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Best Work Poems

Below are the all-time best Work poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of work poems written by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Work Poem |

Response of A Harried Housewife To Her Spouse

“The children are always interrupting. You never have time for me,” her husband whined as he dropped his dirty clothes right there on the floor by the bed. Trying not to roll her eyes, she gave this quick response to her disgruntled spouse: “The kids, chores and mishaps have me spinning, and you tell me you feel rejected. To have a blissful home takes two. Consideration is key. I’m also missing you! To be successful in our bed, take time OUT of it. . . for ME!” A Double Etheree written May 27, 2012 for David Williams' The Three H's Poetry Contest


Details | Work Poem |

Faith, Trust and Irony

She's dressed in freshly laundered scrubs,
a floral top and pants pale blue.
There for a moment to hand me a gown,
and tell me what to do.

As I'm getting undressed, she checks on a man,
he's in the room right next to mine.
He's crying in pain and begging for help,
I hear her tell him that he'll be fine.

A few moments later, the crying has stopped,
as she leaves she turns out his light.
Whatever she did, it's done the trick,
he'll be able to sleep tonight.

She's back with me now and with her this time,
she has her tools in tow.
It's 3 in the morning and she must be tired,
but if she is it doesn't show.

Thermometer ready to check my 'temp,
lift my tongue and tuck it under.
As she wraps the black cuff around my arm,
I watch her and I wonder.

Working twelve hour shifts,
three days off then four days on.
Has she a husband or any children,
who miss her when she's gone?

Does she like cooking or singing?
Does she paint or like to read?
The needle, she pricks me, with such precision,
I hardly even bleed.

My IV's in place, my medicine given,
she says goodnight with eyes so kind.
Just as I'm drifting off into sleep,
a thought suddenly enters my mind.

To this woman I leave my health in her hands,
a serious matter, this isn't a game.
It strikes me as crazy just how much I trust her,
when all I know of her is simply her name.

By~Michelle Lacey


Details | Work Poem |

A Woman's Work Is Never Done

"A Woman's Work Is Never Done",
a phrase that's often heard.
There's a lot of truth that's hidden,
just in those few words.

She has to cook and clean the house
and get her youngsters off to school.
She does the laundry and the shopping
and teaches kids the "Golden Rule".

She drives them to the movies
and attends their school events.
She satisfies her husbands needs,
her life is real intense!

She asks for little in return,
she just does what must be done.
She feels it's all the woman's job,
and sometimes, it's even fun!

So kudos to those women.
Let's stand and give a toast.
They accomplish all these many tasks,
for the folks that they love most.

Next time the phrase is uttered,
"A Woman's Work Is Never Done",
pray that God will bless them all,
each and every one!

Many thanks to all you ladies.
God bless each and everyone of you.




Details | Work Poem |

My father is a Soldier

My father is a hero.
He stands so tall and proud.
His hands are firm, But gentle.
He stands out in a crowd.
People stop to Thank him.
For Freedom he does fight.
My father is a Soldier.
But he's my Dad at night!


Details | Work Poem |

New Deal

New Deal

Black Tuesday
     October 1929
     Vanishing wealth; stocks decline

Great Dust Bowl
     Windstorms and drought, top soil gone
     Breadbasket empty; nature’s con

FDR
     He’s the man, New Deal imposed
     Opportunities renewed; hopes rose

New Deal Reigns
     Work offered by the CCC
     Saves the lost American dream

Recession Echo
     The winter plunge 2009
     Who will save our dreams this time?

Reality Knocks
     Frustration with Congress, current events
     November elections a time to vent

New Deal Needed
     Americans looking for leadership
     Power from sheep about to be stripped



*For Constance, a Rambling Poet’s “Create your own form, maybe?” contest
By Carolyn Devonshire
I work frequently in this form that I choose to call “Headline Couplets.”  It includes a 
headline followed by rhyming couplets that address the concept, person or event in 
the first line of three-line verses.  Probably inspired by my years as a journalist.


Details | Work Poem |

Doctor Ram: The Soup's Golden Voice

our beloved brother from India Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold board his magic carpet woven with wit, intellect and insight soar through sagas steeped in mythology captivating revelations on cultural tradition unique perspectives on historical events clever concepts conveyed with humor psychology, philosophy, behavior observations materialize as “Mehtaisms” stirring the soup adding spice to the broth supporting work of members new and old our international melting pot enriched by the work of a Literary Doctor salute a special sage who graces us with gifts Dr. Ram’s words are better than gold
* Dedicated to Dr. Ram Mehta in honor of Joe Maverick’s “Better than Gold” contest


Details | Work Poem |

Sweet Purpose

I have come to the point of decision
And I have decided in favour of love

Wisdom is not solely measured by experience
But more by capacity for it
I have glimpsed deep into history
I have sieved through its successes 
...for the soundest advice I could find
Most profound I have received from the greatest achievers in its archives

I am a Student of Life
I am a Wordsmith of Optimism 
And I am a Mason of the Castles of Dreams
This Trinity of Purpose for me goes hand in hand, side by side
Each benefits the other
Issue is, they set me apart from the others

Here I am, young when I should be intoxicated with the fads of modernity
Fortified with skills that are eager to pay the ordinary wages 
But nay, I am not to be beleaguered 
I focus ahead to perceive the greater rewards at the summation of days
For I place most value on the greatest wealth: WISDOM and HAPPINESS

I have come to the point of decision
And I have decided in favour of love

I choose to commit my heart entirely
To the work I love best
For it is this calling that shall liberate the sanctity of my humanity
The world I dwell in fathoms not a shred of my quest
For it views life through the lenses of reality

True as it may be that my work suffices not to endow me 
...with common currency in these economic times
The rationale of my perception discerns far beyond this temporary mist

Let them roar their throats in laughter at my perceived stupidity
But it is their children and their children’s children that shall benefit most 
...From this shelter of thoughts and dreams that for them I build

I expect no immediate remuneration for my onerous undertaking
For I rationalize it as a selfless gift to humanity
Hence I shall tap deep within to give all can give
I am determined to build this Shelter of Thoughts and Dreams
I have the basic skills hence I commit my willingness and ingenuity
The Good Gods shall present the mortar and bricks

The fear of failure has been permanently exiled from boarding my being
As my eyes are fixated on the prize
I am ready to pay the price


Details | Work Poem |

The Place that Shaped Me

  I left my
  heart   in 
 a magical 
  place. A
  place that
  holds years
 of wonder and
 awe. A place that
 knows me  better
 than any  other place
  I’ve been.  This place
  has changed me and 
     molded me into the
       person I am now.
     The forests, trees, creeks,
    and open skies instilled in 
  me a  love for God’s  works. 
The harshness of the winters has 
taught me to be patient and to endure.     My  small
town is where I  learned the  small-town work  ethic;
you don’t get what you don’t earn  and earning what 
you want takes  a little bit of  sweat  and  tears. Here
I  learned  that  you  don’t  have  to  be  blood  to  be 
family.  Brothers  and  sisters  are  made  throughout
years of school together. We relied on  each other to
be happy. This place will forever  hold my heart and
soul. I  am a small  town  girl  through  and  through. 
It’s who I will always be. Forever. Thanks IDAHO
for  shaping  me  into  something  more  than  I  was.


Details | Work Poem |

Irresponsibility Day

5:11am
I wake up to my TV blasting episodes of Woody Woodpecker.

I wipe my encrusted eyes, which had a field day in that dream I had
Involving two Swedish women, a Latin princess
With curvaceous hips that could save me if I ever fell from mountain climbing,
A Sony boom box made in 1984 playing Duran Duran,
And empty boxes of Junior Mints, M&M Peanuts, & Cool Whip.

I walk to my front door to discover hundreds of blood lettered Post-It notes
Slid under by my friendly Mafia neighbors, 
“Turn that crap down or say ‘HOLA’ to my little friend! Woody sucks! ”

5:45am:
So, instead of apologizing, I grabbed my power drill
Which I bought off this Mexican guy named Bob
Standing in front of my local Home Depot,

I thanked each of my neighbors by drilling Wal-Mart smiley faces
Smoking Cuban cigars & holding Shotguns
Into their doors

At this point, I popped in some Belgian waffles & French Toast sticks
Into my Cookie Monster toaster oven and turned on the news.

What was I thinking?!

News reports on Sugar Daddies being harassed by stalking gold-diggers,
Another asinine Final Destination movie,
More teacher-student scandals,
Celebrity break-ups & pregnancies
Oh, how the sheep live vicariously through them

Where’s that damn noose I bought off Bob?!

610am:
To remove my early morning frustrations,
I turned on my Xbox 360 and popped in Guitar Hero
In which I jammed out to Stevie Wonder’s Superstitious
While performing Riverdance on my hardwood floor

The neighbors below me added a nice, rhythmic sound with their broomsticks.

7am:
After my Pilates workout, I decided to strip off my clothes
So I can feel FREE like a Tree-hugging barn swallow
And fill my bathtub with a bottle of Tickle Me Elmo Bubble Bath liquid,
Which I also bought off Bob

Shortly after, I yelled “THIS IS SPARTA!” and performed a belly flop into the tub…

2pm:
After waking up from my concussion, I laughed maniacally
With my face underwater
My laughs were heard through the popping bubbles rising to water’s surface

I passed out again with a drumming thud against my porcelain dreams.

7pm:
Second attempt at recovery, SUCCESS!

I gathered all my utility bills
A filled, plastic gas tank, another purchase from Bob
And a Jerry Garcia branded lighter

As inferno warmed my screaming loins,
Blasting John Lennon’s “Imagine” on my 8-Track,
The local Fire department sliced my front door
With titanium axe and an inscription: “Here’s Johnny”

As hundreds of angry firemen & neighbors stampede into my child-like day

*CLICK*

3pm, Day Unknown:
I awaken with lines imprinted on my Latin cheeks
From wooden office desk
Strange stares from coworkers
With “I’m all out of Love” playing on the faded, company radio

And a post-it note, “Come see me in my office”,
From Bob

©Drake J. Eszes


Details | Work Poem |

The Slum dwellers


There exists a world where the traffic lights don’t work…. Welcome to the Slums We the slum dwellers… The ones condemned at birth by virtue of our parents biting poverty The ones with no prospects, no options, no apologies This is our story…. Morning light ushers in a crude awakening to realities better left in nightmares. The dash to the community bathroom - for those brave enough to risk tainting by the oozing, bubbling faeces (provided of course that they have the cash to pay for the toilet) The rest of us make use of polythene flying toilets –woe unto anyone passing nearby. Forget about breakfast – meals are a luxury Next stop: Trek to the industrial area Goal: To find any work needing muscle and employees too poor to care about meager wages and industrial law. Sweat, sweat, and more sweat. Work overtime, without protective gear, without lunch break, without job security. And for what – peanuts. Hand-to-mouth: Live for the day. The wheel of poverty rotates at superhuman speed. Alighting equals death – death in the form of the way out - Boy child: Criminal gang Girl child: Sea of prostitution The only reprise comes from the misfortune of others. Siphoning fuel from a tanker, death is death is death, be it from petrol burns or starvation. Tapping electricity from faulty lines – it’s not as if the council will willingly connect us with the commodity. Being used as mercenaries by greedy businessmen and powerful politicians – work is work, right? Free primary education –don’t make me laugh. Rapes, murders, theft –just another day gone by. In a world where people are a rule to themselves, only one rule remains: Do what you have to do to survive another day. Period.


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