When hard times come they sit a spell,
Like kin folk come to stay
A-packin' troubles, pets an' kids
That always get ‘n your way.
It's drought an' flood, an' flood an' drought,
There ain't much in-between.
You work like hell to make ’em good,
But still they’re sorta lean.
The ranch went under late last year,
The drought got mighty tough.
The boss held-out a long, long time,
But finally said, "enough!"
So here I am dispatchin’ cops
An’ watchin’ felons sleep,
In Junction, at the county jail,
A job I’ll prob’ly keep.
The wife, she works at Leisure Lodge,
Where older people stay,
A-makin’ beds an’ moppin’ floors
To earn some ‘extra’ pay.
Though “extra pay‘s” the term I used,
It goes to payin’ rent,
An’ after all the bills are paid,
We wonder where it went.
We hocked my saddle, guns an' chaps,
An' then our weddin' rings;
Then when we couldn't pay the loan,
They sold the 'dad-blamed' things.
We felt real bad a day or two
But then we let it go,
Cause it got Christmas for the kids
When money got real slow.
When hard times come they sit a spell,
Don't matter who you are;
They'll cost ya things you've set aside,
An' clean your cookie jar.
You'll loose some sleep an' worry some,
Won't pay to moan an' groan;
But hang on to your happiness,
They'll finally leave ya 'lone.
Copyright © Jim Fish | Year Posted 2005
Sitting in a cloak of black conservatism:
I feel my hands,
oily on the desk like shortening in
slate gray cookie pans,
the speedway inside forcing the absence of
And my thoughts,
so flippant to implore
if a man with a chartreuse neck tie
can see the long wet streaks
across the cherry plane.
a sequence of interrogatives
common to the bored walls
of serious conference,
evoking tone inflection
in the pattern of polite.
Darest I mention truth?
I am your whore;
infect me with smug integrity,
smack me with false prophet leadership,
just leave some crisp bills
on the nightstand, sugar.
Yet my voice models his wavelength,
relaying back the catchy tired language
of one hit wonders;
from the man who owns a chartreuse tie.
awards a loaf of Wonder bread,
and a two bedroom lower.
Copyright © Michele Nold-Godleske | Year Posted 2006
It's one week till Christmas
And we've had enough
Of grumpy old shoppers
Complaining about stuff.
They hate the line-ups,
They hate the cashiers.
They won't be happy
Till they have us in tears.
The things they are after
Are long gone from the store.
They find it incredulous
We won't be getting more.
Last minute shoppers
Are a pain in the rump.
Each night by closing
This place looks like a dump.
One more week to go,
I sure hope we make it
But in the meantime
We'll just smile and fake it.
Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2010
Oklahoma cowboy, tough coal miner’s son
Born in Henryetta, south of Tulsa some
Raised by daddy’s momma, taught him wrong from right
Daddy taught him ropin’, taught him how to fight
Herding made no money, its stock was really down
Mamaw feeling poorly, dad mining at Old Town
December seventeenth, in the year of twenty-nine
Dad was shoring timber, 9th west entry of the mine
The gas ignited close to him, he never smelt its breath
It belched out fire and thunder, and everlasting death
Sixty-one they counted, who wouldn’t see the sun
Twenty-five weren't recognized, they buried them as one
On that fatal Tuesday, the boy became a man
Had to make a living, had to have a plan
Heard about the oil patch, got a chance to try it
Drill the earth for all she’s worth; keep it turnin' to the right
Some they called him weevil, some they called him worm
Some they wouldn't speak to him, figgered he was just short term
They told him "Open up that vee door; go to get the key
It's in the possum belly, in doghouse number three"
Took his turns at floor hand, at first a little green
Became the fastest broke out hand the driller ever seen
Morning tour, evening tour, working day and night
Drilled the earth for all she's worth, kept it turnin' to the right
The driller called him partner; the pusher called him son
The other roughnecks shook his hand, and took him in as one
Got up on the monkeyboard; learned to spin the chain
Pumped that mud and shed his blood, and worked right through the pain
On a bitter frosty evening tour, in a cold December snow
He saw derricks lit like Christmas trees in distance far below
He saw the fairyland of the refinery, shining through the night
He saw Mother Earth and the universe, all turning to the right
The oil patch was a hard life, moving all the time
But he saved a lot of money, didn't waste a dime
Morning tour, evening tour, working day and night
Drilled the earth for all she's worth, kept it turnin' to the right
Sent his kids to college, working through the years
One became a teacher, the others engineers
He hung up his hardhat; he shed his steel-toed shoes
Then one day he passed away; he'd finally paid his dues
Made it to the Pearly Gates; they handed him his wings
Handed 'em right back to them; said "I don't need these things.
I want to do some drilling. That's my heavenly plan."
They said "Go talk to the Devil then, cause he's the company man."
Old Scratch needed hellfire; he always come up short
Too many politicians and others of that sort
When he heard they had a driller, he jumped up with delight
He danced a jig, "You've got your rig. Keep it turnin' to the right."
Now he drills for hellfire; in the derrick he's got Jake
Buck and Sam on the platform; Sonny's on the brake
They all grin like demons; they're all where they belong
Doing what they love to do, they sing their roughneck song
"We all eat caliche and drink the devil's brew
Play dominos with Satan and skunk him at forty-two
Work all day on Sunday and honky-tonk all night
We're oilfield trash and we'll take cash to keep it turnin' to the right
We all love West Texas; it's like the Promised Land
Horny toads and rocky roads, and even dunes of sand
Dust storms every morning, northers every night
We get tans and freeze our cans to keep it turnin' to the right"
The lingo used around the rig you won't hear much in church
It'll curl your hair and make you stare and leave you in the lurch
So close your eyes and realize it's gonna get much worse
Drink your beers and plug your ears; here comes the final verse
"We p*ss longneck Lone Stars; we f*rt Frito pie
Give us ****, and we will spit some Red Man in your eye
Don't **** with us, or we will cuss and bring you to the fight
We're low class, but we kick *** to keep it turning to the right"
Coal mining, oil drilling and Hell - Doesn't get much darker and deeper...
Copyright © Roy Jerden | Year Posted 2012
Many years ago, when we were all young,
We really thought life, would be so much fun.
While playing dress-up, trying on mom’s stuff,
Putting on make-up, we found to be tough.
Then came our schooling, and boy things would change,
“Those aren’t our parents”, when they acted strange.
Sometimes they were hip, but old-fashioned too,
That’s something I swore, I would never do.
Wishing you were older, adults had it made,
They would do nothing, yet still would be paid.
That is how little, we all had known,
We surely found out, once we were grown.
Loving the twenties, we’d go out with friends,
When we went shopping, we followed the trends.
Doing what we wanted, and staying out late,
It didn’t matter, what time we all ate.
Then came the thirties, and most of us wed,
Watch what you wish for, my parents had said.
We had to work hard, many bills to pay,
I guess they were right, what more can I say?
Raising your children, was hardest of all,
Needing some advice, your parent’s you’d call.
It seemed so easy, they needed no rest,
So now it’s your turn, you learned from the best.
The forties arrived, that was a shocker,
We’d spend lots of time, just at the doctor.
Back aches and headaches, so tired you’d be,
Trying not to cough, or else you would pee.
The fifties would come, and your grandkids too,
Where were your glasses? You hadn’t a clue.
You searched here and there, and under the bed,
“Hey grandma” they laughed, “They’re right on your head”.
Here come the sixties, now let’s have some fun,
You are retired; your work is all done.
To dinner with friends, you dressed and you wait,
They never show up, you have the wrong date.
Now the seventies, with friends playing games,
If only you could, remember their names.
You try hard to hide, those under-eye bags,
Gravity happens, and everything sags.
Enjoy every day, and have a good laugh,
All the steps you took, led down a new path.
Live life as it comes, each year a new page,
One thing is for sure, everyone will age.
Copyright © Kelly Zakerski | Year Posted 2009
We are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week
Except Monday mornings and Sunday nights.
What are they on about, at this place that I seek
That is supposed open 24/7 days a week.
The pub is open we have an unlimited license,
Let’s have a drink before we go to bed!
I’m sorry we are closed the doors shut at eleven
That’s what the snooty landlord then said.
The helpline is here no matter when
Give us a call and we can help you then.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, the phone rings on
A tape recording says, “Sorry everyone has gone.”
My car has broken down the man came to fix it
“It doesn’t work” he said sratching his head.
“There a computer on board and I will need to record
All the things that are broken down” he said.
But I need my car; I looked at him hard,
And he gave me a wizened up frown.
He plugged himself in, then said with a grin.
The computer says it’s fine, the engine is strong.
But the car doesn’t work you toothless little jerk,
The computer plugged in must be wrong.
“How can it be wrong it says the engine is strong?” he gave me a shifty look
“To be honest missus if it ain’t on the pute, perhaps the answers in a book."
He could find nothing wrong, the onboard computer gave a bong,
But it still said all was okay.
The tow-truck they called out with its ramp and its chains
Now they have taken my poor car away.
Modern life is so frustrating; we have everything at our fingertips
There is 24/7 that does not mean that, and fury does exit my lips.
If its 24/7 and help lines constantly, a car that is run by computer.
Why doesn’t anything work, I feel like the jerk, can somebody lend me a shooter.
I want to blast and to break all technology of late
It’s driving me to drink and distraction
The open all hours pubs are now closed,
And my car is still out of action.
The bank is closed, the computers just died,
The telephones gone on the blink
The TV HD, it is fuzzy like me;
I think I’m going to put my head in the sink.
The oven would be better, but its electric not gas
So I don’t think it would work as well
I want to end it all, not practice for the day,
The Grim-Reaper points at me, and sends me to hell.
Therefore, I’ll fill up the sink and put my head in the drink,
Oh, blast, who is that at the door?
It’s the water board here, we are just making it clear,your water is off for a week.
Typical, I have no car and it is too far
To walk out and jump in the creek.
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2011
Extraordinary, I am
Craving for unusual thoughts
Endless exploration without boundary
Understanding the gift I shouldn't fought
Invisible drawings in my mind
Playing with the words in my head
The food of my soul
I feel so lucky
The random thoughts
A lifetime companion
A self esteem builder
A goal planner
Be my forever life saver
I write more
I talk less
I want to please
I chose to bore
What tickles me the most
Is to know what I'm for
Thinking is my love
When my mind goes empty
That's when I hate
My day dreaming lust
Organizing things in my mind
Playing roles of simulation
Where images of art is my vision
And words of attitude is my heart
Copyright © Katrina Salem | Year Posted 2012
I do not know?
INPUT FNAME = 'Yoni'
LNAME = 'Dvorkis';
Var Hidden_Meaning = "SAS code is not meant to be poetry you nut job";
Where Age >= 4;
Var Worldview = Parents_Worldview;
Var Facial_Expression = compress('Fear'||'Bewilderment'||'Jews believe in guilt');
Set Child (Drop= Innocence, Baby_Fat, Cheerful_Disposition);
Where Age >= 15 and BAC_Level >= .01;
Var Worldview = (Peer_Pressure * 100) + Favorite_Teacher_Worldview
Var Hidden_Meaning = "Where are you going with this?";
Set Teenager (Keep= Anger, Intelligence, Need_For_Material_Wealth, Hatred_Towards_Body
Var Job_That_Slowly_Kills_You = "Healthcare Data Analyst and SAS Programmer";
Var Worldview = (Company_Mission_Statement + Family_Is_Most_Important)
Where Age >= 21 and BAC_Level >= .15;
If Yearly_Salary >= 100,000 then
Self_Esteem = "Now I'm worth something!!";
Else if 50,000 <= Yearly_Salary < 100,000 then
Self_Esteem = "I guess I should count myself lucky...";
Else if Yearly_Salary < 50,000 then
Self_Esteem = ______;
Var Hidden_Meaning = "Jeez, you're really laying it on thick with the salary stuff";
Where Age >= 65 and Yearly_Salary = "Whatever's left of Social Security";
Var Cynical_Being =
(Why_Did_It_Have_To_End_Like_This * Years_Hiding_In_Plain_Sight )
Proc sort data = Old_Man out = Old_Man_On_Deathbed nodupkey;
Merge Old_Man_On_Deathbed (in = a) God (in = b);
If b and not a;
Copyright © Yoni Dvorkis | Year Posted 2009
The sea was unusually wavy,
When a cook in the Royal Navy,
With a roll of the ship,
Inundating his captain with gravy.
Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2005
May I please say before we start
that I am PERFECT for this part?
It's in my SOUL.
You might as well go lock the door,
cuz right here's what you're looking for.
I AM this role!
But why take chances? Just in case,
I've put plans B and C in place.
(So I'm not not stiffed)
Lets just say I have money, dear.
Who couldn't use a twenny here?
*wink*.... catch my drift?
Need more to prove that I'm no slouch?
Just show me to the casting couch.
THAT talent's free...
No - thank YOU, Sir!! When's best to call?
I just KNEW once you'd seen it all...
Oh............... You'll call ME...?
Copyright © Lycia Harding | Year Posted 2015
I do not know?
(This is a fictional poem)
A 94 year old woman kicked my ###.
She beat the crap out of me and left me bleeding on the grass.
Every time I got up, she knocked me down again.
She beat me really hard and I sure as hell didn't win.
The fight started when she asked me to put out my cigar.
I told her that I'd shove it up her vagina and I guess I went too far.
When she got through beating me, I had lost most of my teeth.
Now people laugh at me and all I feel is grief.
Copyright © randy johnson | Year Posted 2007
A true story.
Here I was,
23 or 24...
Classed an "Executive"
NYC Dept Store Chain,
"Executive" label meant
I could work overtime
For one half of my normal salary...
But a fool sees stars
Where he should see crime
Promoted "Furniture Buyer"....
Big Ticket spot....
They seemed out to prove
Smart I was not.
Big Furniture Market,
High Point, N.C.,
Invited out to dinner,
By big shot vendor....
Oh...whoop, whoop, yea!
Of course, my stuffy boss
In the next chair
At this odd restaurant...
"The Factory" it's name,
After that night,
I was never looked at the same....
Big shot, Big City....
It wasn't pretty....
The menu did start
Entrees priced more
Than my annual salary
And I'm confused
There's a boiler next to me!
So this Big City Buyer,
In his $99.00 suit
Ordered a shrimp cocktail,
Oh, what a hoot!
Like Studio 54
I had no idea
What I was in for!
Got my shrimp cocktail,
Oh, I do love my shrimp!
But the lemon wedge,
Was wrapped up
My mind now a' crimp
In this decorative yellow stuff,
All fit with a bow....
How do I open it, I wondered...
I wanted to know...
But I'm a Big Shot NYC Buyer,
Sure, I've seen it all....
How dare these dumb hicks...
Have such a gall!!
I took my fork,
I took my knike....
I started trying to open
This thing like....
It meant my very life!
I was struggling,
And frustrated and mad
Got some of the weirdest looks
I ever have had...
These Carolina Hicks...
Out to make a fool of me...
Slowly I realized
Everyone looking at me...
My boss's eyes swollen
How dumb his young buyer
Should be in a cornfield
And call himself "Town Crier"
Eventually I learned....
This stuff was called
Ridiculous I thought...
No cheddar or swiss
Like this had I ever bought...
In silence I remained
Through the rest of my meal....
To me the biggest embarrassment
To me the biggest deal....
Big City Hot Shot Buyer...
Dumb as a farm hand.....
Put in a Manhattan restaurant...
Without but a strand....
Of what was, what wasn't
Of how, and of why...
All I wanted to do
Is to crawl under a rock
(This is true!!!)
Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2008
I do not know?
Well it's the reason for tears on your face
Well it's the reason for no embrace
Well it's the reason for no sunlite skies
Well it's the reason for your frown
It's the reason you are so down
It's the reason you're no clown
The recliner is totally down
And it's no surprise
Tears coming from your eyes
Part of you has died
Lying on the carport
Waiting to be buried
With memories inside
If that recliner could talk
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2010
My nightmare is so tangible...so vividly I dream,
The dream, it feels so true to me...reality it seems.
Exhaust and smoke are all I breathe...the air is full of smog...
The job I do is thankless toil, but I work it like a dog.
There's mercury in the fish I eat...there're toxins in my food...
And drugs, they are a constant scourge...myriads for every mood.
Bipolar is my government...a house divided 'tis...
And corporations drive both sides...in the pockets of "Big Biz".
The icecaps, they are melting...the sea is rising, too.
Pandas, condors, polar bears -- empty cages at the zoo.
My money ne'er seems quite enough...I'm always out of cash...
My freedom fled when I wed my bride...(live I under the lash).
"Entertainment"? Reality TV...maybe some vampire shows...
Or idjits becoming household names for being beachfront "ho's".
People clamor "climate change" from the seats of S.U.V.'s,
And bitter news on the honey front...what's killing all the bees?
Politicians spending more...we go deeper in the red.
Opinions dressed as "news" abound...is journalism dead?
Cell phones are ubiquitous...conversation's endangered now...
And "Kardashians" are famous girls..but who knows why or how?
How strange my twisted psyche is t'make real what must be fake...
Now'f only I could find some way to get myself to wake.
Written on November 27th, 2012
By Daniel Beus (Rebel Sun)
Copyright © Daniel Beus | Year Posted 2012
Simple Mathematics, really.
To eliminate one component
To solve a problem quickly.
I’ll form the problem into a manageable state,
By easily eliminating an unwanted variable.
Now, just what variable to eliminate?
First, I will multiply the X by two.
That’s the first step. Done, I feel fine.
I will multiply the Y too.
Now, I add my X plus X.
My Y plus Y.
That was to make sure it checks.
Now here’s the predicament (easy my shoe!)
This is my problem,
And a real head-scratcher too!
The equation adds up nicely
And the X and Y are simplified.
But, how do I eliminate my algebra homework
Copyright © Laura Meese | Year Posted 2005
"Too young!", were the words, that everyone said
While working our way to get a degree.
First time on our own, and now, newlyweds
Plus, looking for jobs, yet happy were we!
In a brand new town, now, a brand new wife!
Pinching our pennies, and dollars much more
Hitting the sidewalk, .a busy new life.
Finally, a job found, at Rolf's Clothing Store!
Old geezers, would ask me "Would you help me, dear?"
Keeping composure, ..(must not crack a grin!)
"A suit, ...some undies: What size should I wear??"
My tape-measure panics,..(where to begin?!!)
Measuring inseams from crotch to the hem!
Is not a task, I'll be wanting again !!!!
11/12//14 For Sara's Contest: JOBS
Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014
I worked for a cranky old boss
who came to work always quite cross.
Finally found out,
he developed gout,
when stocks took a capital loss.
Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey
Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2011
Bob had a special talent
That only worked in his men’s store.
He had ‘clothing ESP’.
He knew what his customers wanted…and more.
When customer would come into his store
Bob would invariably say,
“Hello. I'm Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”
And he was always right,
Never missed a color, fabric, style or size.
He even knew the necessary alterations.
Customers couldn’t believe their ears and eyes.
Meanwhile, in another part of town,
Joe had a pounding, relentless migraine
For every minute for more than five years,
It had driven him near insane.
He’d lost his job to the pain.
Then, he lost his wife.
He had lost a lot of weight and rarely slept.
Yes, his was a miserable life.
And, of course, sex was out of the question…
Even a little self-abuse.
There was nothing left for Joe but pain.
He felt his life was of no use.
So, Joe went to his doctor.
“Doc, please help me end this pain.
Give me something to make me sleep
And never wake up again.”
“You know I can’t assist your suicide.”,
Then he looked sad, perhaps ashamed.
“I never dreamed it would last five years,
But I know how to end the pain.”
“You can make it go away?!
Tell me, Doc! What’s the word?”
“I’ll have to remove your testicles.”
Was the last thing that Joe heard.
But…when he came to, it struck him.
Sex was out of the question anyway;
But he might enjoy his meals again,
And he could sleep for days.
“Please check me in, Doc.
This opportunity I cannot shirk.”
So, the doctor removed his testicles.
He did his very best work.
A few days later, Joe waddled along,
Headache free and feeling pretty nice;
But every attractive woman he saw
Reminded him of his sacrifice.
He decided it was appropriate
To do something nice for himself for a change.
So, he went into a travel agency;
And a six month cruise he arranged.
As he left the travel agency,
He was excited, feeling ready to go;
But for such a glorious adventure,
He would need new clothes.
As he walked along, he saw Bob’s Men's Store.
He walked in, only to hear Bob say,
“Hello. I’m Bob. Don’t say a word.
I already know what you need today.”
“How could you know?” asked Joe.
“It’s a gift. I don’t know how, but I do.
You’ve suffered five years with an ailment,
Found relief, so now you’re taking a cruise.”
Joe could not believe his ears.
How could this stranger possibly know?
"You're right! That's amazing!
And I'm going to need new clothes."
Bob then laid out a fabulous wardrobe
All the right colors, fabrics, styles…and each size.
Joe was incredibly impressed.
He could hardly believe his ears and eyes.
“How do you like the wardrobe?”
“It’s wonderful!” Bob could see that Joe was pleased.
“Now,” said Bob, “What about undergarments;
You know…shorts and tees?
Let’s see…medium crew neck tees, all cotton.
I believe that you prefer white….
And jockey shorts, all cotton…. 34s.
Yes, I'm sure that’s right.”
Joe beamed, “You’re an amazing talent
And I just this second realized,
You've laid out this entire wardrobe
And only missed one size.”
Bob, surprised by his mistake, asked, “Really?
What did I miss? I did my best for you.”
“Well…you’re right.” said Joe, “I do wear Jockeys,
But…well…I wear 32s.
“Oh, no!” said Bob with an ugly grimace.
“That would be a serious mistake.
Thirty-twos will cramp your balls,
You’ll get migraine headaches.”
Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014
You’ll never guess whom the cat drug in; have a day where you just couldn’t win?
He came strutting in, smacking his gum loud, dressed to the nines Goth Punk style.
Tats trailed down his left arm, with my notice, he said, saving up for the other arm.
When ask about drugs, his answer to me was: “Yes, I’ll share” most invitingly…
Metal adornments on ears, nose, and lips, didn’t want to know, the all of it, at this.
As I noticed, he smiled most cattily, asking: ‘Want to see where else they might be?’
Hair a Mohawk with a trail down his back, colors of the rainbow, left nothing to lack.
Steel studs on a black leather butt, said, ‘Bite Me!’ with each and every staged strut.
What are you kidding?… Do my eyes me deceive, or did he just make a pass, at ME?
No Way! I’d rather drop kick him from my office fast, didn't he have any real class?
The application, a Sales Manager Job. Who would try to send me over the deep end?
Bet it had been a practical joke, beginning to end, so I simply held on, my friend.
He must've read my face, forhe smirked, I continued to ask for his list of experience.
His experience was none, but he said he managed his I-tune collection, very well.
Of course, he was the Leader of his ‘Chat Room’. I wondered, ‘Who could tell?’ GEE!
Also an impressive set up on his Facebook page, for his innumerable video games.
I ask how he was qualified for ANY job? Said, Dad ‘THE CEO’ wanted him employed.
I verified this with a call, was told not to be too Harsh, he had Potential, after all...
Ask what job he wanted to give his son? ‘Let him chose himself’, came the real clue!
Ask him, what job he really wanted to do, ‘VP in charge of Recreation’ was imbued.
Said he'd check out all the great places, in his Dad’s fancy Porche. Honestly True!
I kid you not! And he wanted his girlfriend, made into his secretary, Yah! No Doubt!
Believe it or not, he got all he thought he was due. All approved by the CEO’s! True!
Just when I thought things couldn’t get any better… I began to really reconsider…
Really, who had been clueless… It hadn’t been him!… Which left me in a dither…
Knowing I just couldn’t win! I’d be glad when this day was finally, truly, done…
The kid had probably thought this a great joke on me from beginning to the end!
My perfect job, had just come undone! Apparently, being in HR isn’t always fun!
My college degree, that took so much sacrifice, no longer sparkled, so much to me.
Boy did I now WISH, I was a CEO’s SON! As I simply got all the paper work done.
Later, I saw the family portrait on the CEO’s desk. Lucky me! One down!…
Only eight more to go!
Carol Eastman and Hubby
Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2013
Your own successful biz,
that's what your best job is!
Copyright © Volodymyr Knyr | Year Posted 2014
Housework what a chore
I refuse to do it any more
My poor hands have blisters
And my hands are sore
Oh my what a bore.
The more you do
The more you find
It's such hard work
And I don't have the time.
Some peoples houses are like a show room
Mine A sty
Think I was born without the tidy gene
I'm just a man who doesn't clean.
Antique pizza found under the coach
But how I wish I had a tidy house
Piles of books everywhere
If anyone came they couldn't find a chair.
I tried housework some years ago
But what I let myself in for I didn't know
I bought every cleaning substance known to man
I stood proud with a mop and bucket in my hands
You used to be able to look out of the windows and see the trees
I cleaned and scrubbed on my knees
I threw loads of stuff away. It seemed I was cleaning night and day.
Oh how I hate throwing things away
I keep everything thinking
It will come in handy one day
But it never does.
Oh won't someone come and clean for me
I can't help it I'm such a busy bee.
A man's work is never done
Not because we do any
Because it's far from fun
No we just think about it
And think some more
Oh why is housework such a chore.
''Not a true story, but I avoid it as much as poss''.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. July.
And now I'm sat here tired frustrated
In my apron and rubber gloves
Copyright © Peter Dome | Year Posted 2014
Yet he lets bad things happen
How can he exist?
Copyright © Dan Keir | Year Posted 2013
There once was a proud Aries like me,
whose impatience kept from being free.
But all my pride inside
never had the chance to hide
the goal of winning confidently!
Copyright © Brandee Augustus | Year Posted 2010
How useful it is to know what's useful,
Better still when and where to apply it.
To get the two together properly is hard,
Which is why learned people seldom try it.
Copyright © William Masonis | Year Posted 2012
Lookin' after pests
Keepin' a CLOSE eye on 'em
"Those wild animals!"
Roamin' around zoo
Searchin' for sneaky monkey
Hidin' in a tree
Zookeeper gets mad
"Where's Marty, the smartypants!?"
"He TOOK my cage keys!"
Copyright © J. W. Earnings | Year Posted 2013
My life has been varied and long
at many things I failed.
Aged seven I wanted to be a train driver
but that idea was soon derailed.
I trained to be an Olympic athlete
came last in every race
I studied to be a lawyer
and lost my every single case
I left my job as a crane driver
on the day I was hired
My stint as a Gigolo
left a lot to be desired.
I applied to be a hotel porter
but was told there was no room
and my time as a concert pianist
was distinctly out of tune.
So I became a writer
and dream my time away
I can be who or where I want
whilst staying in bed all day.
Copyright © Ken Duddle | Year Posted 2012
When tired from sweeping with the storebought broom
I'd lean against not wanting to resume
Momma said, "Nusing your bab?"
I would sweep, under breath crab
Now would love to hear her say, "Clean your room!"
(Momma would say nusing not nursing..Bab is instead of baby..)
Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2011
I do not know?
Copyright © Andrew Gallagher | Year Posted 2008
outstretched crows flying frenzy
Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2010