~ To my childhood self ~
hoping you enjoy the daily posts and please feel free to leave any feedback.
And if you get inspired throughout the month there’s still time and space left to add your piece to celebrate LGBTQI+ History month 2024.
FioxiRose
After a year off FioxiRose is excited and delighted to be soon flinging opening the doors for FebulousFebruary 2024. Thank you to those of you who have taken the time to tell me how you missed reading and contributing all the wonderful queer writing and for those of you unfamiliar let me introduce you.
After the success and popularity of Febulous February 2014, 2015, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019, 2020 and 2021 and 2022 FioxiRose, writer, performance poet and dyke, living in Kent, is reaching out again to friends, colleagues and associates who are lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, intersex and those of you who may be questioning your sexual orientation and/or your gender identity. Family members are also included. The invitation to you all is to submit a short piece of your own, unpublished writing as a celebration during LGBTQI+ History month. The pieces, whether prose or poetry, may have specific LGBTQI+ content whilst others simply come from those perspectives.
FioxiRose continues to dedicate this anthology to her dear friend and former partner Sheila, who sadly died very suddenly on 13 February 2016. Sheila championed Febulous February, contributed extracts of her keen writing and did a great PR job on it too.
FioxiRose has agreed to post a piece here on the blog and on various queer friendly FB sites, every day during LGBTQI+ History month, culminating in the creation of Febulous February (2022), an anthologywhich celebrates us in all our beautiful queerness, as well as embeds a landmark in our LGBTQI+ History.
Submissions to fionarose@gmail.com between 21 January – 10 February 2024 to enable planning of the month. Feedback on submissions within this site are welcomed and encouraged and support any future developments.
We used to party
with our fingers
inside each other
under the table
of our local pub.
Laughing willdly
because nobody knew
what we were up to.
Entwined
encased in music
gospel reggae soul
erupted
as we partied hard
under blankets
made smooth by
so much action.
We partied until
we were breathless.
Two souls swirling
in the dance
of life .
Then like autumn
leaves
you blew away
and for a while
the ghost of you
weighed a ton.
But at least
for a time
we were able
to stable each other
on the floor
in a rapturous beat.
Jo Fraser, Bromley
Poitin
It’s Sunday. Ten thirty. We’ve both dropped a pill.
And you know and I know it’s time to distil.
When the taste of your spirit is spit on my lips.
When I dive through the dark fathomed dip of your hips.
With your back and my back and arching and bending
we’re sending ourselves along deep, broiling tracks,
through the volatile, vaporous, wolf-wiley packs.
Through the thickening pot.
Through the cool and the hot.
Through the licking, slick tongues of the liquid
that gleam cleans the rot.
And you are the dance of the gluttonous flame
and I am the burn of a chemical beast
that cooling and boiling can’t tame.
With the chill … and your hot/sweat … condensing my soul
I know light and dark are the same.
In blackening waters we boil and steam.
We are vapour and mist,
we are blood, we are fist,
we are flood and vibration and dream.
I can’t scream.
I just coil in your coppery arms,
collecting myself from the spray on my thighs.
I am almost nothingness, formless … and formed.
I’m the tips of the swords in your eyes.
Renée McAlister, Brighton
Sweet 16
I’ve got an empty
Mum’s away to Mrs Muir’s caravan for the bank holiday weekend
Word spread like wildfire that
I’ve got an empty
Shall we have a theme? ….cartoon characters….disaster movies…we finally settled on hats ….fancy hats…mmmmm…. then at the last minute Clare said Hatasrtophe!!! Brilliant!
Living room blitzed, coffee table in bedroom……ideal for rolling a Thai grass joint Clare found out later …..the couch, we squeezed and scraped into the wee cellar …table and chairs fitted neatly on the wee verandah. We had a dance floor!
Louise and Karen with lots of slap, wonder bras and borrowed heels managed to pass at the offy….loads of cider, lager and a bottle of dry martini was the prize.
Kenny, Ian and Graham begged, stole and borrowed amp, cables, speakers, Wharfedales Wow! and a big black case of vinyl….passing through with a cheese and silverskin onion hedgehog I see Kenny flicking through the LP’s ….Wishbone Ash, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Fleetwood Mac, 10cc, Peter Frampton, Bob Seger…..
In they piled to the living room as 10cc blared out….arms in the air heads keeping the beat bodies rocking
Well the band were playing and the booze began to flow
But the sound came over on the police car radio
Louise with a huge billowing flame coming out of a fireman’s hat bumping bums with Jasper and his stag horn head…..Clare skips in with her sombrero and guitar still singing Nelly the Elephant, packed her trunk and said……..Kayt and Colin wearing two sides of a bridge construction bopped together with Kayt mouthing to a puzzled Ian “The Tay Bridge Disaster !” Turn the music up!
Down at Precinct 49
Having a tear-gas of a time
I’ve got an empty
We’re having a party
Load up, load up, load up with rubber bullets
Fiona Thomson. Kent
ESSENTIALS FOR HEAVEN
from I’m Still Your Negro An Homage to James Baldwin by Valerie Mason-John
iPhone A Flat Screen
Black Mirror Credit Card
A Plastic Note A Wrap A Spliff Doobie BC Bud
Dj Sound System Reggae Hip Hop Trance Techno
Spotify YouTube Apple Music Strobes Zoom
Toilets Cocaine Blade Straw
Afro Comb Hair Extensions Lippy Mascara Shades
Chewing Gum Dance Floor
Go Gos Visuals Projections
Ecstasy Water Dancing Shoes
Poppers Corkscrew Wine Beer
Earplugs Mouth Guard CPAP
Vitamin Pills Echinacea Essential Oils
Twitter Instagram Facebook Messenger Snapchat
WhatsApp Netflix HBO Amazon Prime
Iboga Ayahuasca
Sleeping Pill
TIK TOK
The party
Welcome to the party,
Not you.
Too fat, too femme, too something.
Too Nothing really, nothing special, but still here.
Welcome to the party.
Not you.
No G, no T, No Special K.
Just something, but not enough.
Just something enough to stay.
The party is on, it’s here, but always looking somewhere else.
What’s new, who’s new, where’s new?
Why are we here? Where are the others?
Always at the party, always looking for others.
Never looking at self, for self, in self.
The party is over.
What, who, where – am I?
John Gilmore
Canterbury and Dublin
Many Tory MPs are party people,
They smile all the time because they snort cocaine and they quaff champagne!
“Let the bodies pile high!” Boris Johnson shouted!
As Tories partied, Covid rules were flouted.
Was the PM there? He lied as he replied.
As people cried when their loved ones died
Not allowed to hold their hands
Under Covid rules this contact was banned
They couldn’t attend their funerals
Social distancing had strict numerals
During Lockdowns, the Tories partied on and on
They pretended to comply but continued to con
Caught out, they agreed to investigation
Now can Johnson survive the humiliation?
While they got vaccinated and followed the rules,
The British people were played for fools.
By Jenny King
A celebration of nature
The bears are nowhere to be seen. The wolves ignore Raf and Wilf’s wolf impressions.
The late afternoon sunlight beams through the trees across the reindeer horns.
There’s a hint of spring, of hope, of new life, of change.
Could it be, could we allow ourselves to imagine….longer days, sunglasses, less clothing, warmth.
Oh yes yes yes yes please.
It’s all going to be ok. Thank you nature, seasons, consistent change. Love you.
Amy Redmond, Margate
People wanna party
They fought for their right to party
They don’t wanna hear about wages and taxes and how the rich gets richer
They just wanna get together, have a beer or two, relax and chill, nice and easy
Let them know we are taking care of all that; working smart, partying hard
They….they just wanna meet a few people, have some small talk, maybe a boogie, flirt a little, maybe a few more beers, maybe a line or two, you know, relax and chill, nice and easy
They don’t wanna hear about the bees or the birds or the soil or the climate or the farmers and the workers and the teachers or the nurses or the doctors or…
Oh maybe the nurses…clap for them…Yes and let’s throw them a party!
They work hard, we work smart, we all need a party, relax and chill, nice and easy
Yes a party! wine in paper boxes, in paper cups; paper cheese sandwiches in paper bread; paper table covers, paper bibs…
For them I mean…for us BYOBs
They fought for their right to party
They voted for their right to party
They voted for our right to party
Ec Oz
Dance, drink, be merry
Don’t speak, don’t sit and think
Get up and dance!
The dance is where we let it go,
The dance is where we act as free.
The dance is all we have right now,
So, let’s be wild, you and me.
And then the dance it is no more,
The floor’s a mess, the head is sore
And still we have so much unsaid.
Ah fuck it, let’s just go to bed…
Deb Crossley, Thanet
FebulousFebruary 2026: The Old Photograph 