Archive for the ‘Verse’ Category
A project procrastinator’s tale in five limericks
Gathered there was the whole team,
at the late project’s autopsy.
They laid no blame,
but it was me – oh shame!
It was all my fault as you’ll see.
It started out feeling great
I’d padded every estimate
with lot of air,
much time to spare.
So why did it turn out so late?
The reality, if truth be told
is that I just cannot behold
the sight of work.
I simply shirk.
Even thinking of it turns me cold.
So, although I say I tried,
I was the reason the project died.
The work on my plate
was always in late,
with excuses that couldn’t be denied.
Procrastination’s the thief of time.
It only makes one fall behind.
So, try if you can
to stick to the plan.
Don’t wait for intervention divine.
——
Other pieces in my five limericks series are:
A project management tragedy in five limericks
Nursery rhymes for project managers
Mother Goose for Project Managers – version 0.001:
Little Jack Horner
Little Jack Horner sat in the corner,
watching his budget run dry.
Said he to the sponsor, “The project’s a goner.
and I reckon, so am I.”
Hickory-dickory dock
Hickory-dickory dock
The PM’s in shock.
The project’s aground;
the clock’s run down.
Hickory-dickory dock
Jack be nimble
Jack be nimble,
Jack be quick.
Dodge responsibility,
for it tends to stick.
Hey diddle diddle
Hey diddle diddle, the schedule’s a fiddle.
The deadline’s near; it’s too soon.
The sponsor won’t smile when he sees what’s been done,
especially after being promised the moon.
Hush-a-bye PM
Hush-a-bye PM, on a timeline.
Better wake up now, things aren’t so fine.
The scope is a-creeping, are you on the ball?
No change management will be your downfall.
Schedule, Schedule
Schedule, schedule on the wall,
the PM’s going to take the fall.
’cause everyone can plainly see,
his timeline’s but a fantasy.
The PM can’t sleep
The PM can’t sleep, he’s counting sheep.
The project is what’s troubling him.
Changes galore. Tell you what’s more –
there’s no money left to fund ’em.
Blah blah PM
Blah blah PM, spouting bull.
I can’t take anymore, my plate’s full.
The workload here is driving me insane.
So I’m leaving for a gig with the mob down the lane.
Reviewing documentation on a work day evening
With apologies to Robert Frost (and a colleague who shall remain nameless).
Whose work this is I think I know.
He hasn’t done a good job though.
He will not see me over here,
reading his drivel pure as snow.
The cleaners must think it queer
that I’m still working, though midnight’s near.
Between you and me – it’s late,
on the darkest night of the year.
I give my poor head a shake,
and ask, “Why so many mistakes?”
The only other sound’s the sweep
of the vacuum cleaner’s swift intake.
Slumber beckons, long and deep,
but I have this job to keep,
And files to go before I sleep,
And files to go before I sleep.
Eight to Late 