Cubicle Poems - Poems about Cubicle

(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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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,...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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...

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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,...

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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....

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

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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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