Summer Time Improvisation

'Well I thought, with the summer, things couldn't get dumber; the semester was over and done. When the truth be told, last term was a bummer but at least, now, the students were gone.

'Holiday. . .

'So, we packed up our laptops, our pencils and pens. We made dates to catch up with significant friends. We dreamt of the sea, sandcastles and all. But, it transpired we were going nowhere until we'd taught summer school.

'I say 'all' but let me make this very plain; our superiors were evidently exempt from the game.

'I was saddened but aimed to be professional and mature; entered the studio considering the politics of photographic portraiture. But, alas, I'd underestimated my assistant.  My anathema: seems he was determined to perpetuate puerile forms of erotica.

'Instead of re-interpreting Old Masters' paintings - Cindy Sherman style - we re-hashed feminine stereotypes: with coyness and guile.

'Forget narrative photography, or, trying to be 'arty'; our would-be students learned how to act tarty.

'Apparently, the feedback was very positive.'

Tweeting: That's Barking, Surely? (Animal Farm)

'So, we've now been told we have to get tweeting; the powers that be are tired of our bleating. We have to twitter our every success, but I hate all this crowing;  prefer mooing and lowing. After all, I'm a cow, and HE is a mess.'

'Really? (She's alluded to her bovine status previously, I believe.)'

'Yes.'

'Well, I own that I'm prone to carping and braying but I confess that these days my nerves are just fraying.'

'Bless. . .  (He's definitely repeating himself.)

'There are those that chit-chat and those that cluck, but it's the latter who always pass the buck. You've spotted, I'm sure, it's the ones with the trotters who turn out to be the absolute rotters? It's the ones with their snouts dug deep in the dirt who manage to get you just where it hurts.'

'Meow. . . 

'I say, something's really got your goat. You've only been asked to boast some, and gloat. If you don't, be careful, you may miss the boat.  There are plenty more fish in the sea.'

'So I see. But, really, don't you think we ought to warn the small-fry they're just lambs to the slaughter? In the meantime, don't count your chickens before they're hatched. Remember your tweets will need to be matched by proof that what you've done has had significant (REF) impact.'

Emotional Insecurity Alarm (Batteries Not Included)

Burglar alarm
Car alarm
Smoke alarm

False alarms?

So precious is our property.
This God-forsaken society;
Driven by insecurity.

But, it's the emotional,
Not the material,
Attachments that concern me.

An aside:
I confess
It's quite disarming
To discover
Time's alarming.

To be woken from my dreams
And things.
A plastic clock:
Vibrates and rings

Reminds me
That it's time for work.
Work like a Turk.
(A Capitalist quirk.)

Alarming, Darling.

Now

There's a strategy
Not yet patented.
Indeed, I have
Created it.

It delivers us
From psychic harm.
Permanently levelled,
Balanced and calm.

Whenever I am feeling blue
Tired and depressed.
When bed's my only sanctuary;
When I just can't get dressed,

I tend to have
A little bounce.
It cheers me up,
Helps shed an ounce

Or two,

Too.

Yes, there's nothing better:
A skip and a jump
To overcome
That melancholy hump.

But what society is lacking
(Beyond compulsory slacking)
Is a mechanism
To read the signs;
The furtive onslaught
Of those desperate times.

I offer that, when once made
It's as essential to the modern home,
As was the Teasmaid
For those who live alone.

It should need no batteries,
Gas or electricity.
Be informed by Mindfulness
(Buddhism combined with CBT):

The Emotional Insecurity Alarm.

Under The Cloak, Or, Some Rollicking Old Bull

'Alchemy, black magic, top hat and a white rabbit. Oh, and some smoke, just for effect. I'm now
5 X 4 lecturer-elect.'

'Really?'

'Yes, the birdie whispered in my ear. It's that time of year; was loath to hear my schedule for the Autumn semester. Do the brains of our leaders whither and fester?  The decisions that they've made . . . let me call a spade a spade. We're no longer subject specialists, we're just Jacks-of-all-Trade.'

'But . . .'

'Indeed! I believed that I was qualified and employed to teach the theory, but it seems I'm now obliged to demonstrate large-format photography. I suggested to my manager that this felt like an affront; turns the order of things upside-down and also back-to-front. I opined it was short-sighted but it didn't take her long to explain my vision lacked clear sight, because my aperture was wrong.'

'Please come out from under the dark-cloth.'

'So, she took me to the darkroom; the visionary leading the blind. I thought I could smell chemicals, but was damned if I could find the light switch to the cubicle where a print lay in a tray. I was feeling claustrophobic, and had turned a shade of grey. I started to explain that I lacked the constitution for working in the dark when (in my myopic confusion) it dawned on me that this might be a form of prostitution. The lurid glow from the safety light did nought for my complexion.'

'You need a north-facing studio at your age.'

'But, my cries - they went unheeded.  For, the seed is 'ready seeded. Photo-history, it's not needed, but I have to have a use. So they're tightening the noose. I can play their game, and all is fine. Or, dig my heels in and bide my time.'

'Hang on.'

'I will. But for now and, please, forgive me if I'm sounding like a bore, but can anybody tell me what this dark-slide might be for?'

Images from (ed) Jay, B (1994) Some Rollicking Bull: Light Verse, and Worse, on Victorian Photography, Germany: Nazraeli Press

Song Of The Undressed Crab

I'm yet to get dressed,
I'm safe in my shell.
Don't consider me sadly;
I'm feeling quite well.

I'm legless, I'm stranded;
The tide is now out.
But, the sea will return,
Of that, there's no doubt.

And, while some may deem
I appear denuded.
Let me venture a thought.
(Please don't think me deluded.)

Of course, there are problems
Incurred by separation
Of the limbs from the torso,
But, I call it liberation.

(Encore)

So, I'm yet to get dressed
But, I'm free from the swell.
Don't believe me depressed,
I'm feeling quite well.

Just Lovely

Just Lovely - Yport