away

I know that used to upset you.

We are born to fly

In open skies

I was out the other day

A cloudy, windy

September Day

When the author

Saw me in flight.

They exclaimed

It was so nice

To get a glimpse of us

Outside the confines

Of a building.

Hadn’t seen

A more graceful flyer.

It’s like we’re in slow motion

With an invisible parachute.

The author finally realised

How gentle we were

I’m glad.

Also, we don’t need to be famous.

See you next year.

August and September – A Conversation

SEPTEMBER: How are you today?

AUGUST: I’m fine. Just wondering why you stole my thunder.

SEPTEMBER: While you were taking drugs, raising hell, getting drunk, burning the candle at both ends, being highly dysregulated, I was…

AUGUST: I don’t do drugs.

SEPTEMBER: Well, while you were doing all those other other things, I was co-0rdinating, planning.

AUGUST: Oh yes, planning, in your unique narcissistic way.

SEPTEMBER: Don’t give me grief. I’m just a month.

AUGUST: I was the one doing all the hard work in the summer season to bring you to the point of were we are now. I was the one who was supposed to be balmy, but no, here you are, once again taking the credit for all my hard work.

SEPTEMBER: Due to unforeseen circumstances, I was indeed more balmy than I expected. I’m sorry if it has caused you distress.

AUGUST: You upstaged me.

SEPTEMBER: Again, it wasn’t planned.

AUGUST: Just before you said you were a planner. You can’t have it both ways.

SEPTEMBER: : ‘The best laid plans of mice and men’

AUGUST: I think you’re jealous. I think you sabotaged me.

SEPTEMBER: Well, you can think what you like. I am what I am.

AUGUST: September should not be like June or July…or August.

SEPTEMBER: But you’re not even like August and you are August. I’m not listening anymore to your crazy ramblings.

AUGUST: Ah, you just called me crazy. You’re gaslighting me!

SEPTEMBER: The fact remains, I brought the weather that you promised.

AUGUST: But you’re supposed to bring cooler fresher weather. Why can’t you be what you’re supposed to be? Why are you always aping me?

SEPTEMBER: While imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, believe me August, I have my own signature. I have no interest in being your type of weather. It was an accident. An oversight. An anomaly.

AUGUST: Those anomalies have been happening a lot lately.

SEPTEMBER: There’s room for us both. I didn’t set out to outdo you. It just happened. I’m sorry.

AUGUST: Big of you to apologise.

SEPTEMBER: I’ve apologized twice now. I won’t be doing it again. I’ve already tried to pull it back, the weather I mean.

AUGUST: Oh please, don’t feel you have to do so on my behalf. Wouldn’t want to hold you back. I want you to be the best version of yourself.

SEPTEMBER: The best version of myself is usually a bit cooler and fresher.

I never meant to make you feel bad.

AUGUST: Yeah, I bet.

SEPTEMBER: Friends?

AUGUST: As long as you don’t keep up this heatwave crap.

SEPTEMBER: I can’t promise, but I do believe the worst is over.

AUGUST: The best, you mean. The best is over.

SEPTEMBER: Thank you for saying so. I will try to do that whole cool, fresh September thing you’re used to, just for old times sake and because I love you.

AUGUST: What? What did you just say?

SEPTEMBER: Well, you know, I love you like a brother.

AUGUST: Yes, I get it. You always keep me in the friend zone. Unlike November.

SEPTEMBER: Leave November out of it.

AUGUST: Hit a nerve I see. Well, goodbye and good luck.

SEPTEMBER: See you same time next year?

AUGUST: Perhaps not. Perhaps I’ll be unseasonably cold.

SEPTEMBER: Oh no, not 1850 all over again. Come on August, stop sulking. You love me really.

AUGUST: I’ll let November do that.

SEPTEMBER: Doesn’t have your charm.

AUGUST: Bet you say that to all the months.

February Subterfuge

It’s that time again

When people send cards that aren’t signed again

And declare undying love in vain

It’s that time again

It’s that month again

When people tell you what to buy again

The flowers and chocolates and perfume drain

It’s that time again

It’s that place again

When people in pubs make you buy roses again

For that date you hardly know again

It’s that time again

Days of unrequited love will take its toll

Too much wine and stalking is bad for the indigestion

Don’t put too much stake in romance without reciprocity

I heard it’s bad for the complexion

It’s that hope again

Where people are thinking of sex again

And some of it, not just in the brain

It’s that time again

It’s deception again

When two people are apt to feign

The best known movies of John Wayne

It’s that time again

It’s that dream again

That Valentine’s Day of Insane

To get to the 15th without sprain

It’s that time again

Is this an insincere day

Or is this the romance of a century?

Maybe today, with you

I’ll find out for sure

Days of unrequited love will take its toll

Too much wine and stalking is bad for the indigestion

Don’t put too much stake in romance without reciprocity

I heard it’s bad for the complexion

Dancing In December

Dancing

Dancing to the tune of the old year

To the memories it hopes it will hold dear

Twirling around on the big floor

Dancing in December again

Dancing

Hoping the footwork will be strong

Swaying along to the same song

Hoping the spin is not too long

Dancing in December again

Dancing

Twirling to all of the days left

Weaving away from the bereft

Hoping the rhythm is well met

Dancing in December again

Hoping

Lunging and dipping and lilting

Trusting the sequence not stilted

Nothing out here has been filtered

Dancing in December again

Dreaming

Keeping a balance that’s good now

A nice hold, and then, I don’t know how

But a perfect and dignified low bow

Dancing in December again.

Letting Go

The possibility of letting go

Is not there for the few

It’s a viable road to peace

Something we can do

Transcend the pain

Of anger and rage

Take tentative steps

Out of the cage

Letting go is within our grasp

Resentment, rejection, dejection – alert!

They all come under the heading of hurt

Forgiveness is possible

You don’t have to budge

Remember to protect yourself

But don’t hold a grudge

As grudges have a way

Like a scorpions sting

Of turning right round

And clipping out wings

Letting go, you know

It’s good for our health

And may even provide

A spiritual wealth

Letting go of fools gladly

A willow that bends

Will help with our progress

And knit us to mend

Remember the energy

Through them, that we lost

A cliche, but still

Remember the cost

Time to get rid of the debris in tow

Dump it into the dustbin

Labelled – Letting Go

Space-The Final Frontier

Had to move some furniture out of my brain today

A dog eared three piece suite was in the way

An old oak sideboard up against the hippocampus

Time to clear the dust and all the fretting fuss

I’ll get a lockpick made for the hypothalmus

In the olfactory bulb, I’ll put some fresh roses

A feather duster to sweep away the neurosis

I’ll decorate down the corridor in the cove

Get some swatches for the temporal lobe

But to be honest, my first thought is

To make a light and airy cerebral cortex

I’ll put some curtains in the pituitary

And where troubles jostle for supremecy

I’ll try to find that lock without a key

Those piles of worries have been there since year dot

One man and his van could rid me of the lot

Declutter, you mustn’t hoard inside your head

And hide the dark and dour under its bed

Seek shiny clean and everything in its place

Functional and minimal brain space

Got grief relief by sweeping it under the rug

The sadness and the loss that wouldn’t budge

I’ll move this furniture round and about

I’ll get a skip and bring it out!

In the frontal lobe now, not so many falls

No knees and elbows banging into walls

Stumbling in the amygdala was a fight

I got some lighting on the stairs to make it bright

And now, I’m slowly finding that

There is some room in here to swing a cat

I will always strive and try to find

That elusive, peaceful feng shui of the mind