O, Camelot, Where Art Thou?

Everything is awful
And yet, we persevere
Leaving hope to poetry
To trundle on in fear

That one toe too far over
The party’s bread-crumb line
Makes weeding out dissenters
A mere matter of time

While power speaks for no man
And landed gentry frown
To battle one another
For the puppet-master’s crown

We’re plotting for a future
Most hope never to see
Still bargaining, unseated
And without a winner’s fee

But how to hold our assets
From the treasured hoarding trust
While shoring up economies
Still reeling from the bust
 
Can you perceive horizons
That might signal Finnish line?
I’m getting more myopic
Through these passages of time

And ravaged, lost and sleepless
With no comfort to be had
I’m all but feeling helpless
To prevent what drives us mad

External shadowed forces
May be mustering to lead
The ignorant through tripery
To see how Red we bleed

For driving all before us
While historic, still untrue
No plaudits for the chorus
Of Titanic bally-hoo

I’m not to know the answer
Though I wish, it is in vain
My child must be my Reason
For I voted to Remain

The boy who didn’t believe

His eyes told him tales of the truth on the page
As he gazed on in wonder at what lay before him

His ears let him hear all that came from the sage
While faithful companions took care to inform him

His hands brushed the wisdom both carved out and clear
And his touch held reminders of tangible reason

While tongue on his teeth flicked out, tasting the air
For a hint of the wind lends direction and season

But all was in vain, all fine senses quite useless
He wrinkled his nose and refused to be swayed

Afeared that his fellows might mean him abuses
He shut his mind tight and ignored all good faith

In place of his conscience mistook for conviction
The volume of ignorance over all proof

Provoking confusion and much needless friction
For stubborn and wilful his painful excuse

Respect slowly dwindled to fall by the wayside
While fatuous rhetoric ruled in its place

Contempt for authority lacking in substance
All those his compatriots filled with dismay

No lessons were learned by the boy in the bubble
Preferring his policy of Simon says

He polished the rod that he’d careful constructed
Preparing to swing to the end of his days

Back Off

There have been a number of articles in the UK press recently regarding introversion and extroversion (I suspect somebody famous within the self-help field must have a book coming out, although I will plead ignorance as to who this might be for the time being as I am not all that well read in this particular genre). Having long been interested in human interaction, common character traits, personalities and the way we categorise people, I can all too easily see the danger of those who stick out as ‘different’ being consigned to the rubbish heap by those only interested in promoting mainstream thinking and behaviour. The trouble is we are all different. If we weren’t, nothing would ever change. We wouldn’t create or build anything, as things would be set up to suit everybody. The whole of humanity would stagnate.

In the interest of promoting diversity of personality type in the workplace, I scribbled the following:

Introvert, but still adept
At social scenes, though quiet, yet
My presence: one they don’t forget

The schemes I hatch for work, refined
Some ‘off the wall’, but hold, rewind
They fit, is what I tend to find…

And though you might not quite agree
That workers should, in mind, be free
(You feel the urge to pester me)

To oversee the half-baked plan
Leaving your mark as ‘man who can’
But this is not your also-ran.

So give me time and space to breathe
Without the stress of need-to-leave
And see what we may both achieve