Panopticon

We live our lives in public,
Ev’ry time we step outside our door –
We’re on-display when popping to the store.

We navigate the common space
Past ever-watching spies,
Upon the CCTV captures of a hundred people’s eyes.

We live our lives wide-open,
Ev’ry time we talk to one another –
Ev’ry little action slips the cover.

We might as well be on the stage,
And naked to our soul –
And yet in truth we are audience far more than leading role.

For we live our lives in public,
Watching all our fellow-humans live –
For all to see – they cannot help but give.

We’re just another passing glance,
Our mutual selves unfurled –
And so the world performs, the world looks-on – and we are of the world.

Inhumane Resources

You’re a clever, thoughtful person,
Who’s about to get the sack,
Though it’s not because you pilfer,
Or you draw alot of flack.
And you haven’t got no talent,
Or the hygiene of a slob –
But because you are entirely
So ill-suited to your job.

You’re barely getting-by
With your latest KPI,
And you fear the Peter principal is nigh.
Will you ever get to say
You made a diff’rence here today,
Come clocking-off, to catch the train with head held high ?

There’s so much you could contribute
The nation’s GDP,
But instead you’re wasting all your years
In stress and lethargy.
Yet the perfect job to match your skills
Has gone to some poor shmuck,
Who is just as mis’rable as you
And cursing-out their luck.

You’re barely scraping-through
On your quarterly review,
Cos it ain’t imposter syndrome when it’s true.
Will you ever get to feel
That all your efforts have been real ?
Come clockin-off, can you take pride in what you do ?

Wallpaper     

I’m not a loner by self-selection,
I’m one because I’m alone.
My years of failing at basic connection
Has left me out on my own.
It’s not that I favour my company,
So much as it’s all that’s on offer –
There’s nobody coming to comfort me,
And honestly, why would they bother ?
I’m making the best of solitare
To fend-off the lure of self-pity –
I reckon I’ve still got plenty to share,
But friendships are daunting and bitty.
There’s people I know, but they know dozens,
And I’m just a face at the back –
Or get along for specific discussions,
But best mates ?  I haven’t the knack.
No, come on, don’t start getting mawkish –
My lot is my lot, and that’s that.
Don’t let paranoia get hawkish
If I choke on chewing the fat.
For small-talk, I have too small a voice,
So I’ll slip-away and make-do.
I’m not a loner by personal choice –
I’m one because I’m not two.

        Annus Medius

Another year of not quite making it,
Of lacking clout –
Of languishing, but trying to break out.

Another year of not quite finding peace,
Of getting stuck,
Of pressing-on, but with decreasing luck.

Another year of getting side-tracked,
Getting tied-up, getting trapped –
Another year of getting let-down
Getting threatened, getting browned.

Another year, but at least we get to say
That we were there –
We turned up for each day,
When the days went ev’rywhere.
Some lived in defiance,
And a few lived in regret –
It wasn’t all a triumph,
But it hasn’t killed us yet.

Another year of middling-through,
Another shift is done.
I guess, for most of us, that’s true –
We lived, and sometimes won.

Jaw-Jaw

Talk to me, lie to me, yell at me even,
Or swear all you like, I don’t mind.
Tell me of rumours you scarcely believe in,
Just don’t leave your tongue-bone behind.
Yabber all day in a language I can’t understand,
Or in words so pretentious and bland –
And if I ignore you, then talk to my hand,
With silences brailled and signed.

Chat with me, bitch at me, sing to me even,
Just never stay quiet for long.
If I still have ears, then you know I’m receiving,
However tight-lipped and headstrong.
Gabble at double-Dutch, pardon your French at me,
Prefixed and strong-verbed to argue and disagree,
Stutter and tut till I grunt my decree –
For only our silence is wrong.

The Slow Comedown

Here we are at last,
Upon the podium, as number one –
We may be shipping water fast,
But let’s enjoy our moment in the sun.

So here we are, complete,
With laurel wreaths on heads unbowed –
We may be dead upon our feet,
But let’s just grin and wave-out to the crowd.

So here we are, enthroned,
With medals hung and champagne sprayed –
We may be stumbling, leaden-boned,
But let’s not sleep and miss-out the parade.

So here we are, high noon,
With all our talent spent and flexed –
We may be all forgotten soon,
But let’s not worry now to what comes next.

Rough Night

I’m far too boring for parties like this –
I’d rather be reading a book in the corner.
I ought to mingle, but what should I say ?
If I could hear their replies, anyway.
But all around me are deep in bliss,
So what right have I to be a scorner ?
Force a smile, don’t bring them down,
And cross the room before I drown.
I came from a fear of loneliness,
But now I feel more lonely than ever.
Why does my silence feel like assault ?
And why does it feel like it’s all my fault ?
We’ve nothing in common but ev’ning dress –
We’re separately alone together.
Yet surely people like me exist ?
But they won’t be found at parties like this.

Buttons

How did ancients ever close their clothes,
Do you suppose,
Before the button was first threaded through the buttonhole ?
Metal hooks or bows ?  Who knows ?
But what its lacking shows
Is how quickly buttons sewed-up their control.
But over time they frayed,
As we fiddled, faffed, and flayed,
And went awol as their stitches face abuse –
They hold a fatal bug,
Where a simple careless tug
On a dangling string can let them on the loose.
It leaves their hole a void
Where they used to be employed –
Forever lost, when all their bindings are unspun.
But at least they’re silent grips,
Unlike the noisy velcro strips,
Or zips –
But one day soon, they’ll surely come undone…

Rivals

You do me wrong, you cad !
Egad !, I’ll snap your swagger stick.
I’ll pay-back ev’ry insult, lad,
And you’ll be glad I made it quick.
I’ll give you thirty licks, and then I’ll add
Another thirty more.
I’m wise to all your tricks, comrad,
And tell you this means war…
Don’t doubt me on that score, you rake,
You’ll soon be aching bad.
I’ll bring the hurt, make no mistake.
My words are iron clad.
I’ll bound you over, bounder !
You shall flounder on my spleen –
How dare that you imply that I
Am such a drama queen…