celebrating and creating our own LGBTQ+ history in honour of Sheila McWattie

day eighteen

Vision

 

Winter sea swimmer

Pounding waves and cutting foam

Steaming mug of tea

 

 

 

 

 

Fiona Thomson

59

Kent

March: A Haiku for Andrea

 

 

Yellow spring flowers

Mark your birth and death day

Joy in the sadness.

 

 

 

Lel Meleyal

60

Brighton

 

day sixteen

(Sound and) Vision

A vision of loveliness…the lady harpist incongruous in lurex and black lycra, feather earrings and jackboots. Blue-white flattop hair and skin that is silver in the follow spot. She could be a ballet boy from a Matthew Bourne, or a mythical bird. Her arms dance around the strings, like a sea anemone in slowmotion. Fragile silver rings on huge fingers. Those hands are so beautiful they can’t be big enough. They could reach out to fill the auditorium and pull notes from the rigging cables and handrails. They might, so gently,  stroke the hair of the patient ushers, and raise from each strand an echoing harmonic in the hush of the soft darkness ; or pluck tiny chords from the straps of the icecream seller’s tray. Out in the foyer, bar staff would watch mesmerised as her arms burst from out of the hall flowing elegantly by them and out again through the window, onto the quayside, to ripple across the tuneful cables of the footbridge. Henpartyers and Offcomers, Dogwalkers and Theatre-goers all stop, amazed by so much beauty, hardly knowing that they have begun to dance. And one by one they fall silent, waiting open-mouthed in a dream of anticipation. And still in our seats, we are on the banks with them  – we are by the Orinoco, the Severn, the Tyne holding our breath together  until finally, her hands will reach and play the river itself – one immense, vibrating, yearning note, too low to hear but only feel.

Once, I would have decided then and there to take up playing the harp.

Once, I would have asked her for her phone number.

But tonight, I can only stare, wide-eyed and grateful for the dark. Tonight I can only vibrate with the river.

 

 

Fin McMorran

Teesside

day fifteen

 

My vision has no TERFs

My vision has no TRA’s

My future has no us

And it has no them

 

My vision has no pro this or anti that

Them over there and us over here

Lesbian rad fem versus oh so queer

As fuck

 

We are all fighting the same battle

We are all interconnected

Winding in and out of each other’s fear is one true Love

One world

Look after it

 

 

 

 

Kerry

Brighton

 

day fourteen

 

If you were a peonie, then I’d be your sun,

painting you rainbows when the showers come.

If you were the moon I’d be your turning tide

constant, sure and moving far and wide

 

If you were a rose red and me a violet blue

today as tomorrow I’m so in love with you

 

 

 

Sally, 37

Maidstone, Kent

 

day thirteen

 

And so it goes…

More lies burst free like bubbles

surfacing in pools of water.

 

Admit nothing,

You don’t have to.

Your silence speaks volumes.

 

Aware of the irony,

my framing of you as bad all along.

My sickness fit neatly with your shame.

And so it goes…

 

The other truth…

The love between us,

that meant we were unable to part.

Your arms today are safe and strong.

And so it goes…

 

 

Deb, 49

Margate