TimT of WillTypeForFood fame was so moved by my blank keyboard dream that he penned a poem in honour of it, and I'm honoured to blog it, right here ... oh you've outdone yourself this time, TimT!
Did I dream? Did I work? Was I dreaming of work?
I sat down to type but the keyboard was bare.
The subconscious is really a bit of a jerk:
I searched for the letters: I searched everywhere.
I searched high and low; I searched here and there:
Was this a design fault? Some curious quirk?
The letters weren’t there. They weren’t anywhere –
Did I dream? Did I work? Was I dreaming of work?
Just what did it mean, this niggle, this irk?
I tried to start working, but I could just stare
Down into my mind, the dim, dark and mirk –
I sat down to type but the keyboard was bare.
I picked up the phone. I needed to share
My problem with IT. I spoke to a clerk
Who knew of my problem – was already aware.
The subconscious is really a bit of a jerk.
Just who was this clerk, and why did they lurk
In the gloomy dim depths of my cortex – somewhere?
Just to think of these questions could drive you berserk.
I searched for the letters. They weren’t anywhere.
And why dream of work, instead of some perk
Like chocolate or champagne? It just isn’t fair.
When I sit down to work, my mind often shirks
And daydreams of buttercups. Does it even care?
Did I dream? Did I work?
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7 comments:
Huzzah! Fame at last! I will link this later today.
This is beautiful.
Popped on over here from Copperwitch.
Great stuff.... Tim's poems are like tea and toast, good for the soul.
Agreed ... good for the soul, and good for the blog!
Someone should give TimT a poetry reading night. We could all turn up like those other friends of hopeful poets do and say "Oh TimT, that moved me so much ... that is so deep, man!"
I am sure he would be a hit.
River ... I'm honoured :)
Maria, we do that, like, every second day in Melbourne. People are so careful to adhere to the 'sad poet' cliche that they even trim beards into little goatees and go about wearing berets.
Ahhh ... yes.
Do they also wear carefully shabby cardigan vests and make sure they haven't washed for at least four days beforehand so they can have the genuine look of the bum-kicked-onto-the-street-but-inspired-by-my-destitution-to-write-this-genius look, even if they are really an executive from that company in a nearby office tower earning 6 figures?
Trying to achieve that by putting the effort in during office hours must really be a pain for some of their colleagues.
Depends, I'm not entirely sure how many of us work.
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