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Work Sun Poems | Sun Poems About Work

These Work Sun poems are examples of Sun poems about Work. These are the best examples of Work Sun poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

Details | Cowboy |

On Juno Ranch, A Cowboy's Day

If you'd have lived and worked on Juno Ranch, you’d have come away better for it. It 
may not have seemed like it at the time but Pancho (Uncle Frank) would put it to you, an’ it 
was for you to decide to do it, what to do with it, or to fight. The motto was, “You either work 
or fight, there ain’t no quittin’ on this-here ranch.”

     Pancho cultivated a reputation as a living legend in his fifty-some years in the Devil’s 
River country of the Texas frontier. He loved his life, family, work and felt plumb lucky to be 
livin’ it. He believed there was art in every undertakin’ an’ practiced the highest standards in 
dealin’ with any an’ all comers. He savvied horses, cattle an’ the land; and death was just the 
gate that opened into higher pastures.

     Ride 'em Pancho!


The cowboy wakes before each dawn With blurry eyes n'a mournful yawn; Gets breakfast down, just bacon'n eggs, An' biscuits dunked in coffee dregs. He feeds the stock some oats an' hay In growin' light of break o' day. Then Pancho comes an' rigs a hoss, An' chews his butt, 'cause he's the boss. “The sun is up, you little bride! We're loosin' light! We gotta ride!” So they ride out to make their rounds In echoed clops of hoof-beat sounds. The sun is high 'bout half-passed noon, An' dinnertime is none too soon. He eats his beans an' taters fast, Then rolls a smoke an' rests at last. He dreams of how he'll spend his pay When he's in town on Saturday, An' where he'll go to have some fun With gals who'll laugh and call him, "Hun..." He gets his hat an' pulls it down, Forgets the dream of gals in town, Cause if he ain't just damn near dead, The work comes first on Pancho's spread.


Details | Narrative |

Gypsies and Others

This happened many years ago
when I was just a child.
Dakota was still a frontier state
and considered somewhat wild.

The caravan of Gypsies came
going from here to there.
I never learned from whence they came
or where was their great somewhere.

They drove wagons pulled by horses
and needed a place to park.
They came in as the sun went down, 
to be settled before dark.

Many farmers said Gypsies were thieves
and would not let them stay.
My Daddy with his tender heart
could turn no one away.

He gave them the big pasture,
to park their horse drawn vans.
It looked like a little city
with the lights from the caravan.

My daddy didn’t let his girls
go near where the Gypsies park.
My brothers went, had fortunes told
and considered it a lark.

They never stole from Daddy,
he and the leader had a pact.
And I don’t know if they were thieves.
It wasn’t proven fact.

And then there were the working men
who walked our country lane.
We called them tramps, but they were men
who looked for work in vain. 

They came to work the harvests
and with harvesting all done,
they had no money to get home,
They walked from sun to sun.

Gypsies, tramps or common thieves,
my mama fed then all.
She said they were God’s children,
or some angels come to call.

She’d fix an over flowing plate
and set them on the stoop.
We never missed an egg or chicken
from our big chicken coop.

Written:  April 2012


Details | Light Poetry |

Sunshine Superman

There’s something wrong with the sun you see,
I need you to go up there and fix it for me.

You’ll need to put up a ladder to the clouds and climb,
And then work your way up to the sun from behind.

Whatever is wrong with it, I know you’ll fix,
I’ve seen your work and I know your tricks.

You’ll know what’s wrong when you get to the place,
Just take some tools for your trip into space.

And then in the morning when I wake up I’ll see,
The sun will be shining in my window on me.


Details | Bio |

Citizen on Patrol

It’s 5am, and the alarm clock screams
As I reluctantly open my eyes 
Starting my day with a regimented routine
Before the sun even begins to rise.

As I dawn my vest and uniform of blue
And pin the silver badge upon my chest,
I pray that I return home safely to you
And yes, I promise I will do my best.

Some call me a hero, others call me a pain
Because I’ve sworn to protect and serve,
They think that I do it for some kind of gain
Not realizing that it takes a lot of nerve.

To stare into the face of a person with a gun
Praying you don’t have to pull the trigger,
I can certainly tell you that it isn’t fun
And there’s a lot of emotional rigor.

Sometimes I feel like I can’t do it anymore
As I kiss my wife and walk out the door,
But then I realize that I’ve given my pledge; 
To face all hardships and walk that razor edge.

It’s 5am, and the alarm clock screams
As I reluctantly open my eyes 
Starting my day with a regimented routine
Before the sun even begins to rise.


Details | Narrative |

Coal Miners

From sun up to sun down, they worked all day,
but down in that hole they always slaved,
light from a lantern, is all they had,
and quitting time really made them glad.
Coal dust covered them from head to toe,
and year after year it hurt them so.
No other jobs could be found back then,
Sons, and fathers, enemy, and friend.
Safety standards were not the best back then,
time was the enemy of the coal miner men.
Cave-in's were common in that cold wet tomb,
where they spent their days, surrounded by gloom.
Times have changed, things are better today,
but still they are in danger, no matter how safe.

 


Details | Senryu |

sunrise

sunrise
pain breaks loose 
business as usual


(a bottle called Aleve)


Details | Narrative |

Seasons, Work, Music, Dreams

'Morn sky, Spring love, Summer dreams,
Winter chill. Listen to the cloud covering.

Fall deep into fallen leaves, raked
By slumbering winds. Fields of white
Cotton picked in summer sun by Negro
Slaves - peaches by the migrant hands.

Dixieland band plays on for workers.
Sing along, soulful music. Mexicans
Have a more upbeat style. Jazz in 
New Orleans in the Spring. Ah, peace.

All seasons man works to the beat,
Heat of the sun and wind. Then rainfall.
Call to the morning sky. Ask why not?

It's got to be time for planting and
Panting up a sweat. No regret I forgot
To mention again sweet Summer dreams.