Missing - a Poëm

For much of the time I cannot listen to modern music forms as - due to hyperacuity - it causes me physical pain. However, sometimes, when I am fortunate enough to be in a deep bath, I am able to listen to familiar pop-tunes. If my ears start to hurt, I dip under the water until they calm.

This afternoon was one of those lucky occasions. I was listening to Talvin Singh’s “Traveller” (video-clip above), a favourite tune of mine from the nineties. It brought back memories of love-affairs, clubbing, dancing, sunshine, of being actually alive and vibrant. Now I am - and have been for over two decades - severely disabled by chronic-illnesses. Suddenly I found myself weeping for my former life......

Mostly I am an optimist, though tempered by pragmatism. Whilst I allowed myself the space to mourn my losses, I also prefer to turn experiences into something positive - or at least constructive. Very quickly I started forming a poëm in my mind. I had to type it up as soon as I exited the bath-tub. And the result is what follows.

Missing

Missing

Tumbling

Into passion

A new friendship offer

But too great a risk

Spiritual strain

Leads to emotional

Falling

Missing

Tumbling

Into passion

A new love-affair’s call

But too great a risk

Emotional strain

Leads to physical

Falling

Missing

Tumbling

Into passion

A new adult play-date

But too great a risk

Physical strain

Leads to sexual

Falling

Missing

*

The Audience: a Poem

Traditionally, my first post of the year is a poëm. This year, however, I was spurred on to write about a health issue (q.v.). So for my second post herewith something I originally wrote in the nineties, prior to becoming disabled, when I used to attend lots of artistic events. I suspect many are missing such activities due to the constant, pandemic lock-downs. Just maybe, I might be now willing to put up with irksome audiences! I have done a wee bit of adding and editing as well as redesigning the layout. Oh, and a warning for swearing!

*

the audience

at every queer performance:

gay men chattering

so much to say

gossiping

and bitching

one of whom

invariably

will leave mid-way

for the lavatory

lesbians

in multiple layers

removing one sweater

at every vital moment

with frizzy hair

enough for three

statically charged

so as no-one can see

anything of import

serious music concerts:

Jewish ladies

hard of hearing maybe

whispering all too audibly

throughout

elderly couples

pass boiled-sweets

triple-wrapped

for maximum annoyance

and there’s always someone

with a chesty cough

a rattling burst

during anything vaguely piano

and everything pianissimo

cinema visit nightmares:

escape from surreality

proves an impossibility

crunching hands clawing at popcorn

incessant banter

questions

patter

a constant stream

of those who arrive late

and then worst fate

bouncing feet

on the back of the seat

rocking ire

might explode

one of these days

for gods’ sake

shut the fuck up

I want to experience

the performance

not the blasted audience

*