Familiar generalizations don’t always tally with stark reality! (Poem)

By Stanley Collymore

You obviously came into my life when I was down on my

luck and at a time when I couldn’t have given a – no

I’m not going to use that jokey expletive which

rhymes with luck and will instead civilly

employ the more socially acceptable

phrase of saying, as I’ve done

previously, that I was literally down on my luck. But

anyway, things were going staggeringly badly for

me, and understandably my getting involved

with another person, far less so falling in

love again and so soon with anyone,

 regardless of who that individual

woman was, was definitely the

last thing I had on my mind;

or for that matter the kind

of reactive action which

honestly, rationally, pragmatically

and much less so judiciously, I

would consciously, or most

fittingly, have seriously

contemplated getting

ensnared into again.

No bullshit that, nor any wanton, intentional, or cynically

manufactured, all-out determined and self-serving spin

concurring with the definitive reasoning by me, in

order to expressly circumvent the personal and

deeply troubling consequences known to be

intimately coupled with the unrestrained

failure to definitely and permanently

put an evidently embarrassing past behind me, and

through that conscious process negate the likely

possibility, due responsibility and similarly

the apparent necessity of entertaining a

completely new relationship by me,

and essentially out of the earlier

mess that I’d made of my life,

be applicably positioned to

naturally get romantically

involved all over again.

Well that’s a pretty glib assumption to make as

well as an easy thing for anyone to say, and

especially so for those who have not the

vaguest inkling of who or what I am,

and consequently, fundamentally

do not know nor could conceivably understand

the complicated imponderables, in terms of

valued expectations and ardent emotions,

that when immutably choreographed

and then confidently played out,

their distinctly painstakingly,

exhaustive, collaborative

and convincing ballet

de dance, becomes

the unwavering supplement, on

my part, to my unpretentious

chariness and, naturally,

personal awareness.

Accordingly, do forgive me for delineating my views so

uncompromisingly, and more to the point especially

so if I have offensively misjudged you as being

among those who have not only collectively

but also conclusively jumped to the false

conclusion, which they unwaveringly

expect and even demand must be

the solitary outcome of how, with no alternative

prospect in their prejudiced deliberations, I

should unquestionably be the man who

they unilaterally decide that I must

unwisely become. To which my

clear response is this: Think

whatever you want to but

take it from me, don’t

ever seriously think

of truly holding

your breath

on that

one!

© Stanley V. Collymore

14 October 2017.

Author’s Remarks:

I don’t need to acquaint anyone who’s even vaguely compos mentis, but I’ll remind you here all the same for obvious reasons, that life and its associated factors constitute an ongoing, and invariably a complex game that everyone in varying degrees and often in the case of some of you for substantial periods of time, as you either blissfully, idiotically, manipulatively or even sensibly embark on playing them.

Sometimes the motivation for doing so is deliberate and clear-cut, on other occasions not even the participants themselves can say with any certainty or even honesty precisely what it is that they’re doing or why; for in truth they haven’t the foggiest notion.

The game of love is no different and as a pastime has been going on from the beginning of time and specifically that crucial moment when Eve first got a deeply enamoured Adam to nibble her apple, which he apparently liked and consecutively after that occasion continued to have numerous bites from it. It was a regeneration apple you see. The clever ones out there will get the joke; the others, truth to tell, it’s not worth you bothering.

So long after we’re all of us no longer here, future generations of human beings - should earth and Homo Sapiens manage to survive the impending nuclear holocaust that the morons in Rogue State USA, toadying Britain and the rest of the west’s Useful Idiots that serve the vested interests of the sickos that currently run this world we live in – will maintain the custom of playing their own love games.