Followers

Tuesday 16 October 2012

ANOTHER PROPHECY



My last post skirted a work related prophecy, which reminded me of a heartfelt prophecy within a poem I wrote in the early 80's. Written at the start of a relationship, as a predictive "warning" to us both, it proved me to be clairvoyant....

PROPHECY

(The Meet .....)
The warm of expression
you share with me
is the fear of loneliness
forever to be.

The tenderness we show
is our dream of compassion,
escape from our lives
automaton fashioned.

Fragile, desiring,
needing to touch,
be careful my friend
lest we desire too much.

(The Middle.....)
We give too much,
too much of everything
to hide our sorrow,
to keep us together
we give to the exclusion of others,
giving what little we have
to deny inadequacy,
to delay our loneliness for one more day;
but caressing the hallow relationship
we cry with fear.

(The End.....)
Frustration is the enemy,
the lack of conversation
the lack of substance
in the indolent marriage,
two strangers
cross-talking help,
unable to take or receive
so hard do they try to give;
until there is no-one.

(The Epitaph.....)

Give but take
loving or annoyed,
talk but listen
and discover yourselves!
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Monday 30 July 2012

A Swansong For Jeremy


I have had only 3 employers in my whole life, for which I am grateful and proud; I have been lucky.

There has been a formative 2 year introduction to the world in a paint factory, 23 years in I.T. with the second largest FMHG manufacturer in the world and, latterly, 12 years in I.T. with an English local government organisation: the miserable side of employment, the enlightening side of employment, then the stultifying.

An occasional “fact” of my working history endures, for whenever a “need” for major change commences, whether it be the literal decimation of staff to introduce automation, or to boost profits through standardised globalisation (several times), or to slash costs by merging 2 (or more?) local government organisations, there has always been a catalyst for change: a hate figure, a chop-man, a lying parasitic bastard akin to a Judas sheep (“follow me; for if we go forward together this will not hurt”); you know - the person who changes job every couple of years.

One such we called “PB” (psycho-bitch). One bloke “speedboat”, for he went through departments leaving a bow wave that capsized morale and undermined the banks of operational support within that organisation; then there was Jeremy, a real name and a real shit-sucker who rightly acquired the mockingly accurate moniker of “Jerenemy”, for he truly was yer enemy.

Now, once again, I am passing through a “need” for change, but this time to save money, to pay off government debt. I will not name our current chop-man, but for those who may follow this blog, here’s an old poem of mine that once circulated via numerous notice boards….



A SWANSONG FOR JEREMY

Dear Jeremy,
what can be said?
you got a department
to shoot in the head,
but the ropes of support
that held "I.T." in place,
soon dropped their load
to splash back in your face.

Like a 10 second surgeon
with blood on your hands,
you've cut off the legs
upon which you stand,
for the droves of staff
that raced past your door,
were a team of professionals
that kept you off the floor.

Not for much longer
will this go on,
we'll continue to leave,
one by one,
and a time will come
when we are no more:
a time not far off,
when you'll see your door.
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Tuesday 22 May 2012

The Pen Of A Woman


I was trawling through eBay and came across this on a "ME" page of an obviously exasperated seller, who seems to have vented her feelings about a sale gone bad. Poor Ian .......


From: Linda
To: ianrosswalker@*************.com
Sent: Friday, April 08, 2011 1:05 AM
Subject: Re: AS REQUESTED .....

It is indeed a pity you do not recognise that some of us have shift-work jobs that occasionally mean we work long hours, meaning we sleep rather then sit and wait for email.

Do you have any friends and do you hate women?

I have never come across such a cheap-skate chiselling person as you before, but I am now pretty sure that though you appear OK "on the surface" you are actually a right skin-flint.

But don't worry! - I have your cheque and I just ripped it in half. Please keep the records for free. I hope that upon playing each of them, all 18 of them, you are reminded of the disgraceful way you are behaving about "saving" £2.10.

I recognise that even though you refused to pay the legally accepted (by your bids) £27 postage, I am obviously in the wrong. That you then chiselled me down to £7 postage which I charged, thereby saving you £20 (and losing me £20), again, makes me in the wrong. I am obviously wrong again about the actual costs of getting the records to you for £7; the fact that the stamps alone cost £4.90 and that the packaging and on-costs account for the rest (£2.10) is not obviously allowed to register in your world. £2.10 has paid for a dedicated (re-usable) plastic box, (not some crappy old ex-crisp box), tape to seal it securely, interleaving to stop the singles rubbing against each other in transit and, most expensively, petrol to get your package to the post office and me home again.

I am selling singles to make much needed money, though you seem to believe, MR IAN WALKER, that I am merely the peasant who should offer my time and services on the basis of being a personal charity worker for the mighty MR IAN WALKER. Shame on you.

You truly seem to be a bit of an arse-hole - the bit where the shit comes out of.

Please enjoy the records but refrain from bidding on any of my future items as my goodwill is obviously not valued there.


He's been told!
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Tuesday 28 February 2012

PASSOVER, DEATH and PAST FORM


The recent death of a colleague's relative at an early age (in this modern world), prompted a recollection of a period in my life when mortality was at the forefront of my mind. The death of my mother, at 49, when I was 28, knocked me for six and though her death was expected (over several years), her final descent was shocking in its rapidity. I had learned, by that time in my life, that to "dump" emotions onto a page; as a poem or "non-poem", could be both surprising and cathartic, and that a page could be a non judgemental friend, an emotional mirror and a generator of inner calm. At this time, religious themes were present, though I have always regarded myself as agnostic.

The following words are from that period ......


PASSOVER

In all life there is death,
in all death life.
In life the fear of death,
in death the death of fear.
God's speed.


DEATH

The inevitability
of the blind-date with death
is a man's solace in life
a final escape
to a permanent engagement
and marriage in the house of God.
















PAST FORM

If I die before I live,
bury me not in vain:
for I've had my chances,
loves and romances.
But passed them all away.
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Thursday 9 February 2012

A MEMORY





Shimmering blue-green lagoons of tranquillity
stared into space
and wondered
Am I a good Christian?
Moist and supple lips of sensuality
mouthed to the world
need I do more?
and I answered no
for I thought that,
and I loved you;
and you kissed me.

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LETTER TO A FRIEND


We have felt it before;
to others we have opened our being,
souls and hearts,
and it hurts
when it ends,
a duet of hearts
coming to a close
for the entrance of loneliness,
the opening of old memories
and wounds,
giving up the puss of remembrance
and self-pity;
but not for us!
lest we scrutinise this bondage,
picking its meat
'till skeletal, lifeless fact remains;
for mystique and mutual unspoken understanding
still warms our hearts;
to nurture love and truth
as one.

Ups and downs,
backwards and forwards: a child on a swing,
mother waiting anxious for his return to ground;
I may swing with moods
but I must come down
to walk on the ground beside you.













               A temporary break may be best ...

There was more to this ...
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