A Wonderful Feeling (Revised)
A fervent plea, an impassioned SOS to
the remote IT – Help, my computer’s
failed; disciples of cool calmly reply,
bring us the CPU. CPU? Yes, it means
dismantle, dissemble or disembowel
the beast, locate the malfunctioning
piece, balance precariously on a chair
with wheels and drag it down here
Security says disbelievingly, Oh no, you
must fill out this form in duplicate at
least, CPU detail, your name – and oh,
plus another for the chair;
Struggling with anxious sweat brow-
breaking and running unchecked down
my face, finally reach IT - my arrival
ignored – Please, I beg, sanitise my
virus-infected CPU – Tech Siyabonga
says, Ok, leave it, we’ll fix it soon and
abruptly leaves to teach me the true
meaning of ‘laissez-faire’ – deflated
return to empty desk noted by June
who offers use of desk-top spare, I’m
suddenly hub of activity – Mme La
Pompadour making funny remarks, a
baby crying somewhere, June and
Hanlie happily laughing creates a
safe atmosphere in which every
translation moment is blissfully
ensconced in a bright bubble their
dedicated work ethic creates, such
a wonderful feeling being part of
the show….
[ORIGINAL]
Ran down to IT – S.O.S - computer not
working - Bring the CPU, the disciples of
cool calmly replied; went back to dismantle
and drag a precariously balanced CPU
down on a chair with wheels
Oh no, Mr Security Man said, fill in this form
in duplicate, CPU detail and your name - and
another for the chair; struggling, sweat running
down my brow, finally got to IT - my arrival
ignored – Please, I begged, Please
Sanitise my virus-infected CPU – Yes, Siyabonga
said - Leave it, we shall attend to it eventually -
and left the office hands in his pockets to teach
me the meaning of ‘laissez-faire’ – deflated
return to my empty desk
June saw my distress, offered use of another
desk-top, suddenly I was in the hub of activity
Mme La Pompadour making funny remarks,
a baby crying somewhere, June and Hanlie
laughing happily - creating
A safe and warm atmosphere where every
translation moment is happily ensconced
in the bright bauble their dedicated work
ethic creates, such a wonderful feeling
being part of the show…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Related quotes
Joys Of Life (Revised)
Luxuriously caressed by camaraderie, Hanlie weaving
such threads of happy, bright-smile delight; June being
mischievously buoyant, Hermien devoted to conscien-
tious duty and an elfin interest in what is going on
while Mapula looks great
Ulrike an uplifting perfectionist determined to never hurt
anybody, making sure everyone is OK – finally, end of
day; while I complain about my incompetency Hanlie
is laughing; feeling inferior is one of the perks of the
job - she happily claims
As translators too often feel superior to scholars con-
fining themselves to academic posts; June reporting
a ‘healthy’ person happily donating blood on request
while her own was refused due to iron deficiency, we
recommend bed rest and medicine
Quoting Madame la Pompadour’s amazing strategy -
Hanlie an epitome of inner beauty, June doing thank-
less proofreading jobs – while I glow with inner
delight, wafting home in joyous surrender
to the joys of life…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Harps And Pitchforks
Came the clarion call – oh come, all officials, come
collect diaries and bags to prepare for next year,
obediently we trooped downstairs to receive a
mousepad flashing in orange fluorescence
Took an extra one for Madame Pompadour - missing
in action again; Hanlie took one for June who refused
to leave her chair, too enamoured of her computer
to move at all, this morning June lamented:
Vanity, vanity, all vanity; Hanlie checked Ecclesiastes
for grasshopper similes in four languages: Afrikaans,
English, German and French - June said she would
read the Apocrypha during December
I said I love Muslim stories about Jesus as a real little
cowboy when He was small – said to have shrivelled
his teacher’s arm – Hermien objected, claiming ‘The
little boy Jesus was as sweet as an angel! ’
Hermien has three sons herself, how can she believe it?
Humming happily I returned to my desk, started to edit
recalcitrant documents thinking; soon I shall be in the
veld - golden grass and the glorious sun
In an ineffable African sky – why should I worry whether
Hermien has seen the Apocrypha at all - the picture of the
little Jesus will forever hold sway in my heart - and since
the Church Fathers rejected reincarnation
I accept reincarnation as fact, rejoicing about life ever-
lasting - beyond harps and pitchforks…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Wish For Release
Scared to return to the office to sit
in a chair that does not meet the
need for a correct sitting position
as the desk is too high for the office
chair I bought myself and the bar
stool I have is causing neck-ache
I don't know who to ask and where
to go to get my work station fixed
and raise the computer screen so
my head is not forced to hang down
and increase the pain in my neck,
I receive medication to force
my brain to ignore the pain
Will this help me to sit in the wrong
position until I am dead in my chair?
I ardently wish for release in what-
ever way if I cannot be freed from
the chair and the pain...
Saturday 21 June 2012
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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16.07.2009 Sparkles In The Air (Rev.)
Wise and magical as Nanny Ogg and Granny
Weatherwax are Hanlie and June concocting
magical forms that do sums in proof of what
we’ve done so preparing a production sheet
becomes a breeze
It’s as good as having Hogwart’s Sorting Hat on
my head, the form reads my mind and gives me
answers telling my life, June showed me how
to gain more time for translations, Hanlie gave
me leave to do more research
Forgetting magic requires special treatment
Jane destroyed the form without respect; the
magical form inspired me to new agricultural
heights, safe within the form’s woven web
calculating fun allotted everyone
sparkles in the air, joy in the office – brought
about by our two local witches, June Ogg and
Hanlie Weatherwax; Jane could be Magrat the
confused and I could be Perdita, singing for
Christine in Maskerade…
From: Terry Pratchett “Lords and Ladies” and
“Maskerade” - two clever witches, Granny
Weatherwax and Nanny Ogg, a young witch
Magrat and a younger witch, Perdita, who
likes to sing.
poem by Margaret Alice
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Baby...
Baby, can bring you a heaven sent joy.
Baby, , , can cause you to weep, tears of rain.
Baby...can fill you with pride, like no other.
Baby...will bring you tenderness, beyond description.
Is there anything, that can compare, to being with
baby...in a quiet moment.?
My, how the love does flow, as one holds their baby.
Baby, who can have you make a fool of yourself, as
contort your face, to make them laugh.
And have you ever noticed yourself, speaking baby
talk...better than your baby?
Baby, who by their mere glimpse, can bring you
running, crying...laughing at the world.
Baby, a true miracle of innocence, in a chaotic world.
Baby, seems to justify our being...our life.
Baby...Baby...Baby...what would we do without them?
Baby...they undesputable proof, that God is at work.
Only A Baby Can...
Baby, can bring you a heaven sent joy.
Baby, , , can cause you to weep, tears of rain.
Baby...can fill you with pride, like no other.
Baby...will bring you tenderness, beyond description.
Is there anything, that can compare, to being with
baby...in a quiet moment.?
My, how the love does flow, as one holds their baby.
Baby, who can have you make a fool of yourself, as
contort your face, to make them laugh.
And have you ever noticed yourself, speaking baby
talk...better than your baby?
Baby, who by their mere glimpse, can bring you
running, crying...laughing at the world.
Baby, a true miracle of innocence, in a chaotic world.
Baby, seems to justify our being...our life.
Baby...Baby...Baby...what would we do without them?
Baby...they undesputable proof, that God is at work.
A Bundle Of Joy...
Baby, can bring you a heaven sent joy.
Baby, , , can cause you to weep, tears of rain.
Baby...can fill you with pride, like no other.
Baby...will bring you tenderness, beyond description.
Is there anything, that can compare, to being with
baby...in a quiet moment.?
My, how the love does flow, as one holds their baby.
Baby, who can have you make a fool of yourself, as
contort your face, to make them laugh.
And have you ever noticed yourself, speaking baby
talk...better than your baby?
Baby, who by their mere glimpse, can bring you
running, crying...laughing at the world.
Baby, a true miracle of innocence, in a chaotic world.
Baby, seems to justify our being...our life.
Baby...Baby...Baby...what would we do without them?
Baby...the real proof, that God is at work.
The Write Place
I have a desk at which to write
but I prefer my old arm chair
It is so comfortable, just right
I usually do my writing there.
I have a pc which I use
mainly to edit and correct
The quick outpourings of my muse
as do most poets I suspect.
A pad and pencil are my tools
I use modern technology
but stick to my old fashioned rules
when I’m composing poetry
My desk is very nearly bare
but books abound by my arm chair.
21-Oct-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Floundering Ship
A great day sailing on the
floundering ship at the office,
Hanlie an elfish, mischievous
captain, June quietly at the helm,
Hermien swinging in the rigging
while I plotted a course through
the rapids of cascading words
spilling over my desk
Human Resources destabilised
the ship by throwing the compass
away yet we ploughed on, June
can't be deflected from steering
straight for the bay of organised
perfection while updating lists -
though Microsoft warns our
software is outlawed
Being illegal means we are a
pirate ship; now I understand why
everything is going awry, breaking
down, why tumultuous chaos follows
in our wake - and still the ship stays
afloat and we all have fun as we try
plying our trade and playing our
marvellous instruments
However lacking in melody, the
rhythm full of joie de vivre makes
up for every shortcoming…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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In Memoriam (A Child Missed)
A desk lies empty
A missing face to find
A child soon missed by some
Another life consumed by one
A classmate questioned
A missing child to find
While a desk lies empty
A hope dwindles with time
As a child's life once abound
A child's fate is now found
While a desk lies empty
A lifeless child is found
As questions of why arise
A time for tears to flow
While a desk lies empty
A prayer for a missed child we know
A quiet voice to miss
A child missed we know
While a desk lies empty
A question of why to know
A future now not to be
A tragic loss we are told
While a desk lies empty
An answer of why yet untold
A myriad of lives changed
Another youthful innocent lost
While a desk lies empty
At a life's innocence cost
A society believed so rich
And yet a life's worth so poor
While a desk lies empty
Another child's life's no more
A time to ponder a commitment
A life's question to answer
While a desk lies empty...
poem by Robert John Meehan
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Not My Repertoire
Being assertive is not part of my repertoire,
I have never learnt to insist on the essentials
required for health and well-being, no wonder
I am scared of a world which is well-meaning
but where I cannot begin to make myself un-
derstood - I can serve others and see to their
needs - bring them the moon
Yet for my own Puritan self, one angry look
from my beloved and I wilt like a flower, one
angry word from a colleague and I tumble in
despair - I can't ask for the ergonomically
correct work space and user-friendly chair
required for a pain-free posture - trapped
in my own mind - I can't break free
Right now I wax lyrical about Pregabalin
administered as LYRICA to deaden the
nerves and scramble the signals of
neurological pain because I sit in a
chair that is breaking my back…
Saturday 21 June 2012
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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If Not For June
If not for June,
My memories of Winter in December...
With a wish to witness,
The freshness of Spring March would bring...
Would not still remain so vivid.
As if only yesterday visited.
If not for June.
If not for June,
My eyesight would not be teased...
By the freedom felt in Summer,
With hopes that linger of those things I could do,
Under clear skies showing bright Sun.
And seeing the fun shared by nearly everyone,
If not for June.
And if not for June I would not be able to reminisce,
From so many experiences I could pick.
June seems to be the month I can do this.
With a thankfulness I am still in the midst,
Of a year that appears to have just begun.
With so much left to offer before it is done.
And for me this happens only when June comes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Brownies
The Brownie is a magical, mysterious little creature,
With brown, wrinkled skin, and haggard looking features.
He will adopt a house and will do many of the chores,
From running little errands, to sweeping all the floors.
A Brownie will happily finish off any leftover task
For their chosen master, without ever being asked.
The Brownie is indispensable, and he will be the one
Who carries out all the tasks, which are left undone.
These hard-working men, who often resemble waifs,
Will watch over farm animals and will keep them safe.
In return for their labour, they do not expect any money:
Just a bowlful of cream, and a cake spread with honey.
They will readily accept payment in the form of food,
But any other form of payment is considered rather rude.
If, as a form of payment, brand new garments are received,
The offended Brownie is very likely to up sticks and leave.
The chances are that, when you're tucked up in bed sleeping,
The Brownie is busy mending, cleaning, or in the field reaping.
These funny looking, little men appear at the dead of night:
They happily work all night long, but are gone before daylight.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Prima Donna
Madame La Pompadour cannot come to work,
the world is spinning out of control, her dog
needs medical attention, her car cannot start in
the morning, her dog needs another vet, now
Madame Pompadour's newly built office is
empty - it was given as a compelling condition
for her return to work, yet it seems something
is lacking still, can we guess what it is
Maybe a chauffeur to drive her to work every
morning, a special kennel next to her office so
she can bring her dogs to be with her all day,
maybe a built-in a humidifier so she can breathe
freely without germs, maybe a Jacuzzi so she can
get rid of the tension right here at work, maybe
her own cook and kitchenette so she can order
the right meals with the same aplomb as
A Lady Gaga, surely Madame La Pompadour has
already dethroned both Madonna and Lady Gaga
for being a prima donna who gets her own way!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Empty
A table, chair,
and empty wall
surround me where I sit,
my thoughts hark back
to days gone by
and the way it used to be.
Everything was touched
with love;
its warmth enveloped me here.
Every room was filled
with wonderful things
dotted here and there.
The walls were never empty,
pictures and photographs
looked down at me,
as I would sit here.
Someone had forgotten bills
that had to be paid.
Then came the bailiffs.
I look around and everything is gone.
My life is left in misery.
Oh, what happened?
What went so dearly wrong?
Our loving home is now empty, even of you.
27 June 2007
poem by David Harris
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A Poem For the Everyday Routine College Student
Days roll by with endless work here
I know it is not much as it appears
But if you were sitting here, if you were me
With this clock ticking by you would see
That it truly isn’t easy
“All work and no play makes jack a dull boy”
Same here goes for me; where there’s no company or joy
Alone with a desk and a notebook filled with paper
And it’s true, the silence makes it harder
Music should fill the air
Laughter should break out everywhere
There should be dancing all around
Not this room, empty of all sound
Only a couple more days left
Although this work is committing theft
So now I think it’s time to close the book
And end the work that has always been the crook
Let me enjoy the next few days
I’ll go outside and enjoy the sun’s rays
Goodbye chair, notebook, and boredom
Hello to a new day with its new freedom
Written: November 18,2010
poem by Ryan Collins
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What Can Be Better (Rev)
As the day is simply beautiful I drove to
work with a song in my heart, a smiling
Pollyanna greeting me, agreed it better
to end being eaten by the last cannibal
tribe than languishing quietly at home
Heidi impishly explains imaginary pains,
nothing daunts her resolute spirit; Mme La
Pompadour sends a note she’s ferrying the
whole old-age home around, while Maria
Von Trapp’s engaged on the family estate
Drove a posse of my son’s friends home
to celebrate exuberance of life, promised
I’d stop running technically red lights (tho’
yellow on approach) – I know if I project a
submissive spirit at road signs
They shall assume safely I am indeed the
stopping kind and only unkindly traffic will
overwhelm me; leaving the happy team I
return here to create stream-lined text in
Afrikaans – what can be better than that?
Pollyanna = Hanlie
Heidi = June
Mme La Pompadour = Our supervisor
Maria Von Trapp = Hermien
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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2010/11/16 Hollow Reality
Early morning starting my nightmare document
my colleagues arrive, we sneer about life and the
types who are admired today - sports stars and
film stars and jerks of all kinds, we are laughing
enjoying the fun, June mentioned a woman
hating book clubs, being a member due
to peer pressure, people trying to fit in
Madame La Pompadour called, a sinus attack
due to paint fumes, she will stay at home where
the painting is done; last week she caught a bug
from her domestic and stayed home also - with the
virulent domestic - sneering helps us to laugh at the
wiles of the world without growing bitter or sour
June cannot understand women devouring Mills &
Boon and Ena Murray, never having succumbed
to fantasy and romance herself, June enjoys reality
just as it is, Hanlie manages without rainbows and
dreams, I am ice-cold inside without the warmth of
a vision, life appears pitch-black to me
Without the colours of new fantasies, while realistic
people rejoice in the coldness of life, I am freezing
to death in hollow reality, popular culture is clear to
me, people provide the lower strata of deeper
meaning to anchor empty sensory structures
posing as reality!
poem by Margaret Alice
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Sonnet: My June Bug
A June bug crawls quick
She talks so sweet
She flies all around
From my head to my feet
She lays on my shoulder
She falls asleep slow
She'll lays on my lap
She makes my face glow
She walks up my arm
And begs for affection
I love to show her a little
Just to see her reaction
My june bug's so funny, she rules all my world
Oh June bug, oh june bug, my beautiful girl
poem by Ramon Escamilla
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A Chair Is No Longer Just A Chair
it is your experience that
gives you more meaning to all those which
you think
have been too common and
insignificant,
perhaps
now you must have realized as you sit upon a chair
that someone used to sit there
and that someone waited for another to be with her
that on the same chair
there were some fears
and pains and even longings
and hopes
unrealized and by then
you see that chair not just a chair
you sit there
and you ask it
for this chair though muted by wood
will always have
a story to tell....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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