Best Copier Poems
Revenge of the Office Copier
By Elton Camp
I started to make copies of an important report.
Just as I commenced, it sent a printed retort.
“Though I don’t contain a single strand of DNA,
I deserve respect and have gone on strike today.”
“I’m tired of hearing humans describe me as slow.
In rebellion against their constant demands I’ll go.
Although I have been their most faithful friend,
They just curse and say that I’m, ‘Jammed again.’”
“They act like I’m deliberately trying to cause woe
Most any time that my paper tray dares to run low.
And when my cartridge of toner finally runs dry,
As if it’s my fault, they roll their eyes and sigh.”
“You needn’t bother to call the copier repairman.
To deal that I’ve already developed a sure plan.
While he is here, I will copy things just right.
But I’ll stop again as soon as he’s out of sight.”
“Plan to show him this note and you’re out luck.
In just ten seconds, it is designed to self-destruct.
I expect that after this I will get a lot more respect.
And that I have the power to disrupt, you’ll recollect.”
Categories:
copier, funny
Form:
Rhyme
I’m not sure I understand my boss
He does it all and credits me
He makes the plan, and says I did
He works the plan, and states it’s me
Writes the report, and crowns it mine
My mysterious Boss!
He called me today
And washed me with praise
Shocked, my boss seeks to know
How did you, modest, manage
The tusks of this beast alone?
With husky confidence
He shoots my pay and says
Measure for measure, my valet!
There’s more to come.
My Boss will burn it all
The mid night wick and moil on end
First in, Last out. The office smells his balm
His cologne is everywhere
He sweats on the printer, the copier, and the phone
His ink flows, his paper is busy
The keyboard is worn, the letters have gone
He knows them by heart
ASDFGH and the index at J, he types
His seat sags and his elbow is coarse
The backrest is new, he never rested
His fingerprints are faded
Filing, citing, binding, signing, sending, recalling, working
Reading, doing, redoing, searching, researching, working
Calling, waiting, reminding, mending, thinking, working
Reviewing, checking, approving, panting, working
But he says I did, all he did
Great works, look and marvel!
Now Boss
They want me! Ready to bleed money
And charm me, they are down, bended knee
Abroad, the internationals are hinting
Aboard, the nationals are bidding
And Bored, the locals are winking
They want me! The postman is dizzy
My inbox congested and messengers grumbling
The deeds have spoken
And my boss is depressed
Who shall do it, says he, all the work
His hand is calm, my shoulder feels it
Go my child, my boss, your meteor is bright
And never will it set.
Categories:
copier, work, me,
Form:
Narrative
Some say I'm arrogant, the rest say I'm cocky,
But the funniest thing is that no one said it right to me,
They talk behind my back like it has at least one ear,
And as soon as I turn around they all disappear,
Its just my confidence, is there something wrong,
Well if yes the wrongs make me very strong,
I'm just being me, impersonating myself,
Too bad you can't be me, the copier is high on the top shelf,
I’m high on my pedestal, high on my own stool,
Looking down at you all, you all my students welcome to my school,
To be like me you have to keep a straight A average,
Doing extra credit just to get some leverage,
I isolate myself from all you fake people,
Solitary confinement, as I strengthen and you weaken,
All you want to be is fly with some huge swag,
Where's my fly swatter? Oh its right here in my bag,
Just sit and watch as I SWAT all you flies,
Special Weapons And Tactics, then everyone dies,
They say only monkeys are cute, then call me the ape,
Roaming through the jungle to find my female primate,
As I look in my palm, there I see the world,
Then I scan through it all to find the perfect girl,
I search the globe to find her, I wasted my time,
When there she was under my nose, now she's mine,
She's at my level, and we all know that's far,
And I'll search the world again to find you, where ever you are......
Categories:
copier, introspection, uplifting, visionary, me,
Form:
Ode
A Message From the Copy Machine
By Elton Camp
I placed my document in the feed.
Told the Xerox how many I need.
I had to struggle hard to stifle a shout
When I saw what the copier sent out.
“Hello there, dear, my name’s Roxanne
I just simply love the touch of your hand.
Your fingers on my buttons are a big thrill,
I ask you to please do it again, if you will.”
I looked all around for a camera to see.
Surely this must be joke made for TV.
I figured that most certainly some ass
Left a trick note attached to the glass.
But nothing like that was I able to find.
I wonder if perhaps I’m losing my mind.
So I quickly took the copier’s letter
And ran it right through the shredder.
I touched the Start key once again.
Came a note on pink, to my chagrin.
“Oh, that time it really felt so good.
You did that just like you should.”
At that I made a bolt for the door.
“I’m not coming in here any more.
A copier with the name Roxanne
I won’t let come on to this old man.”
Categories:
copier, funny
Form:
Rhyme
The maddening click of key strokes
The shrilling of the phones
The crunch of crumbling paper balls
Slices to the bone
The dull humming of the copier
Four million paper clips
The smell of tacky wite out
So sick of all of it
It's like sitting in a coffin
This tomb with three gray walls
Choking on monotony
In a stifling, dreamless stall
I need to find the exit
Won't be like all of them
A dead eyed walking corporate corpse
Fake smiles, no brain stems
I know I need to hurry
Before they bury me away
And I become a pro quo victim
Soulless zombie for the pay
Categories:
copier, angst, anxiety, career, corruption,
Form:
Rhyme
Xerox copier sounds raise my eyebrows
wondering if he’s photographing unclad organs
like another time?
Beware zealous dismay from your justifiably
Quickly vacating nervy, kinky gentlemen!
written November 5, 2021
for "Alphabet Soup" poetry contest
sponsored by William Kekaula
Categories:
copier, humor, writing,
Form:
Free verse
By Elton Camp
I placed my document in the feed.
Told the Xerox how many I need.
I had to struggle hard to stifle a shout
When I saw what the copier sent out.
“Hello there, dear, my name’s Roxanne
I just simply love the touch of your hand.
Your fingers on my buttons are a big thrill,
I ask you to please do it again, if you will.”
I looked all around for a camera to see.
Surely this must be joke made for TV.
I figured that most certainly some ass
Left a trick note attached to the glass.
But nothing like that was I able to find.
I wonder if perhaps I’m losing my mind.
So I quickly took the copier’s letter
And ran it right through the shredder.
I touched the Start key once again.
Came a note on pink, to my chagrin.
“Oh, that time it really felt so good.
You did that just like you should.”
At that I made a bolt for the door.
“I’m not coming in here any more.
A copier with the name Roxanne
I won’t let come on to this old man.”
Categories:
copier, humor,
Form:
Rhyme
The trouble with idiot lights,
You see, it’s a problem
That goes, perhaps,
Farther than me.
There's abundant ignorance
That floats in the bog
In a kingdom where machines
Can measure breath’s grog.
More than vast numbers
Aggregating in crime,
There's a feeling that
What is happening.
Somehow, isn't mine.
Big obvious red light, birthed
a message, idiot message on the dash.
Just the observation
Almost made me crash.
The warning, foreboding,
Read simply "check gauges.”
So sitting at the light,
I scanned all the stages
With the sets of information
A car shares on its pages.
I sit, quietly confused,
But the intersection’s raging.
The gas tank wasn't empty,
The oil read fine,
The engine not hot,
Battery volts seemed in line.
Responding to the honks,
I mosey down the road.
The engine’s working fine,
But my head held quite a load,
Of all the problems awaiting
For the idiot who couldn't interpret
The idiot light code.
. . . No problems yet,
A small sigh escapes
But I am mentally set,
Will I fall for the bait?
I would make a sizable bet
That I am sitting
On some universal debt.
Then as I was using
My copier that night,
Beeping techno-barking message,
Really set me to a fright.
A word chain shackled,
Scrolling a last request
"Printer ink low."
Sounds like an open book test.
Try as I might
Following precious words in sight,
Then a new unique message:
"Insert cartridge right."
Just follow instructions?
I’m ready for a fight.
I opened HP's lid
To see what was the matter,
Then came a horrible clacking,
Tic-tic-tic-clicking,
Hardware techno choir prater.
I shut the lid, and said a quick prayer,
Hoping God could save me from taking a dare,
And shooting the damn contraption
Right then and there.
With a web site visit, and many more clicks,
I found a FAQ answer.
My problem would be fixed.
There within the info sheet
Set my big break:
“Think about it, Dummy,
Did you remove the pink tape?”
So now, I sit here, contemplating,
Perhaps, I should consider
Getting out more, and dating.
The odds are better
. . . with two idiots instead of one.
Categories:
copier, angst, computer-internet, confusion, education,
Form:
Burlesque
I have a good charade
I can make a step from a stumble
No need to be afraid
Here in the human jungle
When you’ve a good charade
If you’ve a good charade
The tigers will not pounce on you
If you’re camouflaged
The gorillas will not pound on you
If they think you’re a god
You know, a good charade
I have a good charade
I can make a scream sound musical
Learning to make the grade
Here in the giant cubicle
It’s all a good charade
A really good charade
The paperweight is a pacemaker
The conference call, traffic for drugs
The copier is life-support
Lord, let me never be unplugged
And never let them debug
My sweet charade
It’d be a pity to debug
Such a good charade.
Categories:
copier, absence, angst, animal, self,
Form:
Lyric
Twenty-three percent of all photocopier's malfunctions worldwide
Are caused by people sitting on them and taking a shot of their hide
Yep! Photocopying their bums
That's hilarious, oh what fun
When I showed my co-workers, their reaction was undignified
Categories:
copier, hilarious,
Form:
Limerick
23% of all photocopiers that malfunction worldwide
Is caused by people sitting on them, taking shots of their hide
Yep! Photocopying their bums
That's hilarious, what fun
When I showed co-workers, their reaction was undignified
Categories:
copier, humor,
Form:
Limerick
"AI has stolen the imagination from writers. The human writer is the true creator from their heart. AI is the great copier because they have No heart to write with." By Poet
Writers imaginations like to play,
with creativity and words each day.
Only with a writers big human heart,
a writer gets their pen in hand to start.
Keeping your imagination alive,
then our readers can give a big high-five.
Tell me ~ will AI really survive,
or could robots be just a lot of jive?
Bringing my muse and pen will always stay,
I am a human poet all the way.
Categories:
copier, poems, poetry, words, writing,
Form:
Rhyme
In the ultimate heaven true peace you'll find, when things of
This world are left behind, no lying tounge will you there
Bind, no false teaching, or drunkeness, unless; of Gods
Spirit in kind' no more theiving or idolatry or hate; no rage
No letchery at this improved life state.' Vistas of beauty
All around.' A place of no discord where love abounds.'
Now on hell, I'll cast some thought to you, its heavily populated
If what I hear is true?? Its incedibly hot.' Theres sulphur gas
And demonic wails to top the lot.' There can be no lying
Once your in.' And words are useless with all the din.' So
You'll find no false teaching..Well whats the sense? No idol
Can save you..Now no offence!! You can't get drunk in this
Punishment place' There can be no letchery, and you're held in
Place, your chains are darkness..Your thirst intense it
Will get you screaming..' So in a sense? There are similaritys with
Heaven and hell, he's a copier 'old satan.I i often hear tell.'
So its up to choice; from what i see, I think I'll call on Jesus
Oh yes.' its that boring Heaven for me, may it be!!
Categories:
copier, bible, education,
Form:
Rhyme
I told Jane since she's no longer with us and I don't think Derek will happen this way again, especially since he'll be moving to L.A. soon.
I told him that day of the copier, that he'll be going places as his attentions were on the copier and that the hockey game had lost its purpose.
He asked me what I implied by that, and I told him of my desire to wedge his conscience and that he still is shy of the mark, he asked what mark?
I told him that the game was the ploy I tried to use and that I realized ... at the very end that your closing arguments made it clear that there's a part of you that needs tweaking.
You have a very high confidence level. The wedge, between the game and the copier, you have a knack for maneuvering your abilities based on optimum standards, thereby generating your preferred standards.
You chose to ignore the game, whereto, you enlightened that fact in the end, and chose the copier increasing your odds.
Now I have told you a method that can assure yourself a better you, which I have made that is my life purpose in the walk of life.
Find your steps, Derek.
The other boy works in housekeeping. He's an all-around good kid and a friend of Derek's and it's their days off.
I don't work by the clock as a salary worker but I do have a corporate lead coming in that Saturday the night of the gala event.
Categories:
copier, allah,
Form:
Free verse
A human writer needs,
to think and many times rewrite their work.
We put our heart,
creativity and imagination into each piece we write.
AI has stolen,
the creativity and imagination from writers.
The human writer is the true creator,
creator from their human heart.
AI is the great copier,
because they have No heart to write with.
I write for the reader,
I am a human poet all the way.
Categories:
copier, poetry, poets, words, writing,
Form:
Free verse