Everybody I know is very excited about this year’s December 17. Last year the day was an absolute fizzer and I simply cannot allow that to happen again. All sorts of gift ideas have been popping up in my feed and I am still open to those ideas, of course, but Kate’s suggestion of poetry seems the most appropriate.

So I am gathering together a collection of poems as a celebration of the special day. December 17 and I both have a short attention span so these contributions should be brief and come in any form that appeals to the writer. I am not a big one for stifling creative minds by over direction so there is no real theme. Anything that would tickle the fancy of December 17 will be perfect.

My pal, Rugby843, notes that it is a day to tell someone that you love them … so run with that idea if you like (and you don’t even have to mean it).

It doesn’t even have to be poetry, really … it might be a drawing or a photo …. or anything at all, in fact. The celebration of December 17 should be an expression of artistic freedom – and of freedom in general.

I have no idea of what to do with any contributions, mind you. I don’t really know how they should be presented. Any suggestions in that regard would also be most welcome.

I have been reading, this morning, about the fact that December has started. It is a time, it would appear, for reflection. I’ve read a lot about ‘what a year it has been for me’ and I have read all about people’s achievements and about their personal growth over the preceding eleven months. Nobody seems to hold great hopes for December itself, though. They are already beckoning in another year. Sorry December. Please step aside and let us through.

The focal point for the month, to be sure, is towards the end and I suppose I can understand the excitement of getting there. But it must make a date like, say, December 12, feel a bit inferior and a bit pointless. This year I might hold a celebration of some sort on December 17 – in the name of diurnal equality.

My mother, incidentally, was born on December 25. What rotten luck.

But if I am to get all reflective myself then I’d have to admit to having achieved absolutely nothing so far this year. Based on form it is unreasonable to anticipate great successes in the next 31 days either. Last year was much the same. I have gotten a bit lazier and fatter, I suppose, but this is not so much an achievement but rather just part of the evolutionary process. I was discussing with a friend last night (over a glass of wine. Or two) the idea of devolution …. she was wondering if it were possible to go backwards in the process. She had noticed that those around her were growing gradually more stupid. She may have been referring to me.

The idea is a nonsense, as far as I can tell, for it assumes that there is a direction in all of this – some sort of destination for the great ship of fools. But there is no up or down, no east or west. Nowhere to go. So just relax. And stop trying to steer. We will all get there soon enough and when we do we will realise that there is here and then is now. We have already arrived.

But try to set aside a little time for December 17, just the same. Try to make it feel special.

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For William … I’ll Never Smile Again

There is very little that a man will not do to get into a woman’s pants. Don’t look away. Don’t pretend to be shocked. You all know that it’s true.

In the big scale of deceit I don’t think that a few exaggerations spoken in the name of love should ruffle too many feathers. Lies are just the male equivalent of lipstick. If it gets a bit smudged in the heat of passion then nobody really cares.

My friend Kate spoke on the subject (or perhaps she was speaking of something else … who can tell with women?) and I replied. I stress to you (that do not already know) that Kate is a close relative.

It would be improper for me to have such thoughts about her ….

My mission here will always be
Avoidance of reality
I cheat, I lie, I stand aloof
I fib, I falsify the truth
I make up stuff.
And I invent
The stories that I hope
Prevent
You asking questions
Checking facts
Before allowing
Sordid acts
Upon your person
On your skin
Seeking passage
Deep within
Please don’t forsake me
Don’t reject
The falsehood
That I now project
Forgive my fiction
Let me stay
You are just like me
Anyway