Stanley Collymore


Are You Really Sure You’re Who You Think You Are? Poem by Stanley Collymore


I didn’t realize how much you thought I meant
to you or even that you actually cared at all,
for you always seemed to be totally
wrapped up in yourself and,
to be perfectly frank
with you, wholly indifferent about
me and specifically whatever
it was that was going
on in my life at
the time.

So do forgive me if I’m curious to know what abruptly
brought on this change of heart on your part, and
as you’re currently suggesting and apparently
expect me to believe as well has now, to
put it mildly, dramatically from my
previous insignificant status in
your life to what’s obviously
from your perspective and most
puzzlingly and ostensibly flattering
from mine I think, catapulted
me into the most favoured
position that you’ve
deliberately set aside
in your private
emotions?

I’m well aware of the exhortation not to look a gift
horse in the mouth but I’m also fully cognisant,
as I’m equally sure that you are too, of the
legendary story about the Trojan Horse,
the adverse consequences that stemmed from it,
and the chillingly pertinent lessons belatedly
learnt because of it concomitant with the
judicious advice to be exceedingly
wary of the proverbial Greeks
bearing unexpected and
more specifically
unsolicited
gifts.

The latter admonition I both concur and totally empathize with;
it is also one that I wholeheartedly support. So bearing all
that in mind I regret to say that I must reject your
amorous overtures towards me, since the prospect of
marital entrapment and the real likelihood of unwittingly fathering
one or even more children that I didn’t sire isn’t a pursuit that
any thinking member of the male gender, among whose
numbers I count myself as one of them, would, in
such questionable circumstances as the ones
you’re proposing and whatever the
inducements were, want to be
sensibly undertaking.

© Stanley V. Collymore
7 October 2013.

Submitted: Monday, October 07, 2013
Edited: Monday, October 07, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Did you know that the Prime Minister and Home Secretary both have a legal and constitutional right to be present whenever the lawful wife of an incumbent British male monarch or that of a direct heir to the British throne gives birth?

It’s a legal precedent the reason for which stems from the days when it was commonplace for canny or scheming but usually secretly barren or even fertile wives unable to provide a healthy male heir to assume the customary expected accession to the throne and in a society which was uncompromisingly and comprehensively misogynistic understandably fearful as well for their survival in not being able to dutifully accomplish this considerably demanding expectation of them desperately swapped their female infants at birth or those allegedly born from what were essentially phantom pregnancies for a healthy male one born at the same time to a trustworthy underling in their service, enabling many of these royal wives through this calculated deceit to literally still keep their heads on.

Notwithstanding their legal rights and national obligations however it would unquestionably be highly embarrassing for both sides if in 2013 or at any time in the foreseeable future a British PM or Home Secretary were to turn up at whatever maternity unit a prospective British queen, especially if she was de facto a blood royal herself, and insist on performing their lawful and constitutional duties.

And anyway, such sleight of hand infidelity is so replete among our supposed upper classes to which not only the Prime Minister, Home Secretary, practically all of their cabinet colleagues and numerous others too in the higher echelons of the other principal political parties actually belong that it wouldn’t be in the broad-spectrum of their general self-interest to really demand this kind of personal and intrusive scrutiny of royal affairs, in a manner of speaking. For as a dear friend and charmingly untypical, blue-blooded member of the aristocracy confided in me, “With our obsessive and unsavoury penchant for intermarrying with our own kind the entire lot of us would have perceptibly gone gaga a long time ago if some of our women didn’t sensibly and fruitfully play away sometimes.”

And she’s absolutely right! But in case you think that it’s only our supposed betters that, to use a widespread footballing metaphor, prefer away games to home ones you’ll be mightily wrong. Official statistics indisputably verify that in excess of 36% of British women regularly cuckold their husbands or live-in partners cunningly getting them to unwittingly father kids they didn’t sire and whose abysmal ignorance of this fact stays constant not only with the men concerned but also the children involved. However, if it’s any consolation, British women aren’t alone in this subterfuge and comparable figures do exist for EU countries, the USA, Canada and those countries which the global white Caucasian clan likes to arrogantly describes as the developed world.

Yet in Britain, and particularly in England, the ancestry tracing business actively encouraged by those profiting hugely from it is ironically in overdrive. Some MPs I know, and not all of them of the libertarian persuasion either, would like for the state to compulsorily microchip all of us and particularly babies from the moment of their birth the better and easier to monitor us all and control what we’re individually as well as collectively doing. Which begs the obvious question, why with such a mindset don’t they also advocate the blanket and compulsory DNA testing of everyone so that significant numbers of their own citizens, subjects still in the case of Britain, can effectively and correctly know who exactly they are, are genuinely descended from and for good measure are truly biologically related to.

But they wouldn’t do that would they? Nor am I advocating that they should, merely playing Devil’s Advocate here. For to embark on such an enterprise would clearly open up a Pandora’s Box whose consequences would I’m sure be most catastrophic psychologically and in terms of reputation for those who like to think that their lineage is as pristine as the driven snow, and we simply couldn’t have that could we? For once opened the lid on that particular ancestry history box would be impossible to replace.

Finally for those of you who’re either fuming at what I’ve said or wondering where I fare in all of this let me categorically state that I know exactly who I am, have always done and have the requisite DNA tests and certificates to validate not only who my significant forbearers were but also and quite importantly for me who my parents, siblings and other relevant family members are. This wasn’t done because I ever doubted for a moment those that I’m biologically related to but is itself the ongoing historical register of a family steeped in survival that even though it was brutally and savagely as a direct consequence of the Transatlantic Slave Trade deprived of everything it previously had, with the advent of emancipation and through common and honest solidarity with each other industriously rediscovered it all to become what it is today.

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