Cubicle is an experimentation of rictameter written in four octaves. I decided to begin with eight syllables, peak at twelve, and then reverse line by line until it tapered off at two. I really enjoy poetry with meter rules, especially when it isn’t necessary to rhyme.
The process of writing poetry is so different from fiction, in my opinion. The catharsis is immediate and shapeless, a spatter of words on the page. Then, picking out the best parts and carefully placing them into stanzas that adhere to certain rules is where it really begins to take shape.
Cubicle is an example of how a stream of consciousness captured during a flash of observance can later be crafted into a poem. Maybe not a great poem, admittedly, but I enjoy that it took a snapshot of a moment in time. It immortalized the moment, and that place, for me forever. Like a photo, but with words.
There are parts of this poem that only a few people will ever understand, like Face plant and Napoleon stapler and printing to LF, Jr. These people were in the cubicles surrounding mine and had their own Face plants and Napoleon staplers. Office culture can be bizarre. Even so, I think the spirit of boredom is adequately captured and we can all relate to feeling restless in a cubicle.
You can review Cubicle here.
How have you experimented with poetry? Do you have any funny office shenanigans to share? I’d love to hear from you!
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