Shy at retirement

The happy ex-executive
Is finished with their woes –
May quaff another malt
When curling up with slippered toes
Can sit and read the papers
Take his breakfast pipe in bed
And when the press come calling, say
‘Ask someone else, instead!’

The happy ex-executive
Has set his suits aside
To walk the dog in comfort
With no other plans to hide
The boardroom doesn’t matter
As he mutters through his day
No longer forced to listen
To the nonsense some might say

The happy ex-executive
Has time to count his chicks
Now grown and flown and flapping hard
For mortar board and bricks
He sits and sips his coffee
That no secretary bears
And wonders why the future
Hangs so often round his ears

The happy ex-executive
Now pastured and put out
The boredom that keeps looming
Moulds his frown into a pout
At four a.m. deciding
That enough’s enough, ‘tis done
It’s time to join a panel;
Find some new oblivion

The happy ex-executive
No longer sees himself
As more than the reflection
Over mantle, mirrored wealth
And what was it he wanted
When he first took on the role
But to see himself rewarded
For team efforts, on the whole

The happy ex-executive
Is feeling somewhat lost
Unsure that it was worth it
Pensioned off as ‘managed cost’
The marks of market forces
Take a little time to fade
But happy ex-executive’s
Already got it made

Inactivism

The ones who showed up
(Nothing better to do)
Who responded – what luck!
This dispassionate few

Lacking courage; conviction;
Lose energy fast
As they gawk at the faction
All hurrying past

This embarrassing spectacle;
Lacklustre, bored;
Ensuring their protest
Is safely ignored…

What happened to fervour
And faith in a cause?
Results of endeavour
Wrought change, not just snores

You want anyone
To accept your world view?
Then there’s work to be done
And it’s all up to you

Not a person will heed
Any nonsense you spout
If you, hasty to lead
Fail to plan for the bout

So don’t wing it on camera
Prepare with a script
Ere the freedom to clamour
Is hastily stripped

Once your message is seen
To be patently dull
You’ll have blown it on screen
For the others as well

The January Blues

I am finding my diet depressing
(A first world complaint, you’ll agree)
For in spite of the shakes, and the carbs, and the breaks
I am moody, sore, tired and hungry

Yet they tell me it’s worth it to diet
It shows character, willpower, poise
And with less spent on meat, you invest what you’d eat
In a dress to attract all the boys

So I guess I should stick with the program
For another few days at the least
If I make it that far, on an energy bar
You could use to scrub pots of their grease

I’m not sure I buy in to the concept
That the thin are more healthy and glam
And a girl in her prime must waste quite so much time
On starvation to bag her a man

No, I’m doing this thing to feel healthy
So the stairs are not quite such a chore
If eschewing all cheese, last year’s jeans pass my knees
It’s a bonus worth nothing at all

Daydreamer

Not for me
Such Heathcliff tales
No bodice-ripper
Do I crave

I’ll not succumb
To doe-eyed slave
I thirst for more
Than hero-brave

An aspiration
Of romance
In modern times
Has not much chance

Of blossoming
To fruitful lust
Amid this dance
Of little trust

We feel our way
From bed to desk
And sleep en route
Deprived of rest

So few our moments
And well-spaced
No thunderbolt
Mid rat-filled race

But gaze at fellows
As we pass
Their eyes as cold
And hard as glass

Where nothing tender
Is betrayed
We human souls
Are yet afraid

The loneliness
That seeps through cracks
Means even couples
Can’t relax

For mated, settled
Set-up well
We miss what first attracts;
The smell

And nostrils flaring
Leave the nest
Searching for
More fun, less rest

What is exotic
Fuels our dreams
Thus life unravels
At the seams

A Pause for Rain

Softly falls the curl
Upon this roughened cheek
As pondering, the girl
Reflects upon her week

No valentines received
But neither were there bills
No further woes conceived
So never mind the ills

The coffee cup is drained
A lid found for the pen
What tasks have yet remained
She’ll visit once again

A sigh upon her lips
A fingertip to suck
Ten minutes more of drips
Then home, with any luck

Boredom

Sitting, watching the silicon dribble through the cyber-glass, I ponder the meaning of life.

Parked at a desk while my mind wanders, I have done my homework… please, Sir, can’t I go out and play yet? And the hours tick by. I clean the office, sort things, file things, re-sort my cabinets, and wait for someone who doesn’t care about doing their job, a weak link in the corporate shackles, (but just strong enough that no one is willing to pull that particular plug and rattle his chain), to allow me to do mine.

I am drifting on a sea of useless information, all colours and numbers and artifice. The reality of the blister on my left heel is a far more tangible reminder that some things lead straight back down to earth.
My left sock is wet, inside and out.