A JOURNEYMAN WHO WANTS A HOME

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I walked in one day to a new world:
A place of friendly familiarity clothed
With a texture of uncertain difference.
Within my new space I found a role
To ply a craftsman’s finely honed gifts.

A submerged attitude shaped a separation
In my new workshop. With belonging my hope,
In a place which I want to call my home,
How long do you hang on to the ‘I’
In a world where the craft is so different?

It is so easy to claim a superiority,
As a coping mechanism to survive,
But arrogance is no humble befriender
When it only eases the uncertainty:
The truth is I know so little of this world.

I see a desire to fully comply, to be at one,
It feels too slow a pace for the problems:
A devoted few carrying the major load
As the others mingle and share and yet
Silenced by fear to really speak the truth.

Do I ‘get’ this place, does it get me.
My expectations of people feels wrong:
The drive and desire I expect from people
Is alien in my new world of procedure,
Argumentation and explanation for not doing.

Each corner I turn, in my new home,
I fear the  building up of my alienation:
My commitment to a work contract
Drives me to be who I am, with a directness
Honed in another world of shared delivery.

My desire to be a part, means I comply
To rules that I do not fully understand,
Working practices that seem too strange:
I must go on – it is my home of choice.
My will is bending, my burden increasing.

Each direction I am given drives me on,
Failure is not an option in my bag of gifts.
The new blocks present hurdles to climb,
Puzzles to solve with my dwindling mass.
My racing mind drives on: I am fully alive.

Stuck in the betweeness of those who care –
My champions, who see me for who I am –
And those who want their simpler place –
My co-workers, who see me for who I am –
I please no-one enough to feel at home.

Does a journeyman’s craft ever find peace?
Is the lot of my gift the pleasure of some,
The alienation of others, and no home?
A poets gift sees and large shoulders
Find ways to bare the pain and go on.

 

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David Scanlon – England – (1963 - )

Scanlon. D (2016) The Poet, The Prisoner & The Fool. The Foolish Poet Press, Manchester, England. A JOURNEYMAN WHO WANTS A HOME. Page Number 9.

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