Talk this elevated talk, jump this huge jump
Is your distribution force infected, are they all somewhat misdirected,
Do they chew things or stare blankly into space?
Are they anchored to their chair, as if demons are out there,
And our real world to them resembles outer space?
Do they stare you straight in the eye, and give succinct replies,
Or are they prone to the odd jerk or twitch?
Can they freely lucidly converse, without sounding at all terse,
Or are they fumbling for an electronic mouse or switch?
You see they may well be, suffering from Formula D,
The synthetic brand of contemporary worker education,
Their bland apathetic stare, is the product of screen glare,
Their bland visages now peer where once lurked concentration,
Where once there existed personnel, who braved the fires of hell,
Now only huddled creatures recoil from the flames,
What can rekindle their passion, instill some up and at em,
What can turn these mice into legendary names.
Whatever could be plainer, they need a personal trainer,
They need a human of supreme wit, charm and guile,
To prise them from blank screens, to raise them from serene,
To remind them how to greet customers and smile,
No new fangled web screens, no computer package of your dreams,
Can ever rival a Rolls Royce chauffeur driven ride,
You can fill their brains, with your software driven aims,
But you cant stoke the primeval fires inside.
Your dilemma here is dire, your workforce may actually expire,
At the very least its white coats and your early bath,
Or shuffling seated husks, mumbling from dawn to dusk,
Wheres the sense or productivity in that?
They are near brainless death, mainlining online virtual meths,
Imbibed by the packagefull daily force fed online,
They quiver and they shake, with every tome they take,
Sad trembling phone voices hinting at the signs.
So next time Mr CEO, take note of what you sowed,
Take the time to watch the twitching workers writhe,
Observe their nervous glances, and their semi conscious trances,
As they try to pretend they are productive and alive,
Have pity on their fate, relent before its too late,
And call that aged guru you always used before,
And maybe they will be, changed quite entirely,
Learning will be fun filled, not a chore.
And lo he will appear, without tremor and without fear,
A mighty warrior to whom they joyfully greet all hail,
He will be their salvation, like a true leader of a nation,
He will triumph where bland computer learning failed,
And joy will resound, wherever his word is found,
Wherever he lays his hat aside to teach,
For computers may seem grand, on statistical master plans,
But some things will always lurk beyond their reach.
John Fowler is such a human.
Should you require his unique expertise
visit the link below.
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you know Ferrit makes sense