Tag Archives: writing

Work Poems, from once upon a time when I had a job

poem time.
11/2/00

I know one day
I’ll be something
somewhere
doing something
happiness
money
challenges
are these too much to ask
There are a million roads
in front of me
But through the fog
of indecision
I cannot see any of them
The future
comes so slow
goes so fast
Changes with every
hand you shake
mistake you make
Every day I take
one little step
but for all I know
forallanyoneknows
I could be missing
what I was meant to be
but all I really want
to be
is just me.

we are doing work poems, are we?
11/2/00

Hi
How are you today
How was work
Oh
it was
too much
too little
too hard
too easy
it was
G-TECH
INITECH
ISI, EMC
do you see me?
it was
AS400
I-90
WD-40
ES9000
US223
do you have $5 for the bosses gift?
IN MAIL
OUT MAIL
EMAIL
broke broke broke
stuck stuck stuck
COMPAQ
MICROSOFT
BOWKER GILBARCO
my boss is such a retardo!
8:00pm SITCOM
8:30pm SITCOM
9:00pm DRAMA
10:00pm NEWS SHOW
11:00pm NEWS
set clock
close eyes
shut off clock
at 7:10
do it all again.

Fried Squirrel, anyone?

Last week we covered how I wrote (a lot!) in high school. I could not resist sharing a piece or two here for your enjoyment. These two particular poems are about a day that the power went out at school because a squirrel got caught in the transformer (it happened A LOT more often than you might think). They are meant to be read like a Dr. Seuss book. I personally think the second is better than the first, but that is just me. Bear in mind that when I read the second poem to my English teacher Mr. Clark, he just shook his head. I would also like to take this opportunity to thank Mr. Clark for teaching me that “a lot” are two words and not one:) Now, without further ado:

The Ballad of the Fried Squirrel
(A.K.A.-The day the lights went out in Blissfield)

4/14/94
In the little old town that had much Bliss
Was a little squirrel who liked to growl & hiss
This mean old squirrel was like no other
He was big & tough & vowed not to be electrocuted–
like his mother.
All the other bushytails in the town were wusses
kept gettin’ electrocuted by running on transformers–
escaping from …cats
Now this mean old squirrel was named Snicker-doodle
And one fateful day he got chased by a poodle
Cornered, that squirrel did done get
And that poodle would not him down let
So, with one giant last leap went Snicker
With no regard for what those volts would do to his ticker
But in the air, as he fell to death & that massive shock,
His fate sealed with a big pad lock,
He chirped in a low squirrel hiss
“Don’t let the kids go home”–that was his dying wish
And, of course, Principal Dave heard it exactly
And last wishes must always be followed promptly
So the town was left without power
For darn near two hours
And all the good little students moaned & groaned
“We just want to go home!”
And so like always, the power came back on
But the legend of that miserable squirrel lives on.

The Legend Lives On
4/14/94
Now the children in that town of Bliss
Where still talking the day after about that
squirrel’s last hiss
That legendary squirrel called Snicker-doodle
That was found by the lunch ladies to taste
very good with noodles
Them hairnets found, that snicker ground
Made a nice little edible burrito meat mound
Now, I’ve got to say how sad I was for those poor
unsuspecting kids
Not even guessing what was about
to stick to their ribs
Squirrel is quite prevelant in the month of May
But fried Snicker-doodle is not approved by the USDA
When the students walked into the lunchroom
They all wanted to know what smelled like an old broom
“Nothing but the usual” the ladies replied back
And the kids dug in, thinking it was just the usual…
bad food
But soon them youngins were writhing in their seats
Darn, done poisoned by that evil rancid meat
Now, as you might guess, the chunks blew for days
Causing a stenchy, food-poisoning haze
There were long, heaving lines for the johns
As the legend of that miserable squirrel lives on

Yes, I know. They are genius. Maybe someday soon I will share my song “mutilation” with you:)

Shoulda been a writer.

As I am in the middle of job hunting, networking, perfecting my resume, a very dear former co-worker of mine complimented my writing skills on a Linkedin recommendation I wrote for another former collegue. She had no idea (well, maybe a little idea) that I have all these creative juices that can, at times, flow all over the place (In the words of Summer Roberts on The O.C. “Ew.).

I liked writing in school. Out of gym, math, and science, it was the least henious. My asbestos friend (I’ll explain it someday, promise) and I used to skip lunch in high school to go to the computer lab and work on personal stories. It seemed like a much more pleasant experience to escape into my creative dreamland than to negotiate the impending embaressment that is the high school lunch room.

I think I always thought I would be a writer someday. Of novels or poetry or TV scripts or newspaper articles. When I got my first grown-up job, I shelled out big bucks to buy a word processor (I know, lame. Even lamer, it was the year 2000!). I sat down one uneventful evening to begin my career as a writer. Then I realized it was work like everything else. That night is sort of when I let my writing dream die. But then…

THE BLOG WAS BORN!!!

The Internet created these things called blogs, where you didn’t have to have someone else “publish” your thoughts–you could just puke them out of yourself for your closest friends to read! Of course, the disadvantage is no marketing support and no paycheck for them. That is why I need everyone who reads this blog to send it to one other person, and so on. So that someday my words might support me afterall. Getting paid just to be me wouldn’t really be work at all.