'Writer in Torment' by me, via Flickr

This damn machine, designed to help me write
Does nothing of the sort, in fact it stops
The flow of words from brain to screen by way
Of grinding the hard disk drive and switching
Focus to some blasted error, causing
Me to change to pen and paper but oh!
Would you believe it? There is no ink left!
I scribble furiously, all in vain.
What shall I do? These words I must commit
To solid form in some way or I’ll cry!
Instead I hack at granite, slate and coal
It may look tough but at least it still works!

The man with fists and feet that fly through air
Their power! He is master of his motion
Such speed! How can his foes predict the next
Move he makes? They can’t! Look out! Too late. As
Another one hits the floor, the man walks out.

'Old Style Post Box' by me, via Flickr

I order parcels from across the world
Packets, boxes, large and small, they all come to
My house by postman or that is the idea
I check the mail and find a card that tells a lie
We’re sorry, it says, we called but you were out
I was not out! I waited in for you!
Now I will have to choose: do I ring up
Or do I go and get the blasted thing
Myself, which means doing their job for them?
In which case should I charge them for my time?