The weekend runs right
On by, like raging river, or
Firelight flicker, until all that
Remains is a whisper of time,
Flown by, fluttering soft as the
Wings of time allow, echoes off
The soundless touch of winter’s
Kiss, brushing away summer’s
Warmth, until all that’s left
Is bright sunshine painting
Pristine blue, with chilled
Wind sending brisk messages too,
And in the end the weekend flies
Like a morning dream, Sunday
Afternoon sigh, the creaking of
Old young bones and joints,
Not yet used to the change in
Time, yet feeling the weather
All the same, so it is now, as
Weather promises winter’s bright
White light and cozy night, so
Joints delube as cold settles in,
And once pliant skin wrinkles,
Like a grandparent’s grin, so that
All we have to go on now, is the
Thought we will be young again,
Somehow, that as spring and
Summer break from winter’s thawed
Embrace, so too shall we return to the
Start of the race, although foolish to
Hope, too hopeful a fool, for this is the
Life we live but once, and once we live,
No repetition so cruel as weekend’s
Promise, of summer’s cycle coming to
An end, again, brushed by time’s butter-
Fly wings, and the last kiss of hot sun,
Sweat reminder’s walk through Windsor
Great park, now resting aching as old
Young must, the joints now creaking,
Now filled with rust.
Category Archives: Writing
My first, longest, truest love – writing. Step inside and have a browse, leave a comment, praise or slate, it’s all good!
Journey to the centre of the ITIL
Service Management was such a drag,
And Finance thought IT in the bag,
As the poorer cousin to money’s way,
Until ITIL came along to save the day.
Before ITIL there was no sight,
Of technology’s fortune, wrong or right,
Yet now with Service Request to lead the way,
We can actually see what is, and do what we say.
Then along comes Incident, to protect the user,
The business customer, victim to IT’s bruiser,
With a quick turn-around to fix the issue,
We pat customer’s on the back, and pass the tissue.
Incident’s role plain to see,
Problem traipses along with glee,
And displays all of Incident’s dirty laundry,
Using trend analysis to solve the quandary.
Following Problem, Change is next in line,
To lock down mistakes, all in good time,
To minimise risk, Change’s big brother,
And protect Release and deploy, Change’s father and mother.
From Change’s mistake bursts Incident’s leader,
Major Incident storms in, making everything teeter,
Yet with Continuity and Disaster Recovery hanging around,
We happily take Major Incident down, pound for pound.
Now on top of this whole darn terminology mess,
We add on Capacity backed by Configuration & Asset’s finesse,
Then Availability comes along to watch the Event,
With Financial Management to pay the rent.
Finally Customer Services steps on board,
To measure the performance and fight the hoard,
With Service Analysis and Reporting in tow,
And Service Levels showing the way to go.
It takes all of Knowledge’s wily way,
To turn the tides of dissent on customer’s dismay,
With the Service Desk skilled to the hilt,
Keeping business as usual running full tilt.
With Information Security watching the gate,
To ensure that IT arrives safely, if a little late,
Service Strategy hands off to Design and Transition,
With Service Operations fighting for pole position.
Along comes Continual Service Improvement to save the day,
Although sometime in the future, in a Utopia far, far away,
When all of the statistics finally make sense,
And best practice becomes present tense.
Now all of the happy customers, consultants too,
Deliver real benefits, driving change on through,
And even if the measurements are not always clear,
We know that a best practice expert is always near.
Nearly there!
Finally, it’s happened. I have finished my novel, minus a few minor wording tweaks, that is. Then it’s onto designing the cover, researching publishing houses and agents, and looking at self-publishing. I couldn’t be more excited if you lit a fire-cracker under my bum. I can’t sit still, I can’t sleep, I can’t wait. I have had my first real feedback on the full book, and it’s good. Ok, so it’s no Ulysses, and I won’t be winning the Booker prize, but it’s done. I’ve written, edited, updated and nearly complete a novel, from start to finish. Polished, and ready for that final push into the limelight.
Please be patient with me, the rest of the preparation to final publication may take a month or two. It will be worth the wait! 🙂
Until next time, live long and prosper!
🙂
Em
fuck pretension in all its ugliness
Fuck pretension;
Irritation burns slight,
Like salt on a minor wound,
The bugbear of small minds,
Pretending to think big, in the
Small space, between our ears,
Where we all live, our own realities,
Forever buried in memory’s bliss,
For we are nothing more than
The sum of all parts, the final
Output of today’s equation,
Only to be written again in
Tomorrow’s fire and ice,
Still small minds, high
On probable cause,
For no reason than
Their own self-
Importance,
Revert to
School-
Yard
Bullying,
The final resting
Place, for small minds,
Restless in their endless
Search for something more
Than this endless death at night,
Born again, Christian or not, in the
Morning, still themselves, still the same
Yet no more than the summation of all parts,
No more than they were the day before,
Yet still yearning for a deeper truth,
Proof that one more day spent
Searching, was a day un-
Wasted, falling back, on
Putting down others,
Because they/I are
Different, and
Still the bully-
Ing,brings
Up bitter
Taste, I
Am as
Deep
As you,
No matter
What I like to
Watch, see, or do,
I am as thoughtful,
Caring, understanding
And true, just because I
Have a different opinion,
And find the film a dullard
Bore, does not make me dim,
But rather your response to my
Attempt to be reasonable, to treat
It as a taste disliked, personal to my
Very core, makes you and your smallish
Schoolyard bullying mind, bitter as a
Tyrant’s whore, for meanness is only
Ignorance squared, close-minded-
Ness’ cousin’s friend’s lover’s
Bitch, the dead pet fish
Choking to death sadly
On the floor. So next
Time you open curl-
Ed lips, pursed with
Angers sharpened
Tongue creased,
Realise you are
Already lost
To bitter
Sad
Lost and
Loneliness’
Empty soul-
Less falseness,
Not the high-priest’
Preaching promises of
True sight and forever
Sure righteous truth, just
Adding your voice to bitter
Bile tides of putrid shit, that
Mirrors ripples out in seas of it
Until we suffocate under feelings
Of hate, and forget the friendliness’
Escape, that love is for one and all the
Same, that life is one long repetitive game
And only those who see the truth, that
Ugly words damage sender more than
Me, realise that it takes an open mind
To accept what mean hearts and
Small minds so rarely see, that
I have an opinion that is mine
To keep, and just as right as
Yours you see, so the next
Time you open smiling lip
And spin out pretentious
Shit, remember opinion
Is so much me, that I
Can like and see and
Be, whatever I want,
Cause that’s
Just
Me.
ghost child
Today I saw, walk back
From work to the train, just
Another normal day, breathing
In the freedom, of time earned, a
Smile near breaking, as I watch a young
Girl, maybe 2, dodge her mom’s hand
While crossing the road, my smile
Dying as she wanders too far,
Parent inside wishing she
Would cross safely, mind
Showing the great
Yellow bus coming
All too fast, all
Too soon.
Then they cross,
Safely.
My mind wanders. I am
Still in that space between
Dream and waking, wandering
Through the damp familiar streets
Of my own mind, wondering what to
Have for dinner, when I see the couple
Standing staring back past my shoulder,
At the now empty road, and I look with
Them, for them, searching for that
Little girl, nowhere to be seen,
No longer a little girl but the
Phantom of a dream
Memory shared, lost
Waking dream,
Shared again,
Lost again,
Gone.