Tales Of Horror and Suspense
Madame Pompadour honoured us by graciously
informing the Department a terrible bug bit her in
the neck during the night, must have been Dracula
we immediately surmised, she a Damsel in distress
trying her best not to waste her time with the rest
of us plebs in the open-plan office, her door must
have been open and the evil monster attacked
perfectly on cue; mesmerised by the marvellous
adventures of our haughty Madame keeping her
head high while one event is followed by the next
incident; her list of original excuses is growing and
soon we shall publish a book delineating the lovely
progress of her exciting life, enlivening bureaucracy
with tales of Horror and Suspense!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Exemplary And Lavish Extravagance
Aaah, Madame La Pompadour needs time off
from the office they had built her, soundproof,
air-con, and everything she wants inside, today
she plays chauffer to the children in her neigh-
bourhood and visiting her mother in the old-age
home - she condescendingly told us - though
there is really no need why we should know
where she is, she is the free incumbent
Madame La Pompadour suffers agoraphobia
at home and claustrophobia in the office, her
problems are debilitating; she needs a bigger
office of course, with user-friendly interior
decorating - I sigh in admiration, such a very
exemplary and lavish extravagance, with the
cool presumption that a James Bond would
envy her, she does what she wants
Madame La Pompadour looks down on the
mundane civil servants - us - who man the
open-plan office, why should she earn her
salary like a slave when she gets it without
ever leaving her home?
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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See Not At All
The high and mighty lady who seldom
honours state office with her graceful
presence told Madame De Lafayette,
supervisor - off for follow-up tests
Still not coming to the office while the
rest of us are threatened with legal
procedures should we violate any
regulation pertaining to absence
Stunned by these double standards
some openly mimicking Madame La
Pompadour's haughty manner - the
Calvinistic work ethic of colleagues
Enabling them to do her work also, no-
body lodges a complaint; such good
officials, used to oppression for no
apparent reason other than
Management's inefficiency which only
intimidate the law-abiding while serial
offenders are untouchable - best is
to see La Madame not at all…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Sudden Enlightenment
Maybe telepathic messages between people
do exist, I felt bad, then received SMS from
sis - in bed, ill with something, leading to sud-
den enlightenment when Madame Pompadour
sent her SMS: also in bed, sinus attack
really bad, pain and incontinence
I should never have speculated about lack of
telepathic communication, sis is connected to
a bed-ridden Madame Pompadour, my feeling
ill caused by vibrations from those two - let me
apologise to the genies in the sky for ex-
pressing distrust of telepathy
Today I know everything we think and feel is
diffused through osmosis and picked up by a
sensitive medium like me; let me lock mental
doors, only keep an aperture open for my
lovely colleagues: Pollyanna, Heidi, Maria
Von Trapp and Wendy who said
All is well in Neverland, God is in heaven and
Madame Pompadour in her bed – AMEN –
Heidi replied - eyes twinkling with
merriment…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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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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Queen à la Marie Antoinette
Come, let us toast, today and evermore,
Madame La Pompadour - Queen à la
Marie Antoinette - of Civil Servants
When continuous absence without leave
was revealed Management refused to be
blamed and called her breach of Labour
Regulations a regrettable psychiatric event
managers prove they were innocent by
rewarding her innovative behaviour
Building her a new office so she can come
and go as she wants, accountable to no-one,
no manager thus in dereliction of duty
Let us toast the eternal reign of the Miracle-
Working Madame La Pompadour, Scourge
of all Government Departments
Teaching common, inferior civil servants the
meaning of her New Imperial Reign over
Labour Relations!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Mystified
We are spell-bound, gripped in the clutches
of a mystery of mind-blowing proportions:
Where is Madame La Pompadour, why is
she still gone, why did she SMS on gastro-
intestinal upset and lamenting her
awakening at twenty past eleven
Will she ever return to the office again, will
Human Resources one day carry out its
warning that she is not an asset to the govern-
ment, receiving a salary for no work done; one
long, continuous absence while others do
her job, when will she look at us
Disdainfully again, with the assured arrogance
of one used to command and only rising from
her bed if she feels like it - not very often; what
excuse will she offer next if her health does
not keep deteriorating: buying a night-gown
for mom, geyser burst during the night
A tree to be chopped down, car won't start, dog
to be taken to the vet; she feels depressed
and must see a psychiatrist, she overslept -
like today, her list of excuses being very re-
petitive - How long will Human Resources
and Management keep us
Happily engrossed in guessing the steps to be
taken to deal with the situation, will they give
her merit for the most persistent absentee
encountered in government service, creating
a marvelous plot more complicated than
an Agatha Christie suspense novel
Reminding of ‘They Came to Bagdad' - a
young girl lied all the time, when she finally
spoke the truth no-one believed her - we
are all riveted by the unfolding of this mystery
fascinated and mystified by the daring
exploits of our own Madame
Showing cowards how to go once started
on the road to flaunt the establishment,
we can only shout encouragement:
Way to go Madame, Good Luck!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XLIV
We came at last, alas! I see it yet,
With its open windows on the upper floor,
To a certain house still stirring, with lights set,
And just a chink left open of the door.
Here my companion stopped and bade me in;
Her dressmaker's, she said. And I, who heard
A sound of women's voices from within,
Shrank back alarmed and ready at a word
From any damsel stoutly to deny.
But ``Madame Blanche,'' she said to ease my fears,
``Is a good soul, and far too wise to pry
Or fancy evil of her customers
At any hour of the night they choose to come,
Much less of me.'' And so I followed dumb.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Awareness (Revised)
Awareness of beauty grows lavishly while seated
among Jacaranda trees, green canopies caress
the sun with more divinity than mere words
embrace – it makes my heart swell in music ‘til
lighter than air I float off on the breeze
Luckily we are government officials anchored to
chairs facing a grindstone patiently; at least my
brave Calvinist colleagues are the most upstanding
people I have ever met and cannot be deterred by
anything as fractious as sheer beauty;
Hanlie spreading good humour & delight wherever
she is; Hermien’s unselfconscious efficiency graced
with the calm of a state secretary; June brisk, tone
always crisp, laughter infectious, smile as precious
as jewels hidden deep in the earth,
And the boss Madame La Pompadour is an exact
replica of ‘Madame Olympia’, staying home under
various pretexts so as to not sully her soul by noise
of the open-plan office, and me growing more like
Madame Medusa in ‘The Rescuers’
Driving is my favourite activity, trying to beat each
other robot, succeeding mostly; slow lane overtaking
when the fast crawls at a snail’s pace, enjoying the
exhilaration of evading other motorists, my liberties
sometimes earn aggressive gestures
I merely respond with a smile, blissfully threatening
pedestrians with amazing goodwill while continuing
this enticing technological dance, my mind delighting
in nirvana of a Zen-like trance…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Drives To Tears
Oh happy day, Madame De Pompadour stays
in bed yet again, it's been ages since she saw
the sun, her majesty's presence is required for
celebrations indefinitely deferred until Madame
appears again, the brightest jewel on the velvet
background of our little office universe
Since taking cortisone some time after Monday
she has been nauseous, groggy and nauseous
again today, hearts bleeding in sympathy - so
much pain and suffering in one lifetime, it is
unthinkable, all tremble as they hear the
news, trying to determine
What medical abuse could be the cause of such
long, wasting illness, it sounds like radiation sick-
ness, a malady of heart and soul, though she looks
glamorous and young when she brings a surprise
visit to the office, it is just a ruse, underneath she
is most terribly ill, need's a specialist's skill
To get her up again and then it doesn't last long,
it is quite clear good health is just a mask she
wears - underneath she must be hiding a life
that is just wasting away, driving us to tears
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Brave Officials Like Us
We sit in the cold of the North Pole with
air-con on freezing, stoically wrapped in
our blankets and wearing wool socks with
thick-soled shoes - not fashion material -
yet we are all here in the open-plan office
except Madame Olympia whose special
enclosure, sound-proof - separate from
the rest on this floor - is empty
We suspect she suffers claustrophobia as
we ourselves would if we sat there, though
she has her own special air-con - can turn
it on warm while we shiver out here; in spite
of our ice-trap, we are here and she does not
even call with an excuse, the psychiatrist will
probably say sensitive people like Madame
Olympia are too good to mix with pioneers
Like us who can work in all conditions - Sir
Hillary would have been proud to have us
accompany him on his trip up Mount Everest,
we would have put all the Sherpa's to shame,
if we were in the trenches in WWII we would
have won the war single-handedly - so it is
easy to see why Mme Olympia cannot be
among such brave officials like us!
[Work Chronicles Friday - 26 October 2012]
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Thus Sinus Said (Revised)
Poor Madame la Pompadour must have been feeling
so down when she tried to get up two days in a row,
despite the Bogeyman behind her door, but Sinusman
claimed her in the end, a terrible attack, so she has to
stay in bed, cannot join us in the office
Like Tchaikovsky holding his head while conducting –
scared of decapitation if he let go, she too cannot move
for fear her head will fall; so she imprisoned at home by
Agoraphobia while Xenophobia makes any movement
outside her yard impossible,
She needs a cohort of doctors and medley of psychiatrists
to deal with her extreme symptoms, can no longer drive
endless miles from East Rand to the humble Kingsley
Centre where she is employed; but she concluded that
her presence is a great privilege to be treasured by those
She lords over, so she will only venture forth when she
feels as glamorous as Angelina Jolie and as impressively
aggressive as George Eliot or Virginia Woolf
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Madame George
Down on cyprus avenue
With a childlike vision leaping into view
Clicking, clacking of the high heeled shoe
Ford & fitzroy, madame george
Marching with the soldier boy behind
Hes much older with hat on drinking wine
And that smell of sweet perfume comes drifting through
The cool night air like shalimar
And outside theyre making all the stops
The kids out in the street collecting bottle-tops
Gone for cigarettes and matches in the shops
Happy taken madame george
Thats when you fall
Whoa, thats when you fall
Yeah, thats when you fall
When you fall into a trance
A sitting on a sofa playing games of chance
With your folded arms and history books you glance
Into the eyes of madame george
And you think you found the bag
Youre getting weaker and your knees begin to sag
In the corner playing dominoes in drag
The one and only madame george
And then from outside the frosty window raps
She jumps up and says lord have mercy I think its the cops
And immediately drops everything she gots
Down into the street below
And you know you gotta go
On that train from dublin up to sandy row
Throwing pennies at the bridges down below
And the rain, hail, sleet, and snow
Say goodbye to madame george
Dry your eye for madame george
Wonder why for madame george
And as you leave, the room is filled with music, laughing, music,
Dancing, music all around the room
And all the little boys come around, walking away from it all
So cold
And as youre about to leave
She jumps up and says hey love, you forgot your gloves
And the gloves to love to love the gloves...
To say goodbye to madame george
Dry your eye for madame george
Wonder why for madame george
Dry your eyes for madame george
Say goodbye in the wind and the rain on the back street
In the backstreet, in the back street
Say goodbye to madame george
In the backstreet, in the back street, in the back street
Down home, down home in the back street
Gotta go
Say goodbye, goodbye, goodbye
Dry your eye your eye your eye your eye your eye...
Say goodbye to madame george
And the loves to love to love the love
Say goodbye
Oooooo
Mmmmmmm
Say goodbye goodbye goodbye goodbye to madame george
Dry your eye for madame george
Wonder why for madame george
The loves to love the loves to love the loves to love...
Say goodbye, goodbye
Get on the train
Get on the train, the train, the train...
This is the train, this is the train...
Whoa, say goodbye, goodbye....
Get on the train, get on the train...
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lovely Lines
When Madame la Pompadour saw me, she zoomed in
admonishing: You are NOT to read or listening to your
earphones - Yes, Your Majesty, I meekly acquiesced
and took my place as far away as possible from the strict
Madame and the rest of the Royalty, kept my delicious
book firmly closed - I'm reading "Making Money" by Terry
Pratchett and reached the bit about the cabinet that has
not been designed by a girl between four and eleven as it
contains all colours except pink - the hallmark of youthful
femininity - and started to study the Departmental Diary
issued to all officials, delighted with the daily meditation
or maxim at the top of each page: ‘Beauty is not what you
see but what you dream' - yuck, say my colleagues, how
syrupy, yum, says my own mind, how just like I feel; then
‘Kindness is to love people more than they deserve' - there,
now I can love my colleagues again, even if they abhor the
words that make me glad, ‘The true measure of a person is
how he treats someone who can do him no good', perfect,
now I shall be kind to my colleagues who cannot recognise
the beauty in these lovely lines…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Accountable As Incumbent
We continue to admire the example set by our
high ranking official at work, she stayed home,
claiming heated argument with siblings injured
her health, she is a mess; won't do anything as
boring and trivial as come to the office
As she gets paid a large salary and car allowance
whether she comes to work or not, never fills in
a holiday or sick leave form to declare absence
because she has none left - yet everyone else
is constrained to live by bureaucratic rules
We just sigh longingly and wish we were given the
same freedom to do as we please, never comply
with the request to account for every breath, to
prove where we've been and explain where we
are going, wondering how it came about
That she was elevated above the Chief Director,
higher than the Minister, absolutely beyond the
requirement to be accountable as incumbent -
maybe she is related to the Queen of England,
such a fitting description for our illustrious
Madame La Pompadour, her bizarre behaviour is
condoned and encouraged in our Department -
though her burlesque is entertaining, she has
failed to gain any followers as yet, we seem
to be unable to learn anything from
Her continuous barrage of weird excuses to
explain her frequent absences - what is
WRONG with us?
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Madame de la Pompadour (Revised)
Madame de la Pompadour puts Darcy’s condescending
aunt in ‘Pride and Prejudice’, Lady Catherine de Bourgh,
to shame by being more arrogant than said worthy Lady
ever was when scolding the poor into harmony and plenty
Madame declines to come to work like we poor peasants
yet regards Mary Poppins disdainfully, judging her useful
discovery of an element of diversionary fun in boring
jobs a doddle that is wanting in every ethical respect
She’s blissfully above ethics involved in rigidly maintaining
State policy regarding personal leave, stays home indolently
claiming social life ineffable excuse to remain insensitive
of mutual obligations towards her State employer
Scolding one and all into administrative prowess and bland,
textbook translations finely tuned to dissonant registers in which
the original score was produced - while emitting clouds of smoke
that would be the envy of a Cruella DeVille planning to
make coats from Dalmatian skins; Hannibal Lecter in ‘Silence
of the Lambs’ would be proud to claim her acquaintance as
fellow cannibal and Pollyanna, who routinely finds excuses for
delinquents, failed come up with quaint innovative pretexts
making a catch-all smoke-screen valid for the Madame’s
continuous absence – only Sherlock Holmes would be able
to find dysfunctional clues particular to which mental screws
are loose in Madame’s imperious imbalanced indolence…
[ORIGINAL]
Madame de la Pompadour puts Darcy’s condescending
aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh in Pride and Prejudice to
shame by being even more arrogant than that worthy Lady
ever was when scolding the poor into harmony and plenty
While Madame cannot come to work like the rest of the
poor peasants; she regards Mary Poppins with a disdain-
ful eye, finding her discovery of an element of fun in every
job that has to be done, wanting in every ethical respect
While blissfully ignorant of the ethics involved in following
State Policy regarding leave, gaily stays at home claiming
her social life as valid excuse for remaining obtuse re obli-
gations towards an employer, scolding one and all into
Administrative prowess and bland, textbook translations
finely tuned to the dissonant register in which the original
score was produced - while emitting clouds of smoke that
would be the envy of a Cruella DeVille planning to make
Coats from Dalmatian skins, Hannibal Lecter in Silence of
the Lambs would be proud to claim her acquaintance as a
fellow cannibal, Pollyanna always finds excuse for every
delinquent, but even she can no longer come up with
Pretexts that would make a valid smoke-screen for the
Madame’s continuous absence – only Sherlock Holmes
would be able to find clues as to which screws are loose
in Madame’s unfathomable mental processes…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Work Chronicles Tues 22.11.2011
Mary Poppins is dying of boredom,
don’t know what Pollyanna is doing,
Maria von Trapp is bustling as always,
Heidi is diligently doing administration
Madame La Pompadour discreetly stays
in her bed and only moves to her couch
when vertigo and double vision abate
What is the use of finding the element
of fun in every job to be done when the
cake Mary Poppins enjoyed in the park
before riding the Merry-Go-Round in a
race, is shrinking her mind - here is a
mystery that would have thrilled Anastasia
Krupnik no end: Why did Mary Poppins
Consume two slices of cake and why did
she have only one sinus pill - since every
good thriller needs a murder or corpse,
let us add, though we’re sitting on the
sixth floor which used to be a hospital,
we have not seen or felt a disembodied
presence or strange energy
This Kingsley building does not offer any
respite from breathing desultory air while
wondering how to kill time to get to the
end of this day…
Mary Poppins – Me
Pollyanna – Hanlie
Maria Von Trapp – Hermien
Heidi (Johanna Spyri) – June
Madame La Pompadour – our very sick boss
Anastasia Krupnik – character in a book
series written by Lois Lowry
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Death
Though the world
just beyond the darkness
in which the girl was
curled up was unreachable,
she often wondered
how to escape the evil heart
of such a monster.
How terrible it is to live in-
to be trapped in-
the chamber of someone
whose face is never seen,
whose voice is never heard.
She shoved herself deeper
into her corner,
trying desperately to peer
through the thick black ink,
half-praying that she
could meet the monster,
half-praying that it
would keep its distance.
There was complete silence
from the other side
of the door.
It was a new, strange silence,
though, and she knew
that it was time.
She held her breath,
the door creaked open, and
the monster silently slipped in.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Snowed Under
There's a cold voice on the air
You've been looking everywhere
For someone to understand your hopes and fears
Well I've thought about that for many long years
So I walk through Mansers Shaw
I don't see you anymore
We love to think about the way things were
But the time has come and I'm glad it's over
I don't know why I waste my time
Getting hung up about the things you say
When I open my eyes and it's a lovely day
You know sometimes I feel like I'm
Getting snowed under with the things you say
When I open my eyes and it's a lovely day
Now you think that you're alone
So you make your way back home
I'd love to greet the weary traveller
But your time has gone and I'm glad it's over
I don't know why I waste my time
Getting hung up about the things you say
When I open my eyes and it's a lovely day
You know sometimes I feel like I'm
Getting snowed under with the things you say
When I open my eyes and it's a lovely day
I don't know why I waste my time
Getting hung up about the things you say
When I open my eyes and it's a lovely day
You know sometimes I feel like I'm
Getting snowed under with the things you say
When I open my eyes and it's a lovely day
song performed by by Keane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open The Door - IV
Mom! Open the door
I have been waiting on the door
It is chilly cold, havn't sufficient clothes
Mom! please open the door
the sun is on head
may i get stroke
Mom! please open the door
Mom! open the door
it is raining cats and dogs
my clothes are fully drenched
Mom! please open the door
Don't be so truculent
I shalt be thy obedient son
Please open the door
poem by Ramesh Rai
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The Chornicles of a Dark Heart Part 16 The open book's monologue
Red what is it to you black the color of death? maybe maybe not? anyone here play video games? FOR CHAOS? ring any bells help spread the taint more quickly? what might an open book write
what would a open book draw
what would an open book think
open books are predictable
so predict what the picture means
why is black black? why is red O infused? what is the meaning only you know maybe only me...
(added years later)
Maybe I'm the book, and maybe you're the reader
but who is you? is it not everyone
since I'm open, for all to point at laugh at, out of malice or for fun
because they know my thoughts, they know i love her? !
what did i do?
i never said i love you! ! !
how can they know?
how did i reap what i did now sow? !
The worst part
about being an open book,
is an open book can't close itself, can't have a heart
anyone can know all from just one look
there seems to be something wrong with being too open and honest
but it's too late a book can't close itself
can't move by its own accord to a shelf
an open book can never rest
so now I'm the book, so since im there just read
just read.... and watch my heart, my purpose, my soul, my life, me
watch.... watch them bleed
poem by David Knox
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