Neutrality

When it comes to social discourse,
That elixir of companions,
I try not to take sides,
I’m a clear chemical,
Neutral,
Neither acid nor alkaline,
I don’t want to mix poorly,
In this verbal concoction,

I’m an outer disciple,
An observer perhaps,
But never a belligerent,
Raising one friend over another,
I’m not keen on factions,
I’m no partisan,
It’s not fear or duplicity,
But loyalty to all,

We’re all friends and mates here,
Not a flimsy house of cards,
We’re a brew,
Not a poison,
So I remain neutral.

The Chanter

Have you ever met the Chanter?
He is a man,
Or sometimes a woman,
This figure takes on many bodies,
But you can always spot them,
Or rather hear them,

The foolish always shout the loudest,
And that is what comprises the Chanter,
Whether he or she or they,
An obnoxious town crier,
Shouting over all the sober discourse,
Clanging a bell in the ears of all,

This Chanter can be anybody,
Nationality or class be damned,
Perhaps this being is on the street,
A raucous bigot or village idiot,
Or maybe they are in office,
A vulgar oaf in charge,

You see,
Volume is often utilised over sense,
Shouting down rather debating,
That is what the Chanter is,
A brass bell ringing within a conversation,
A foil to sense and decorum.

Peace Treaty

The year begins,
And something undiplomatic hits me,
A tumultuous thought comes,
A violet lightning bolt,
An unwelcome item on the docket,
Why not learn to forgive?

I try,
Yet the emotion dare not come,
I am no diplomat,
Not some meek emissary,
It shall not happen,
Even if barbarism be considered my virtue.

Textures

Normal conversation is a main course,
One that rarely tantalises me,
And rarer still is it served with skill,
I find it an unappealing slop,
An insipid entrée,
The texture of the words grows unpalatable,
Rough and unforgiving,
Undercooked and shallow,

These dull strings of words,
They are not the juicy flesh of wagyu beef,
Nor the silky glide of spaghetti bolognese,
Not even the warming quaff of soup,
They do not entice,
Or enkindle,
Nor entertain,
I am not sated by that drivel,

Increasingly so,
The texture of normality is grist to me,
Absent of taste,
Mediocre chat bound for the toilet bowl,
But then again,
It has to be stated,
Perhaps it is my taste,
Such as it is.

Temporary Face

We often put on temporary faces,
Papier-mâché masks just for the day,
Social engagement or spree of revelry,
It’s a game we play,
To fit in to the fold,

A little blush here,
A touch of mascara there,
Cologne and collared shirt and corset,
Making ourselves into little dolls,
GI Joe’s and Barbies,

It doesn’t last long,
A mask can’t be worn forever,
Our real face grows impatient,
We banish our disguise after the gala,
With the swish of a wet wipe.

The Masked One

Everyone wears a mask,
Crude facsimiles of paper and card,
The world is a ball after all,
A party with cheap cologne and lipstick,
Aost pass through without trying the hors d’oeuvres,

These veils,
Most wear them to shield themselves,
To fit in and mollify our insecurities,
But some wear them to hide their intentions,
Desires foul and machinations fouler,

I knew of one such disguised creature,
Innocent without,
And abominable within,
When she smiled,
A slew of adders followed suit,

Brunette locks and empty eyes,
A pure appearance with horns,
Fead animals left on doorsteps,
The mask barely grips on,
As if it regrets compliance.

Hampers

Life rarely gives us presents,
Or gift baskets,
Not without due cost,
It prefers to take and chastise,
Providing only buckets of sand,
The world is a cruel enough place,
Let’s not make it worse,
Let’s lighten the weight instead,

So leave a hamper of happiness yourself,
A little verbal picnic,
A kind word on a cracker,
A compliment sandwich with ham and lettuce,
It need not be lavish,
Compassion need not be gaudy champagne,
To any soul you come across,
A pleasant hamper may be everything.

Confetti

Oh yes,
There is joy in the air,
Visible to the eye,
Heralded in myriad colours,
A thousand little specks of paper,
Fragments of a rainbow given flight,
A host of manmade fairies,
Dancing and raving on the breeze,
I do declare,
Whatsoever the occasion,
Nuptials or Pride or a festival,
You know it is a merry time,
A time for genuine smiles,
When the confetti flies.

Vindication

I’m not one to brag,
Nor chastise,
But I was right,
Right about what they were,
Their serpentine sneers,
Their mockeries whispered,
I was correct about what they did,
Their aggression,
The strikes they denied,
I was right,
Though this brings me no solace,

Of whom do I speak?
Of her,
Of him,
Of those people,
Whomever intended harm,
I was right.

The Date

The night cometh,
Meeting right on time,
Eyes meeting,
Sweaty palms,
The anxious shuffling of seating,
Shy smiles,
Fingers tracing wine glass necks,
Azure to emerald eye contact,
Connections made,
Conversation once stilted now flowing like ale,
Hands touching,
Hackney carriage summoned,
Two passengers,
Happily ever after,
This was a date,
Now it’s a love story.