I’m Absolutely Fine

I’m Absolutely Fine

When you’re feeling down
Your brow wears a frown
And you really just need to whine
You put on a brave face
Although you want to grimace
And say I’m absolutely fine

From the pressures of life
All its troubles and strife
When there’s never quite enough time
There is too much to do
And it’s all down to you
But still I’m absolutely fine

When it seems no-one cares
And you’re nearly in tears
You might even need to resign
But you just soldier on
When the others have gone
‘Cos your still absolutely fine

Perhaps you must learn
That the peace that you yearn
Which all your hopes will enshrine
You can only attain
When you learn to complain
Saying I am NOT absolutely fine!

Ken Fisher

The Redoubtable Ms Clarke

The Redoubtable Ms Clarke

 

They said at the start “It’s a position of trust”
And accuracy is an absolute ‘must’
Ms Clarke was aware of the need for discretion
They would not tolerate any transgression

Despite these quite rigorous stipulations
Perhaps even because she liked tight regulations
Ms Clarke was happy to work for that firm
And her acceptance of all she would gladly affirm

Her duties covered a significant range
Receipts and payments, often foreign exchange
Processing documents, checking the prices
Extensive use of computer devices

Payroll and wages presented no problems
Her awareness of tax was really quite awesome
Marginal costing, credit control, even VAT
To Ms Clarke a cinch, unlike you or me

Trial balance, profit and loss, bank reconciliation
All processed without the slightest vexation
The final accounts from these easily prepared
Her bosses, amazed, just stood there and stared!

Thus Ms Clarke was well on the way to a godlike status
As master of the whole admin apparatus
But then it became something of a surprise
To find in the ointment there was a small fly

For actual money handling there was little call
But in this obscure corner began Ms Clarke’s fall
Most firms still have need of some petty cash
And with that fund employees sometimes get rash

The amounts of money are merely a trickle
But nonetheless one might get into a pickle
The total fund is called an imprest
But these small amounts can herald distress

Ms Clarke somehow succumbed to temptation
Perhaps she thought she deserved compensation
Anyway by a relentless process of syphoning off
From her worthy employer she performed a rip-off

Gradually over many months and years
A large sum of money would disappear
But because the account was still called ‘petty’
Not large paper, more like confetti

But one day when Ms Clarke went off on vacation
The auditors expressed a little vexation
About lack of clarity in Ms Clarke’s account
Which spawned in their mind some significant doubt

So while Ms Clarke basked in the sunshine of foreign climes
It became clear she had perpetrated exorbitant crimes
Her petty fraud had resulted in a vast accumulation
Exposed by this somewhat belated examination

On return Ms Clarke became the subject of an inquisition
The result of which, an unwilling admission
That she had helped herself to what she believed she was due
To label her as a thief was not really true

But I am afraid the majesty of the law extended its arm
Claiming that to condone fraud would result in great harm
Ms Clarke was reminded of her position of trust
Where not only accuracy but integrity was clearly a must

Poor Ms Clarke found her freedom somewhat restricted
As of fraud our hero was duly convicted
The law was thus applied in appropriate measure
Detained for some years at Her Majesty’s pleasure

Ken Fisher

X Marks the Scot

X Marks the Scot

 

X Marks the Scot

 

I saw a chap today quite proudly besporting
A tee shirt indicating whom he seemed to be supporting
But I may be mistaken in making such assumption
Perhaps about his politics I have made a wrong presumption

Emblazoned on his chest like cattle being branded
The saltire sign displayed quite heavy-handed
But that white cross simply marked the spot
Which contained the ample torso of a plucky Scot

For it seems to me that the Nats have no real monopoly
Of what constitutes Scottishness as defined by anthropology
When you are casting your vote X might mark the spot
But surely not the totality of what we mean by Scot

It has been said that a true Scotsman can be identified
By up-skirting him when he wears his kilt with pride
But I doubt if this dubious procedure would really prove conclusive
And in these PC days would be considered most abusive

So the marks of the Scot, of either sex or none
Are not just a flag, however it’s homespun
It’s about an attitude of openness that welcomes all the world
Symbolised in that white cross when our flag’s unfurled

Ken Fisher

 

Scunnered

Scunnered

Scunnered with Brexit
Why can’t they fixit?
Scunnered with the News
It just gives me the blues
Scunnered with food
That may do me no good
Scunnered with pundits
Who expect all our plaudits
Scunnered with tradesmen
Who defect when I need them
Scunnered when buses fail to show up
Then three arrive, only one can pick up
Scunnered with prices that keep on rising
Especially for things I find appetizing
And so it goes on, scunners without any end
Surely there is something I can still recommend!

Ken Fisher

 

How Do You Do?

How Do You Do?

[An odd little poem]

 

How Do You Do?
I am quite well, thank you

 
How, may I ask, are you?
All the better for seeing you

 
Oh, you really are too kind
What are you planning for today?

 
I truly have nothing in my mind
Why not just take a little walk?

 
Yes that’s what I think I might do
Might I accompany you on your walk?

 
I see no reason why not
And then together we can talk

Thus we will while the time away
Yes that’s how we both might spend the day

 
This conversation is a game of ping pong
I serve a sentence over to you

 Then you bat back an immediate response
But we must keep the ball in play

 
Until one of us has no more to say
And then it becomes a fair bet

That the chit-chat will die as words get caught in the net
I wonder what will happen if I say no more

 
And I similarly wonder that too
Will the challenge of silence be too much for us both?

 
Then again each may ask How Do You Do?

 

 

Ken Fisher

 

 

 

 

No Sign of it There

No Sign of It There

 

No sign of it there, we have to concede
Our searches so far are of little avail
It looks as if we will not succeed
All our diligence simply will not prevail

No sign of it there, where can it have gone?
We’re sure that it’s somewhere that we can discover
If we keep on seeking, then before very long
The missing treasure we might soon recover

No sign of it there, is it worth so much trouble
Do we really need that illusive possession
Would its retrieval require a life-threatening struggle
Why let our quest be a consuming obsession?

No sign of it there, but why does it matter
We can live without it, or that is the rumour
When they hear what ‘s lost there will be no laughter
For sadly what’s missing is our sense of humour

Ken Fisher

Blow Your Own Trumpet

Blow Your Own Trumpet

Get noticed
Blow your trumpet
Really loud and clear

Be not ashamed
Surely you have
Not anything to fear

In a crowded world
You must attempt
To alert the auctioneer

To make your bid
For a fair share
Of all that might appear

Life’s opportunities
Come up for grabs
At any time of year

And you should not
Escape the chance
Through diffidence or fear

So take a deep breath
Purse those lips
Then blast it in their ear!

Ken Fisher

Rant

Rant

Why do I find that sometimes I rant?
Adopting a style that is most arrogant
I can fly off the handle without reason or rhyme
Lambasting my hearers in double quick time

Sometimes my ranting is on some hobbyhorse
Maybe an obsession or perhaps even worse
I feel that I thus might put the world straight
Save these poor souls from their terrible fate

What a pity they seem disinclined to listen
To my warnings spawned from my infinite wisdom
Notwithstanding my earnest pleas from the heart
From my judgment they obviously prefer to depart

I wonder if they are put off by my hectoring style
My angry expression with never a smile
I shout quite a lot when in such high dudgeon
They turn quickly away from a ranting curmudgeon

Perhaps I should try a more gentle approach
Not always my audience trying to reproach
More measured words and kinder expression
Renouncing a stance that smacks of aggression

I need to learn that to ’win friends and influence people’
I must not attack them with a verbalized needle
But adopt a manner that might favour implant
Eschewing all proneness to rave and to rant

Ken Fisher

Manhood

Manhood

 

You may have noticed the recent comments in the press
Which seem to push the PC agenda to excess
It now appears selling tissues described as man-size
Is offensive in some peoples’ eyes

Of course I’m not sure if you need a mansize nose to match
And that might be deemed to be the catch
Without a hooter of appropriate scale
Equality of use we might curtail

More likely the Mansize description is the issue
Bringing opprobrium to the worthy tissue
Members of the gentler sex may sense
Exclusive use by men would cause offence

But I am sure the makers of these fulsome wipes
Did not intend to stereotype
Ladies finding equal satisfaction
For larger sheets have much attraction

But it seems the Mansize description will have to go
Although such dimensions will still be on show
It’s just the name that has to change
You’ll then have “Extra Large” in exchange

Ken Fisher

With due regard to Press publicity and Kimberly-Clark

Don’t Hold Your Breath!

Don’t Hold Your Breath!

 

Don’t hold your breath we’re often told
When expectations run uncontrolled
Breath withheld in anticipation
Of impending joy and jubilation

Don’t hold your breath and avoid disappointment
If things go awry then you won’t show resentment
‘Cause in an uncertain world we can never be sure
Intentions defeated by some ‘force majeure’

Don’t hold your breath when a promise is given
Fulfilment thwarted and you are left feeling stricken
Somehow or other it fails to conform
The magic nostrum might underperform

Don’t hold your breath awaiting utopia
When your half-empty cup is no cornucopia
With honest realism just face every day
Ensuring that deep breath won’t be blown away

Ken Fisher

The Great British Beach Hut

The Great British Beach Hut

During this great summer of exceptional heat
While languishing on a fine east coast beach
I rediscovered this classic wooden structure
A credit to the practitioners of our architecture

I refer of course to the beach hut or cabin
A seaside feature you may long have forgotten
Indeed these bijou gems are by no means extinct
Resplendent in colours from blue through to pink

Apparently these tiny buildings are still much sought after
And despite being the butt of much ignorant laughter
They survive to provide many convenient features
To assist the regiments of sun-seeking creatures

For although the facilities in them are basic
They offer the users a handy oasis
From the trials of getting undressed on the sand
Where our nudity is not something we should grandstand

The owners have employed much ingenuity
Making the maximum use of all opportunity
The internal space to greatly enhance
Thus their convenience they truly advance

The way in which the space has been utilized
Would be to many, quite a surprise
Each nook and cranny is called into service
A function is found for every shelf and surface

In the bright summer days they give ready shade
And when rain arrives we can quickly evade
The hazards that threaten to disturb our peace
As we try to relax and be quietly at ease

One interesting fact is that huts cost quite a lot
And over the years prices don’t seem to drop
Whether you simply pay rent or take steps to own
Make sure you get value from this temporary ‘home’

So whether you are seated outside in your chair
Or inside to keep the rain off you hair
You will reflect on the merit of such private space
The British Beach Hut – the pride of our race!

Ken Fisher

Waistcoat Wednesday

Waistcoat Wednesday

 

It matters not if you’re rich or poor
The new dress code makes it de rigueur
To be wearing this jacket without any sleeves
The humble waistcoat – would you believe?

The World Cup is surely not just about footy
It would appear that it’s still a Manager’s duty
To show as much style along the touch-line
As all the star players they ever did sign

Never mind the WAGS made up so classy
Dressed to the nines ever so flashy
It’s the boss who excels with such flair and poise
Surpassing the glamour of those girls and their boys

It is to Gareth we accord our congratulations
His success has matched all our expectations
And whatever comes next, at least we can hope
And if all else fails still wear the waistcoat!

Ken Fisher