No Minors

Trigger warnings won’t be given –
We’re all adults here,
Our actions can’t be driven
By a narcissistic fear.

Let’s take responsibility
To toughen up our health,
And learn some raw agility
To dodge stuff for ourself.

We cannot live in cotton wool,
Demanding privilege –
Let common sense become our rule,
And step back from the edge.

No-one supervises
What may raise a gasp or tear –
For life just loves surprises,
So we must be adults here.

Loo-zers !  Loo-zers !

So much raw potential that’s about to go untapped,
With so much passing, pushing, crossing, till the clock has lapsed,
But if they can’t produce a goal, their efforts go uncapped,
Chopped-down to size –
And ev’rybody cries their unnecessary tears.

And after all the hattricks,
All the upsets,
All the volleys –
Now we’ve reached an end of jollies,
And we’re only left with fouls.
And the singing is replaced by howls
That fizzle-out careers.

So much disappointment, with so many nils, so many draws,
And have you ever noticed that the other teams with epic scores,
They’re always someone else’s team, they never can be yours ?
The anguish wails –
And ev’rybody fails for another forty years.

And after all the penalties
To settle matches no-one tries to win,
The talent’s looking thin.
And finally, the Final claims
The title for the worst of all the games –
Well done, you’ve won.  Best drown your shame in beers.

Boring Boring Donkeys

They couldn’t be arsed to win the game,
And neither could the other team –
They huffed and puffed, yet both ran out of steam.

The goals were few, the highlights same,
As no-one risked a probing lob –
Or knuckle down to do their bloody job.

“Winning is all that matters, though.”
They glumly would to explain,
As they stumbled through the motions once again.

They kicked-off from the very go
For penalties to come
The losers’ lottery for teams who put the hum in drum.

Were I their referee, you know,
The clock would be ignored –
I wouldn’t let them leave the pitch until a goal was scored.

The final whistle wouldn’t blow
Until they up-and play –
Until they got the message that they’d have to earn their pay.

The Age of Discretion

I’ve learned when to stand in the spotlight,
And I’ve learned when to soften my tone.
I’ve learned when to keep my lips shut tight,
And smile until it all comes right,
Because I’ve learned when not to fight,
But to leave all well alone.

I knew what I was doing, of course,
I’ve no excuse, and ask for none.
It only serves to reinforce
Precisely what I’ve done.

I’ve learned when not to speak my mind,
And I’ve learned not to gossip or moan.
I’ve leaned when silence can be kind,
To notice all yet still be blind –
Yet no surpise, at last I find
That I’ve ended up alone.

I knew what I was playing, back then,
And chose to play it solitaire.
And now that I have lost my men,
I’ve nothing left to share.

Onion Friends

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

“I before E, except after C,
When the sound you are making is ee.”

19^th 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 waffle 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 so 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…

In-Jokes & Out-Jokes

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.

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 ?