Friends are funny things really… I’m mean, I must know a couple of hundred or more On nodding terms, And half of those I even know their names, And out of them, I’ve had a decent chat this year With two-or-three score, (Which is not something I get to say With some of my former flames…) But out of that group, there’s roughly half With whom I can share a joke, And barely a dozen I’d ever consider ‘close’ And as for ‘best’, well, those are the rarest Among my friendly folk, Though all are worth the knowing, To the degree that we engross.
“I before E, except after C, When the sound you are making is ee.”
19th Century proverb
Well, yes, there are exceptions, But not nearly often as they claim – Can we look at some ? Well, sure, I’m game.
No, not science, that’s bogus and you know it – Do I really have to show it ? Look – the I and E are each in a sep’rate syllable.
And no, not eight, nor beige, nor vein – I surely should not need to explain – You’ll have to do better to prove that it’s a silly rule.
And no, not foreign, nor ancient, nor surfeit – Pronunciation-shifts short-circuit, Their violation will not outlive you –
I guess there is keister and casein and teiid, Yet when was the last time that those words were needed ? So much whaffle we have to sieve through…
But caffein, and Keith, and seize, I’ll give you.
But heifer and leisure, they don’t disobey it, While neither and sheikh, it depends how you say it, And feisty, and height, and Reich dodge the label, While theirs are just weird, with their Rs unstable, And suffixes don’t count – your swingeings are fallacies – You won’t find your gotcha in all these banalities –
But buddleia, species, and Eid ? Yeah, those are fatalities…
There’s something fishy going on, I don’t know what it is, But it’s going on – some dodgy con, Some secret funny-biz. There’s a smirk-and-giggle marathon That long has lost its fizz.
Someone wants to put one over, Someone in the know – But they never let me in on it, Whatever is their latest bit – I guess they fear exposure, When the gaff’s about to blow – Or they think me far too sober, And in want of waggish wit.
But there’s something fishy going on, And I’m the one who’s got. The denouement must have been and gone, Though who can say for what ? Yet if I’m the chump they prey upon, Their diddly’s full of squat.
So someone wants to crack an egg, And let a punchline slip – Or…am I getting paranoid, Convinced it’s me who’s getting toyed ? If jokers want to pull my leg, They need to get a grip – But if the butt’s no powder keg, Best grin into the void.
The world is full of av’rage talents, Nothing-specials, soon-forgottens – The world is full of you’s and me’s, All dreaming silks but dressed in cottons. Those stars are the ones-in-the-million, While the million are all of we – Ignoring one-another’s slop, In search of stars we’ll never be.
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 ?
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.
Honestly, by the end of the year it looks like even the AI has given-up…
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.
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.
Rhyming Couplets 