Cubicle Poems - Poems about Cubicle

Single Spells

(To the tune of “Jingle Bells”)


Dashing through my tasks,
In a cubicle so tight,
I hear the coffee slosh,
Another deadline fight.

Bells from emails ring,
I can’t ignore the sound,
Oh, what fun it is to sprint
Through tasks that come around!

(Chorus)
Single spells, single spells,
Typing all the way!
Oh, what fun it is to pray
For lunch to save the day—HEY!
Single spells, single

Freddie the Furlough Getting Let Go

Freddie the furlough 
Sat there with his Merlot 
Watching the sun go up and down
While his body got tan and brown 
They said they had full control 
That is what Freddie the Furlough was told 
Sitting in his cubicle one day 
They came over to say, ‘you are still going to get pay’ 
Are you

Gray Cubicle

Gray cube
Gray shoes
Gray faces

A Colorless existence
Full of ugliness
Full of regret

Except for her
With blue eyes
So bright
they hurts to look at
with a eyes so bright
It hurts to hope

A glimpse of something beautiful
A glimpse of something unattainable
In a gray world 
It's only her 
Whose color makes life worth living

Blues For Rafaa

We worked together
in the airless cubicle gulag
on the surface of the moon
during the last ice age

Diligently scurrying under
the bright artificial lights
composing odes to poverty
with great purpose and poise

Dodging the executive ghouls
who skulked the narrow halls
Lon Chaney and Boris Karloff
howling as the villagers fled

But there he would be
in a state of perpetual calm
absorbing the vortex of

Inside a Cubicle

We work inside a cubicle. 
Our faces bathed in bluish glow
Like corpses at a funeral, 

But if we're dead we don't yet know. 
Instead we numbly press on keys
Within our lidless coffin row.

Complacency is our disease
For nothing changes day to day;
A truth a habit guarantees. 

Yet soon this herd with faces gray, 
These mindless, faceless,

View From a Cubicle

Oh, pencil pusher,
your meager ambitions are few
Looking across the human prairie 
what do you office see?
Your cubicle is left of center,
on the low rung of the corporate ladder
Middle management is not your destiny,
mornings are your richest coffee coronations
You revel in the small talk
carried to your cubicle by the gossip pigeons
Such a downcast view
you have of

Cubicle To Convertible

Thirty years
stuck in a basement corner cubicle
Now retirement is on a countdown approach
Seems all you can do lately
is dream about that burnt gold convertible
Going from zero to sixty in a heartbeat
gives you a sugar express rush
To bad the office years didn’t go that fast
Making coffee for the staff,
coming in first, leaving out last
kept your job

Cubicle Maze

I don't have much to say anymore... 
 My routine has become me...
 I toil under the artificial light...
 In the mountains but longing the sea...
 I've wanted to speed up the oppressive time...
 But sometimes I've wanted it to slow...
 I've walked miles under the blazing sun...
 Yet my mind is on a cool

The Cubicle Blues

Skyscrapers, our societies pyramids
Built with a work force in need of these jobs
But these meaningless buildings are made for the boss,
Where the only way to lift your spirits is to take the elevator
To your top floor universe,
Amazing the 10 feet distance between us
Determines that we are the losers
And our worlds should all orbit around you
This

Cubicle Life

click click, click click, tick-tock, tick-tock,
the clock seems to tick not as fast as one wants,
the air conditioner stops now they can hear you chew, 
after the first week, you knew this wasn't the right job for you.

two years go by, collectively this repetition makes the time fly
but each day feels like two weeks in

Isola Di Cubicle

Computer why are you not turning on?
Now you’re on. – meh

Opening programs before I log in.
Sometimes it is repeated more than once.
An interval of 15 minutes or more..

Finally everything is running .
It is a miracle.

The phone is older than the movie ‘Ghost.’
Surprisingly it has no dust (haha)
No to boast
Oh not to boast

Each one is in

Life In Cubicle

The Noose is tightening.
The 5’s and 10’s yanked from our hands and aching backs 
Are spent on band-aids:
A last stand effort to plug the holes in our hearts
When the price of drowning is only getting higher
So we turn to tiny acts of thievery
Taxes prettied up, cashiers uncorrected,
Stealing at the edges because we’re backed into corners,

Cubicle

There once was a boss who was bald
yet thought himself stoutly ribald.
The dweebs who worked for him
were hairy and liked gin.
Was not news to hear that boss falled.

Cubicle

I need to stay
In a love cubicle, and
Excitingly write
Love's innermost recesses
Where passion, joy and love rules!

The Cubicle

The Cubicle

By Elton Camp

I get tired of hearing from whinny folk
Who think their job will them choke
“It’s not the type of work I hoped to do.
It’s unworthy for me to put my time into.”

Every employment has its up and down
There’s no perfect position to be found
Some view their work as a prison cell
Where they must

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