Poem | |
There aren’t too many jobs that kids can do
when they are in their pre-teen years, but we
knew of a place to work where berries grew.
To pick them was a job of misery.
In June, my siblings and I went each day;
into a field with hats and pails we’d go!
On hands and knees, through dirt we’d crawl our way
while picking berries up and down each row.
I still recall the rock ‘n roll we played -
our only pleasure as we all perspired
in Iowa’s damp heat, away from shade.
When we were through at last, we felt so tired.
No smaller pay have I since ever got.
But how I loved the treats that money bought!
More great poems below...
Poem | |
At the window, palms under my chin,
such beauty I see, out the frosted pane,
I was mesmerized, it showed in my grin,
so picture perfect, the snow covered lane.
My daydream was dashed, Mom called from the door,
"time to brave the cold and clear the sidewalk,"
grabbed my winter coat and boots from the floor,
I hate this chore, but knew not to back-talk.
"Don't slip on the ice, watch out for the plow,"
I hear, as orange shovel meets concrete,
shouldn't the county have this done by now?,
this takes all day, with snow piled up in feet.
Why freeze for allowance, I'll never know,
yet, I still find myself shoveling snow.
November 18th, 2014
Sara Kendrick's contest - "Jobs"
Poem | |
Still the Worst Job Ever
How do I hold thee, let me count the ways.
I hold thee trembling, beneath kitchen sinks
crouched in the darkness of the brightest days
guiding thy beam as his patience shrinks.
I hold thee dulled by lightning’s fearsome flash
shakily awaiting unseen anger
tortured by the inevitable crash
intrigued by the neediness of danger.
I hold thee wide eyed in dirt-floored cellar
your flame slow flickering on edge of sight
dimming through the range of yellowed color
draining the darkness from a darkened night.
I hold thee, for my brothers all have fled
I hold thee, not knowing what they dread.
Submitted for - Sara Kendrick - Jobs – Poetry Contest
Poem | |
I fight my sleep in a drain.
Oh ! My brain why art thou so vain.
I glow at night when the city sleeps.
To my dears who weep.
Tales aren't glowing at this end.
You lucky to choose the path you trend.
I am a glow worm of the bountiful sky.
I weave silk with my words each night,
Which fades in the darkness of the waving dream.
I wonder the worth of it all.
A vain pursuit, I say.
My soul is in that cave...
Pity! Warm breeze take me away to the morning light.
Let me fly through these strum less clogs of wheel.
Drudgery breeds it's contempt.
Amaya! Shower on me thy calm to tread the brightest star.
(A poem for those who work at night)
Contest:- Any poem under 15lines#2
Sponsored By:- A Poet Destroyer
Poem | |
B.C. has been the acronym applied
for all events before out dear Lord’s birth.
Who knew another god would change the tide
and wield a power of great global worth?
To what do I refer? Or have you guessed
the god to which we each now bow our head?
No matter our religion, all are blessed
with this thing vital as our daily bread.
It took away the jobs of common men
and gave new jobs to geeks. You now must know
this god of our new world, who loves all sin
as well as good, has nothing it won’t show!
I think “Before Computers” seems a way
to say A.D. became a new B.C.
Now things have changed so much that I would say
that my own past is ancient history!
Before Computers, life was not so fast,
and even in the 90’s I could keep
abreast of news and make my free time last.
High-tech today both makes me thrill and weep!
More time for family, a slowed down pace,
more time for God; I weep for things we’ve lost.
yet thrilled am I to see the human race
now bonding. But we do it at what cost?
Our children growing lazy, rude, and fat
and less connected, addicts to a phone!
To play outside. . . . Do you remember that?
B.C. meant doing more things on your own.
With jobs, our kids and all our lives at stake,
we now embrace our new computer age,.
Omitting our true God is the mistake
that might well do us in; we must be sage!
Recall the values getting left behind
as into this computer age we cruise.
Look back to decades past and you will find
B.C. had greatness that we must not lose.
For Deb's Contest (B.C. = Before Computers)
More great poems below...
Poem | |
They call her big Gina
You'd know if you seen her
She is a toilet cleaner
She wears a white smock
Armed with bucket and a mop
She likes to keep things clean
And is a real scrubber
If you know what I mean
She whistles as she goes
With disinfectant wafting under her nose
She replaces toilet rolls
And cleans the toilet bowls
She really loves her job
She has a cat called Doris
And a husband called Bob
Her job is dirty and often smelly
She has a tattoo of a toilet on her belly
At the end of the day
She puts her mop and bucket away
Goes home and has a shower
Then cleans the house within half an hour
Her husband makes her mad
Leaving the toilet seat up
She puts toilet water in his cup
Of tea to sup
She has a daughter called Pru
She dreams of being a toilet cleaner too
She doesn't care about the smell of poo
Just her dream comes true
We should all appreciate toilet cleaners
Just like big Gina.
''Warning! Toilet water in tea. please do not try at home.
could be dangerous and doesn't taste nice''.
Peter Dome.copyright.2014. Aug.
Poem | |
L-iving in a world of vast
souls formed from
another voided world,
E-ntering thru portals
from their world to earth.
O-ozing spetacular smell
and wail when the chips
N-urtured from cradle to
entity with a new world
O-rganizes oneself for the
task ahead,passing thru
hurdles of life unabased
R-eaps the fruit of labor
with joy or heavy heart.
A-ge sets in,mission
accomplished or not will
dawn on the entity.
I-n retrospect,he thinks
about his childhood and
how life was to him.
L-iving in confidence or
shame,he bows his head
in victory or defeat.
O-nly the taste of time
will tell the durability of
V-oid of preference the
aim result bears the
foundation for his lineage.
E-njoyment or lack lies
with the works of the
man,for there is no food
for the slothful.
Y-oung ones,a stitch in
time saves nine,make
haste while the sun
O-iling your lamb always
like the ten virgins is the
key to success.
U-rging you to shun peer
pressure and focus on
the course marked out
for you by fate,so a
fulfilled life you shall live.
An acrostic for you
Poem | |
First we have the Alphas
They're the ones that lead the pack
When something happens they're the ones that act
That's what alphas do
Next we have to Betas
They're the second in command
Other than the alphas all wolves they can demand
That's what betas do
Third we have the leader pups
They take over for their parents if anything happened
And the pack lines tehy extend
That's what the leader pups do
Last we have other pack members
They take the jobs that the leaders don't
They take jobs like babysitter that other's won't
That's what members do
Wolf packs can have many members
They are usually all friends
All taking care of each other
Because that's what wolf packs do
Poem | |
NIGHTINGALE'S SOUL LIGHTS
Plain spotless uniform so pure and white
Modest neat gear rendering tender loving fight
Day, night 'till wee hours, eyes a must wide awake
Extending a hand, shaking off all aches
Tiptoeing like a sly in and out of rooms
Dim ~ quiet same as white garden tombs
Grace under pressure upon first newborn's cry
Wiping tears from a gentle old man's dying eye
Evenings so dark and mornings so bright
Everyday a nurse sees life kaleidoscope lights
Despite some voice rudeness to foul remarks
Kindness,her soul's sweet perfume, larks
A nurse appears unfeeling firm when mankind bleeds
Within her are hidden soft golden beauty deeds
July 06, 2014
Poem | |
a hallway. offices. tinted sunlight.
people who have forgotten my name.
but i am here.
and then a room. and a meeting.
and i am unprepared.
“you’re up” says the leader.
and my lungs fill with heaviness as they all turn towards me.
my mind screams.
my throat locks.
and then a word fights through the scream.
and i breathe. and find a voice.
and then another word.
and a thought.
i am moving.
and eyes do not wander.
but the scream fights on:
they will find out.
i was connected at one time.
so the scream would fade.
but not now.
these many years later.
“we could use you again,”
he had said.
and i had relented.
but why? boredom? faith?
the scream of fear vs. the scream of isolation?
or a familiar voice dragging me back from madness.
“what have you been up to?”
he had asked.
and i had lied.
and now my mind all scrambled between work and stupor.
“what on EARTH are you talking about?!”
demands the one who should have taken over for me.
and the throat locks again.
and the scream rises up.
and he knows it.
but sympathy has no place here.
so i struggle with the scream.
and find the words to hide the Fraud
as he shakes his head in disgust.
and i remember why i left.
so i wade in the scream until i am done and take my seat.
and the scream that never dies whispers, “what else is there?”
Poem | |
TENDER LOVING TOUCH
Sponsor Judy Konos
Contest Name YOUR FOOTLE POEM
8:41 pm, April 04, 2015
Poem | |
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
Poem | |
Vampires suck, they drain my life
it feels like that in this god damn place
A pound of flesh I'm sure they'll take
but even then they won't be full
not satisfied until
I'm worn and I'm weary
they chip chip chip away
then I'm nothing but a shell
I wish I could enjoy this time
on the short path to the inevitable
A pension not too far off for some years of frailty
but what's the point shall I give up now
to stop the pain of being a zombie
I'll carry on because I'm programmed to
but the vultures, the leeches and parasites continue
to bleed me for my life
Poem | |
Inspirational poem.. Rising Golden red sun all its way..dedicated to all
of you guys..wrote by Mrs.Madhavi.Suyog.Pagare
The Rising Red sun
As like the charming moon and luminous star fades away.
It promises to send the dynamite sun shining in the sky.
Due to which oceano pearl glitters all the day.
Praying god for the happiness in all our way.
The morning sagas made me understand, Me and my vivacious life.
But When I look back and pick up the souvenir of my childhood. Its just nostalgic. Feel like to go back to the teenage. The sustained pain is the only option left that I can’t get those days of my innocence back.
All I could make up my mind and just say, move on. Just move on.
Ray of hope chimed my heart.
Because god gifted me Something and added in my cart.
Provided me and my sincerity towards work can’t depart.
From the very day uplifted to give a quick start.
The moment I realized the magnetising power of the sun.
Felt trust on it and renovated my life again by attenuating my pains.
Rest all I expect peace my thee.
Left with the ray of hope. Bless us MY god, My lord !!!!!
Poem | |
Steve Jobs, Apple’s Core
By Rick Rucker
I heard it, while driving home today,
I started crying, I shouted “No Way!”
The man that changed the World of Today,
Lost his battle, He has gone away,
He made the World of Tech very cool,
And other marketers, appear the fool,
I carry with me a smart phone,
And I am not alone,
A telephone of Today,
It is my computer, when I am Away,
I can check my stocks,
It even plays music that Rocks,
And, with just a tap,
I can buy another “app,’
He designed the iPad,
The best computer that some have had,
He managed the design of the Mac,
It changed our World to Technicolor, from Black!
I am an artist, so you know,
That for graphics, it was where I had to go,
With a PC, a troubled course I had to find,
My Mac just seems to read my Mind,
Steve saw the World in a different Way,
In 1984, he freed the World from Gray!
They said that Steve was tough,
Those that crossed him found it rough,
Despite their heartfelt pleas,
He brought Mickey Mouse, and his minions, to their knees!
Because he would not bend,
They saw themselves at The End,
In what seemed quite a shock,
They gave Steve almost all their stock,
All he had to give?
His animation, that let them live!
The World grew a little colder today,
Because Steve Jobs went away,
His company still carries the same name,
But, it was him that brought it fame,
And, I might say more,
Steve Jobs was Apple’s Core!
Poem | |
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
Poem | |
There once was an ambitious man named Eddie,
who wanted a job in the traveling industry.
The genie granted his wish,
but Ed never expected this;
an employer's note saying, "Welcome to the DMV!"
Poem | |
As the man on the roof, took two steps towards the edge, he was unexpectedly stopped by the sound of a bright and familiar voice, down below.
"I thought you were at work dad, watcha doing up there?", asked Daisy with a serious look on her face. He was hoping she wouldn't have to witness this, and was desperately thinking of ways around it, to explain his actions.
"I came home early, honey and well-- things will be a little bit different from now on, sweet pea... please, just go back inside"
She hugged herself tight as the autumn wind attacked her bare arms. It was freezing out here. And although she longed for her cocoa and wool blanket inside, daddy just wasn't making any sense.
"I'm scared... you always said that the roof was dangerous and--"
Her slightly panicked plea was cutoff by yet another familiar voice, though with an unusually angry tone to it, like the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard... but not quite.
"Charles! What on earth are you doing up there?", roared from what only could be Daisy's mother. The man on the ledge, sighed. Two problems arising in the span of a few minutes. There's just no way around this, if I'm gonna do this at all I gotta do it now! He thought to himself.
He took a couple steps back, inhaled a quick breath, and lifted his leg as if it sprint. While gritting his teeth and slamming his eyes closed he leaped off the edge into the blustery cold day. And in mid-air he hugged his legs tightly with his arms, creating an impressive cannonball shape.
A great whoosh sound happened, as the girls immediately raised their arms in defense of the coming splash.
"You just ruined your best suit!", said the woman, as the man lifted his head up from the icy chlorinated water, with a mad grin on his face.
"Well it looks like I won't be needing it anymore."
"You mean, you-- Oh Charles, what are we gonna-- Oh Charles," she incoherently blabbered on.
"It's alright dear, something will come up. There's a whole world of possibilities now," he gestured with his arms at the general area of their front lawn. "I'll do something else, something better even. A detective, an archaeologist, an astronaut--"
"Or maybe an Olympic diver!", shouted Daisy contentedly.
"Anything's possible," he chuckled. And on that note, they left their front lawn, while half a dozen anthills fended against the unexpected flooding. And as they walked through the front door of the house, they were uncertain to keep, they all held hands, and spent the rest of the afternoon playing board games.
Late at night when everyone else was asleep, he walked in his pyjamas and gazed through the window. The pool was mirror-flat, filled with silver moonlight, and autumn leaves were casually floating on its surface.
A good day, Charles thought. Today was a good day.
Poem | |
Coping With Hard Economic Times
By Elton Camp
Each new generation was richer than the one before
But it looks like that will never be the case anymore
It seems young families might as well expect to see
What economists now describe as the “new reality”
Their parents came to have a house and a nice car
It will be hard for most young folks to go that far
The jobs that are available have become very few
And of a type that only minimal wages are due
Benefits largely have become a thing of the past
As have pensions that an entire lifetime will last
Many jobs that were available to Americans before
Have now be “outsourced” to some foreign shore
Most manufacturing plants have now been closed
So China can dominate the market, unopposed
Even if people, more are quite willing to pay
Little is found that has been “Made in the USA”
Poem | |
I worked in a bowlin' place settin' pins,
Tryin' not to let a ball break my shins!
In those days of yore, pins were set by hand,
And you had to hustle to beat the band!
I was around fourteen when I was hired,
And was around fourteen when I was fired!
The boss man paid me fifty cents per hour,
'Til one night our relationship went sour!
I advised him where he could stuff the job!
Said he, "Find another line of work, Bob!"
Couldn't face workin' there 'til I retired.
Found work pumpin' gas when I was rehired!
8 November 2014 - Entry for Sara Hendrick's "Jobs" Contest
Poem | |
My place of work they used to call ”Ma Bell”
As switchboard operator, “number please”
Became my tool of their “advanced intel”
With wires and plugs held to connect parties.
Three days a week from three to ten, my job
Was set; with school next day, I soon burned out.
My arms and back were sore, began to throb
From stretching here and there and all about
To find and reach, connect the lines between
The callers and the called through panel holes.
Soon tired and aching with this job routine
I knew this one would never meet my goals.
No doubts about my choice have haunted me…
Switchboards dissolved with new technology!
© Sandra M. Haight 2014
All Rights Reserved
Sponsor: Sara Kendrick
Poem | |
The New Job
Dr. James E. Martin
He started his job at six,
He was ready to enter the mix.
He lost it as seven,
Not his view of heaven,
So now it is back to the sticks.
Poem | |
The sound of a hundred singer machines filtering the factory air
Middle aged women, immigrants struggling for honest days work
The quiet assumptions is in their eyes that say it all, “this isn’t fair”
But to a fifteen year old, a temporal worker, it’s her eyes that lurk
This can be a bridge, a respite from her school work, a summer learn
One that leaves her going home smelling of dusty fabric and cotton
Little nimble fingers learn to sew in the dark, while the sun burns
Outside, in the park, she lays her head on a bench small time pawn
Now as I look back at that summer I spent at Chabanel rue St. Michel
I realize that I measured ever job to that brave one, when I sewed on
Life’s journey’s are full of jobs that come and go, what I wouldn’t sell
Is the memory of that first endeavor, because it made me so strong
Making me appreciate the other jobs I did with a lifetime of success
And those that didn’t well they taught me how to work under duress
December 05, 2014
Poem | |
Babysitting little kids
when I was just a teen,
tore my sanity to shreds
for some were quite obscene.
Changing a dirty diaper,
wiping a runny nose,
cleaning up crumbs and spilled milk,
chores I would not have chose.
Despite the utter chaos
some could be rather sweet
'specially when I tied them up
by little hands and feet.*
I told myself I'd never
have small ones of my own -
I'm thankful I changed my mind
now that I am all grown.
*of course, I never tied up any children,
but the thought may have crossed my mind.
For Sara's Jobs Poetry Contest, 11/14/14
Poem | |
Help me son, help me daughter, help this old beggar,
Give a coin, give some water, help this blind creature.
Help this aged, come to aid, help this downcast blind,
Draw your hands, off you pockets, mix your hands, combined.
Lacking sleep, bloody hunger! I'm pale and dying,
Ten rupees! quite some offer, at least start trying.
Lovely girls, my harmless kids, can't you see their plights,
They dream about shining prince, don't they have their rights.
Start giving at least something, shall we have some trust,
A coin, two or ten like him, something kind and just.
Hear me all, hear this cripple, hear this handicap,
Please be kind and please do mind, ah! coin on his lap.
I'm poor and deep in trouble, help this old cripple,
My legs were great, not again, I'm week and brittle.
Holding stick, without pleasure, I don't have a home,
Finding space, seeking treasure, kids are left to roam.
Share a coin or one or two, quench my thirsty lips,
Old ladies, beautiful girls, let me have some chips,
So let me beg, earn my right, give me something great,
Ten or more or what you have, something for my gait.
Who is there, is he begging, Is he robbing me?
Go and beg anywhere out, you can't beg near me.
Can't you see that I cant see, don't you be absurd,
I came first, so he should leave, he should speak no word.
This is train, so I can beg, I shall take what's mine,
You can't brawl and make me stop, now you stop your whine.
They are souls, some nice people, they won't make me leave,
You should stop, zip your lips or they will make you leave.
Blind and cripple, are they ill, what more should we see.
You are right they ain't so good, let them stop and flee.
Look, its great, to see them fight, beggars fighting each.
Hey! stop, what are you doing? don't you bark and preach,
You are ill and more than them, you should be more kind,
What they do, shall not matter, you should sit behind.