Because I could not escape from Life –
It rudely dragged me forth –
The chaos swirled, consuming all –
And Oblivion, my worth.
We raced through days – no time to rest –
And I, a frantic pawn –
My dreams and hopes, discarded, lost –
For Life's relentless dawn.
We passed the cubicles, where souls toiled
In fluorescent-lit despair –
We passed the screens of endless tasks –
We passed the coffee-stained chair.
Or rather – Life passed me –
Its deadlines, like a storm –
For only memos, spreadsheets, strife –
My soul, a uniform.
We paused before a desk that seemed
A prison of the mind –
The keyboard barely visible –
The mouse, a chain that binds.
Since then – 'tis eons – and yet
Feels shorter than a breath –
I first surmised the ticking clock
Led me toward my death.
Categories:
spreadsheets, age, cry, destiny, endurance,
Form: Free verse
Gagged by the navy neck-tie crowned upon him by the last soldier, the businessman precariously waltzes the death march down into “Sam’s Greens and Grains”, a specialty salad shop that locally sources lettuce from Upstate and everything else from a Houston retailer – an obvious choice for a death row meal…yum…plastic forks taint the flavorful bites into an experience similar to the lighting in the daytime dwellers dungeon – harsh, catalytic and monotonous but yet another day passes through the consciousness of the unlucky ones, flickering a spark of ambition to do something, be someone or feel a step above content however with no wick to ignite, the wind takes ahold of the spark and shuns it reminding him to resume the nightmare of day-to-day livelihood of spreadsheets, unintelligent jargon and empty coffee mugs
eh maybe tomorrow we’ll try Chipotle for lunch
Categories:
spreadsheets, corruption, prison, work,
Form: Prose
I spilled my seventh cup of coffee
While shuffling through the papers on my desk.
It was a ham and cheese performance,
A little bit of business-like burlesque.
I sort through tax returns and spreadsheets,
Deciding what to shred and what to keep.
The numbers flatten my perception.
It’s hard to tell the shallow from the deep.
The market parodies the weather,
It’s sometimes paradise, and sometimes hell.
It takes a fortune teller’s insight
To know which stocks to buy and which to sell.
I go to trade shows and conventions
To bust my hump establishing rapport.
To get that sweet insider cherry,
I give good face and put out like a whore.
But it’s so sweet insider cherry,
Just so sweet insider cherry
Can provide me with an edge.
When investing in the future,
Need to guarantee the future with an edge.
That’s my pledge.
I take fiduciary gambles
To profit from a fickle fiscal year,
And plot inventive navigation
To dodge the rocks and shoals that interfere
With my relentless and creative
Chicanery within the corporate sphere.
I keep a second set of ledgers
That chronicle my cynical career.
Categories:
spreadsheets, business, career,
Form: Lyric
For those of us whose lives are nearly complete
Who can recall life before computer spreadsheets
I'd like to point out a most marvelous technical feat
Which is, of course, the cool little button called 'Delete'
Remember those garish, round pink erasers with green brushes below
That would smudge or tear your paper so into the trash it would go
And then when that 'miracle-liquid' 'White-out' came along
It would turn your paper into gooey gook if you got anything wrong...
But now thanks to 'Delete,' it's almost fun to make a mistake
Just press a button and it's gone; it's like having and eating your cake
So, to whomever's responsible for the 'Delete Button Revolution'
Perhaps you'll put your mind to COVID and come up with a solution
Categories:
spreadsheets, appreciation, change, technology, tribute,
Form: Rhyme
I'm at Dunkin Donuts dunking a donut,
for the experience.
Letting my memories pass through me.
Not repressing any of them.
I'm pretending to be a scientist
of the mind.
It's not fun though.
Makes you glad spreadsheets have functions!
Somewhere in the donut crumbs
stirring around in my coffee
is a hidden key to the messages in my head.
There must be a rhythm to all
the misunderstandings and misapprehensions.
But just as soon as I think I've found some answers
a damn truck drives buy and vibrates the windows and the tables and distracts me,
or some saucy ass walks by on the street.
Maybe I should go somewhere else.
No, damn it, I should be able to do this here.
The answers are wrapped in the distractions
now that I think about it.
They are everywhere.
Doesn't matter where I go.
Focus.
Don't focus.
Balance the two.
I'm Evel Knievel of the mind!
Maybe I'll look for a job today.
I should stay here and keep at this though.
I'm on the verge of something.
I know it.
Categories:
spreadsheets, confusion, psychological,
Form: Free verse
Beyond all visible signs
The road to expression reaches thin
With paper maps and plastic engineered thoughts
Specializing in tourism, the cartographer's grin
Reclused to souvenirs and monopoly's pen
Sign posts grifted from lens shape
Speculating from future spreadsheets
The emblem of our unseen mystery creases
The folds of fluent distance traveler
When ideation captures miraculous weather balloons
Synchronicty shapes the tune of events frequency
Human mist covers ground level harvest
As crop circles point toward unseen dimensions
Built blockades of evidence track the echo chamber
Our ears so numb from diffuse advertising
Categories:
spreadsheets, adventure, angst, confusion,
Form: Free verse
Maud dreamed by the fire, her blue eyes half-closed,
While a grey cat on a grey mat beside her reposed.
Then she wakened and watched as the fast-falling snow
Was whipped into drifts when the sad wind would blow.
The moments that make up a life span are fleet,
Passing by with the stealth of a kitten's soft feet.
Since then, many winters this old earth has turned,
And I can't even guess when the last embers burned.
But where the hearth warmed, a computer now stands,
And someone's been typing with very cold hands
And piling spreadsheets on a table all day
On the very same spot where a grey cat once lay.
You're alone, so stop turning -- you won't find a trace
Of the blue eyes and smile of a little girl's face;
But when winds start moaning and driving the snow,
Maud may send you a ghost-mail from long, long ago.
Categories:
spreadsheets, childhood, death, funny, imagination,
Form: Diamante
You are the button-down mind of my dreams; all safe
and tucked away in the regimented reality of your nine-to-five
world. I want to tie you to a straight-back chair, lover-boy,
and squeeze some spontaneity out of you. Rattle 'round
your work-bound imagination; set fire to your spreadsheets,
and snap the erasers off the pencils you still use. Are you
getting this picture? Dinner's at eight, don't be late; your mom's
keeping the kids. Francis will be on the stereo. When you hear
"All of me, why not take all of me." Well!
If you have one creative bone left in your body.....
Categories:
spreadsheets, love,
Form: Narrative
I’m tired of the view from my window
With the same old shaggy dog,
Gutted out cars,
And frozen mud footprints.
Tired of the view
That focuses on screaming two year olds,
Half eaten PBJ’s,
And the lost toys that map their world.
I’m tired of
The mindless adults that don’t listen,
Spreadsheets and data bases,
And group work in Stats.
I want a view
That will change,
A view I can keep,
A view that will stay.
Categories:
spreadsheets, adventure,
Form: Blank verse