Wednesday, 28 May 2014

Red

Tuesday, 27 May 2014

My son

If my son ran the show:

There would be tractors everywhere, digging just for fun;

There would be Hoovers vacuuming as a background soundtrack hum.

Language would be made-up and ever so musical,

Every little word and sound, new and magical.

There would be endless giggling coming from every corner of the universe;

Books would be edible and so would just about everything else.

There would be happiness and peace and, yes...

...There would also be crying, but it would short-lived,

and tiny tears would roll over yummy cheeks

only to sink into a smile of tiny teeth.

If my son ran the show

We all would eat on our feet

If my son ran the show

Mamma would never sleep.

Wait a minute...

My son already runs this show of which I speak.

Sunday, 18 May 2014

Humans are not a Resource

Dear HR department,

Humans are not a resource

To be taken ‘on board’ like ballast, then ‘cut’ like a tree;

A ‘redundancy’ to be ‘let go’ of

like a bad memory.

We’re not like fuel or bricks, or a bunch of fire sticks,

We’re not a ‘head-count’ and your buzzwords make me sick.

We’re not your property and our bodies are not machines,

Our minds are not hard drives; they’re oceans full of dreams.

Humans are not a resource

You may not contact me when you wish,

You may not 'geo-tag' me or even keep me on a leash.

We’re not a ‘work-force’; ‘heads’ on ‘posts’ to fill your needs,

We’re actually people trying to feed our fucking kids.

Because we’re not ‘stakeholders’ with whom you can ‘engage’,

Don’t you tell me to think ‘outside the box’ so you can keep me in your cage.

Dear HR department,

I'm not here to be ‘used’, ‘recycled’, ‘redeployed’ or made unemployed:

Humans are not a resource and I’m not your errand boy.

flycisco

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