Thursday, June 15, 2006

Strategic Fit

I want you to stretch this envelope
outside the box I want you to scope
this out and I want you to park this
offline with your gap analysis
take this big picture on board touch base
this has to be a best of breed case
I want you to drill down to the bottom line
use your blue skies thinking read my mind

I want value added leveraging
envisioneering santa clausing
futureproof proactive benchmarking
fasttrack headsup bandwidth ballparking
quality vector mindshare management
taking those maybe steps to 100 percent
wow generating 24/7
paradigm shifting to consumer heaven
a synergistic win win win
a three way street we’ll factor in

I want no emotional leakage,
no dropping the ball
no blamestorming, no pencilpointing
no chairswivelling at all

give me 360 feedback
from your helicopter view
throw the fudge out the window
the old roadmap too

I want actionable mind uploads
I want core competent episodes
think greenlaning offroads
think realtime downloads

You what? You what!?

This isn’t the orchestrating capability team?

OK. My bad. Just henhouse that for next month’s teleconference.

Monday, June 05, 2006

Familiar Signs

Pendle Hill from the north
– not for the weak-kneed.
Out of Downham, like Dante,
on serious slopes you climb
the moor till it glowers
point blank, defiant.

The Guardian called it
‘a moderate walk.’ It is,
from an armchair, on the internet.

Short of oxygen, we struggle
up zigzags past astounded sheep.
Holding the view for a moment
truth flows in:

they hanged the Pendle Witches
but three familiars
Tibb, Fancie and Dandy
shapeshifting from dog
to cat to bear to hare
were never brought to book.

“Tibb once pushed a witch
into a ditch just like this one.”
As I speak, a huge hare breaks cover.

When you wake up at three,
pull back the curtain, it’s easy
to see them swirling on the starpoints,
their baked effigies crumbling in the sparks:

you’ll hear cackling, distant
screams scouring the night,
you’ll feel that gale of recrimination
that bites the scree-slopes, you’ll
understand once you’ve tasted the air
among the cloudberries on Pendle Hill.

Until then, a lame beggar asking
for one penny, a neighbour wanting
an old shirt, a black-eyed woman digging
turf at sunrise: these are the surest of signs.