To all heads of department who’ve never raised their brow above the parapet

The art of dialogue is not hard to master:

you shout top-voice above prevailing storms.

The fittest lungs pierce lint-fuzzed matter.

Your ground-hugging pessimism forever warns

them off fangling a-new what has not worked in the past.

It’s this storming of brains got us in a mess in first place!

Time to rant, hone your leadership skills and craft.

Mind not the barbarians nor bigots at the gates.

Good luck, hugs, in fellowship,

your HR team, who’ve taken refuge ashore.

What? Don’t you like the cut of our jib?

 

We are reviving the lost art of letter writing over at dVerse Poets. Mine is a tongue-in-cheek corporate newsletter, ostensibly asking for leadership courage. But we all know what that means in corporate speak…

 

Writing Exercise

This was a 5 minute writing exercise that I was set in a writing group, based on a photo prompt.  I’ve been unable to find this picture again, so you will have to take my word for it: it was a beautiful black-and-white photograph of a Cuban woman in white traditional dress, smoking a cigar, looking out of the window.  She is flashing an insolent smile straight at the camera.  Some makeshift flowerpots are teetering precariously on her windowsill.

The thyme is doing well this year.  Grown all over, in a hurry like a virgin about to be married, all ready to jump into the nearest pot.  Majoram, now that was a tricky one, hasn’t sprung the smallest green shoot. Rowdy waste of time. But who said aloe vera would never make it in a tin? Just bore’em and stuff’em, I always say.  Look at it now: it’s tall, it’s spiky, it sucks up my smoke like a greedy suitor.

Speaking of suitors, it’s nearly time for him to pass by again for the day.  He can’t keep away.  He thinks he’s so irresistable in his shuffling walk-by, with his fancy hat, his spit-polished shoes, his thin moustache. I’m sure he can dance and gaze into my eyes for days.  All he needs is a little feeding, watering, to grow into the man he could become. Do me proud, like my plants, every day.

This time there will be a pause in his shuffle.  This time he will look up. And learn to linger.