While we were by no means as reflective as the British war poets of the First World War, the stuff my friends and I did was highly amusing to us. A lot of it was born out of the stress we experienced working in (what we considered) hellish conditions with people we strongly disliked. Some of the poems are about people, some are about the general situation we were in. Most was done in good spirit though and was a very effective way of blowing off some steam.
Anger Bubbling
Calm Down. Enough for griping.
Heat is just killing.
Callous disregard
For unlucky ones nearby
Crazed eyebrows flying.
Pray for December.
Please don't keep me here longer.
Kuwait November!
Push-ups, sit-ups, run.
Out of breath and out of shape
I am skinny fat.
The Seborrhea
Short, mad, and lacking of hair
He's talking too much.
What is this mockery of life that I live?
Pretending to work, not the best I can give.
Lazing around, grazing in my bag of beef
Hoping and praying no one gives me grief.
Shammer! They call me in rank hypocrisy
No one else is working, at least none that I see.
So I do what I desire with no show of humility
And continue my slide into foul schlegelity.
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