I alluded to the fact that sitting in front of a computer screen all day is not good for the body in a previous poem, but in this one I'm getting at the effect that constant exposure to the addictive entertainment of the internet and TV have on one's life and specifically, on one's ability to get anything useful done!
This poem is largely autobiographical, although there is some poetic licence in a few places. I did, in fact, come back from the shower and say "Clothing: required. Breakfast: desired. Warren is tired. Humpff!", straight off the top of my head. After which I thought: "That's pretty good, I wonder if I can turn that into a poem?" Where do such germs come from? Better ask Erato.
The alarm clock went off and it gave me a fright,
As I'd been awake watching the sport half the night,
Yes, I tried to sleep on, but it had me alright,
And I knew I would have to get up.
So I tossed and I turned and I rolled out of bed,
Rubbed the sleep from my eyes and the dreams from my head,
Strode down the hall wearing nary a thread,
Came back from the shower and stated:
Warren: is tired.
So I dressed and went out to the kitchen to eat,
Put milk in a bowl with some biscuits of wheat,
Drizzled honey on top just to make it complete,
And shoveled it down with dispatch.
"A coffee", as always, for such is my mind,
And I went for the jar, but what did I find?
Insufficient to fill, so it's now I must grind,
I turned to my task and I said:
Fulfil thy potential!
Now booted and spurred I turned on the machine,
I put down my cup and I looked at the screen,
An email from God and one from the Queen,
And a Facebook request from a fruitcake.
Scrabble online was a battle of wits,
My research online full of misses and hits,
And online bill payment just gave me the shits,
So I turned the thing off and I cried:
Copied and pasted.
So I put on my coat and went out for a walk,
Dropped in on a friend and we had a wee talk,
Of gewgaws and fruit-loops and fritz on a stalk,
And a laugh at the news of the day.
Then off to the shops to get some supplies,
Some chicken and fish and a dozen pork pies,
A look in the windows and then at the skies,
I'd better get home or get wet.
But nothing achieved.
Then back at the ranch there was business to do:
Opinions to post and fanboys to subdue,
Ebay to browse and shipments to pursue,
And everything under the sun.
All too soon it was time for some afternoon cake,
Then cut up the spuds, put the chook on to bake,
Clean up the mess that you get when you make,
Lie down on the couch for the news.
After dinner it's time to make a few calls,
Sing a few songs, do some installs,
Then go get some gaming online til it palls,
And it's time for the sport to begin.
So it's off to the tennis, it's Wimbledon time,
While down at le Tour, there's mountains to climb,
We have football and cricket and racing sublime,
Yes, 24 hours of sport!
Channel Surfing: extensive.
At 3 in the morning I stagger to bed,
While names and statistics whirl 'round in my head,
But under it all is the worrying thread:
Another day gone down the drain.
So what is the point of the wirehead's life,
When you wake up exhausted in need of a wife,
'Twere better to take to the net with a knife,
Than be caught like a fly in the Web.
"Work: needs completing.
Life: is fleeting.
Warren Mars - July 2009
My friend James McComb wrote a short parody of this work, which I greatly enjoyed. I reproduce it here with his permission.
Warren Writes a Poem
Twas the night before Christmas, and inside his home,
Little Warren was thinking of writing a pome.
His brain was all sleepy, (as though filled with foam),
So he sat and he wondered and waited.
He decided to mimic young Mr. McComb,
So he turned on his desktop and launched Google Chrome
And surfed to thesaurus.com and RhymeZone,
Where he copied the rhymes and he stated:
James McComb - July 2009