I’m a little worried that my last two recieved zero replies on the grounds that they were pants! Never mind. They were really designed for performance, better heard than read. The poem below was in fact a impulsive harangue directed at my work colleagues in the pub last Friday. They all give speeches at the end of the week. Luckily, they were being recorded, so my drunken rant on optimism didn’t dissapear into thin air and the mirror ears of my drunken playmates. You may want to know that the company is famed for its joyful madness and intense work ethic. This is the ‘transcript’ (delivered in Eton/Carribean accent):
What drives me is not the fear of failure, but the glory of success,
Knowing what is right, and knowing what is best:
Demolishing blocks, and laying down roads,
Hating little, and loving loads.
Waking up high, not frozen to the sheet,
Craving the good stuff, feeling the beat,
Drinking till I’m wriggling on the floor,
Reading new worlds, curious for more.
With the rain rinsing down, and putting up bars,
With the base of the species, and the fumes of the cars,
When the crazed fools wield their machete and gun,
Optimism is our duty, as we imagine the sun,
And our bathing beneath it, talking about progress,
The problems we face, and the opportunity to redress,
Our struggle for recognition, our desire to fulfil,
What is deep down inside all of us, as we all start from nil.
And as we all love each other and we love ourselves,
We’ll find a people’s commune putting up shelves,
Full of produce and culture and music and ideas,
This poem’s on the house sisters, Solidarity, Cheers!
But what do I know? I just finished a pitcher and a half of Killians Red. Everything seems a bit optimistic at prsesnt.