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Quatrain Work Poems | Quatrain Poems About Work

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

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Details | Quatrain |

Ready and Willing to Work

The job search continues, though unemployment has run out
For me, accepting a government handout set a precedent
If only the largest corporations are to qualify for bailouts
Then I’d like to shake up Washington and run for president

Not of the United States, no, I don’t want Obama’s job
But I’d like to take the reins of a business with some courage
To refuse taxpayer money like Ford, not GM on the rob
Like the public, I’d heal corporate wounds with my own bandage

Now I fill my hours volunteering for various causes
Senior centers and children’s groups show appreciation
Operating in the red, they are used to accepting losses
And in my heart I receive a different type of compensation

Copyright © Diane Locksley | Year Posted 2010


Details | Quatrain |

The Pirate's Life for Me

I starts me life as pirate, 
A grommet before age twelve,
Not an ordinary bandit,
High sea adventures me delve.

With a Letter of Marque in me han’
And the Commodore for me pa!
I spends dogwatch near the helmsman,
Nerey missin’ me bonny ma.

Old salts tell their gory tales,
Aye, dogs hanging from the gallows.
Punishments for a man who fails
Floggings or keelhaul; blood bath follows.

Scrimshaw hangin’ ‘round me neck.
A privateer by trade,
Flaunting booty on the deck
We’s the scallywags brigade.

Pirateering is me heartthrob.
I dreams schemes in the crows nest.
‘bout takin’ swag from an unfortunate swab.
I sits watchin’ pa from the crest.

Long nines aimed and ready,
Jolly Roger on the mainmast,
Headway fast and steady,
The enemy’s fate forecast.

One for all and all for one!
Drinkin’ grog an’ eatin’ grub.
Werkin’ on the “Morning Sun”
Me father at the hub.

Davy Jone’s locker, me final plight! 
Death drifting in me beloved sea –
Straightway from the dark of night
The pirate’s life for me!

© July 15, 2010
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |

THE AUTHORITY

Why can't she learn to do that right?
You'd think that she'd know better.
Someone should tell her what to do,
To hone her each endeaver.

What is he doing over there?
He should be over here.
He should be told where he belongs,
And make it very clear.

She never does as she is told,
Although I've tried and tried;
What she should do and how and when,
I took it all in stride.

I spoke to her, I spoke to them,
To bring her back in line;
But she is stubborn, wants her way,
But she will learn in time,

That I am right and she is wrong,
I'll teach her that I know,
Much more about her work than she,
I'll tell her where to go.

It seems my help and good advice,
Is just ignored and spurned.
I only want the best for all,
The best for all concerned.

I guess my help's unwanted,
But if 'twere put to test,
They all would see that I am right,
And my way is the best.



No matter where you go or what you do you're going to find some people in the world who think they know more about eveything than anyone else and they will do their best to force their opinion on everyone they come in contact with. Th ebest way to handle someone like this is to give them a wide berth. Stay aloof but friendly in a distant sort of way. However, don't hesitate to let them know you cannot and will not be bulllied because this type of person capitalizes on your weakness. Whenever they start something with you it's important to make sure everyone knows exactly what was said and done when it happens so you don't end up looking the fool instead of them. When they find out that instead of keeping quiet you will fight back using their own methods against them they will back off and leave you alone.

Copyright © Judy Ball | Year Posted 2011


Details | Quatrain |

Mama's Cleaning

That was the day we played all day outside
And ride imaginary stick horses around 
Shooting and shouting as if our lungs was rawhide
It was in imagination that the fun abound
That was the day the house seemed in disrepair
Furniture and boxes all out of place
Chaos reigned while mama cleaned everywhere
Leaving germ and dirt without a trace.

I thought of mama today as I watched you clean
Remembered how we would wipe our foot
On the little mat, but mostly could not dare go in
As if we were the grime or the cause of soot
Food would only come when mama took a break
But not before dark and howling belly turned
Play into night, and after the yard was swept and raked
Something about you in mama I'd discerned.

What was all that cleaning just to be clean, I ask
Or was it a search for something missing here
What deeper motive had the highly honored task
What coin, or sheep, or son hid behind the tear
What golden fleece or grail to you both have been lost
I know mama cleaning searched for meaning here
As if sin was something we could see like life's dross
As if to seek was the magic bullet for man's despair.

O something about you remind me of mama, my dear
And childhood comes rushing back in floods
Two sparse rooms and five pieces of furniture there
While we chased butterflies from dying buds
You are different though, for you have allowed us in
Watching our eyes to tell you of missing spots
But we just laugh and tell long tales while you clean
Life is too short to search or go connecting dots.

Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |

The Rose of Poetry

I see your work budding, like a flower each new day. Slowly blooming more and more, bringing color to a time that’s gray. Your colorful petals are amazing, the way you reflect the sun. And your beauty still remains, after the beauty of the day is done. For your work radiates, here on Poetry Soup. We are all poetic flowers; part of a big garden group. I am writing this poem, to the poetic flower you are. You glisten each new day, from way, way, afar. If life was a big garden, a flower you would be. With flourished poetic petals, named the Rose of Poetry. ______________________ For Belinda Parish a fellow souper for her supportive comments.

Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2009

Details | Quatrain |

My secret job

I have a strange job at work,
What I do is quite unique,
I do it each and every day, 
Every day of the long work week.

My job is to freeze all I see, 
Make time stop for everyone,
Then I go around undoing the bad, 
Wherever bad's been done.

And this makes my day stretch out, 
Becoming like a week, 
A week of silently fixing things, 
A week where no one can speak.

But, oddly, I’m not sure if my boss
Knows exactly what I do,
That I fix the bad stuff she does too, 
I don’t think she has a clue.

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2017

Details | Quatrain |

THE AMERICAN WESTWARD EXPANSION

The Quakers, being religiously persecuted, set sail from expatriated England;
they were the first settlers to reach the shore of New England: a free land!
Later the Puritans came and settled in other eastern, bustling colonies
seeking the same religious freedom, but their urge was stronger than dreams.


Many moved westward on foot, on horseback and on overloaded wagons...
exploring the American wilderness plundered by indigenous Indians;
they searched for grassland everywhere, to let their cattle roam and graze;
first they built wooden shacks on vast, lush prairies full of Queen Ann's Lace. 


And out of this American westward expansion, came the fearless pioneers,
who sought gold mines...despite the wild cowboys causing troubles
with heavy drinking and desire for unscrupulous women, seeking money and pleasure, 
who served them more whisky and lured them to a room with a demeaning measure.


Beyond the Rocky Mountains' and the Appalachians Mountains' skies,
these diligent pioneers obtained wealth with sweat and sacrifices...
changing and shaping the wild landscapes of arable land,
avoiding the drudgery of getting stuck in mud and sand.

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |

Women

You women
Know how to make 
The best of what you've got in you
You do it everyday in your life

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

Breathe

Breathe When the night claims you like a wayward leaf of old and it takes you to the caves where anything turns gold. You don't ask any questions and you don't dare breathe. You just follow her, like a light weight tumbled weed. Down the passages of dark, down the staircase of rune every step a little deeper than the crevices of moon, You can almost taste the air, on your tonguing clepe. You can down the stars of heaven in one single leap. Taking you by the waist it shall dance you through the elixir of happiness when your feeling down n' blue. You just thank the Lord for the magic of this gift. All you need is skin n' eyes to cross her lowly rift. When night claims you like a wayward leaf of old and takes you to her caves, all etched with gold. Don't ask her any questions just go ahead breathe. No, don't ask her anything at all, just breathe, yes, breathe... How your skin intermingles and your words interweave as your thoughts become one and your desires are seen! You don’t have the answers for the feelings within. You are so excited and your tension subsides as you breathe. The glow on the walls fulfills the dark. The hieroglyphic staircase reforms at once. The air is refreshing and you can savor the breeze. The stars are the luminaires that showcase what’s achieved. The hyperactivity dances your feet. A prescription of joy embraced so easily. The Almighty God had given wisdom matured. All-inclusive is the mind and you intuitive. The clamor of night is attentive. It takes your knowledge to the trees where you lay awake awaiting. Don’t question, just relax and breathe, yes, believe… ____________________________________________| Written for A Collaboration With Mystic Rose, Poem Entitled: "Breathe" - Poetry Contest on January 05, 2015! Mystic Rose is the first four Quatrains and "yes, breathe..." and Verlena S. Walker is the second four Quatrains and "yes, believe..." More so, for the total effect, read Mystic Rose Quatrain once again because she is creator and I am the collaborator .

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

The Morning Breezes

When morning breezes bring on the shivers,
and the thermometer is in the teens.
Your head stays buried under the kivers
while the farmer pulls on overall jeans.


When wafts from the kitchen wake your pleasure
with fond smells of bacon and egg victuals;
reflect on what great degree you treasure 
a busy farmer's early rituals.


The words shivers/kivers are examples of feminine rhyme, where the rhyme is not on the last syllable of the line.  Likewise in stanza 2:  pleasure/treasure and victuals/rituals illustrate feminine rhyme.

Copyright © Reason A. Poteet | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

Stereotype Enforced by a Storm

While I appreciate the vacation
it would have been better if it were paid.
Funds lessened by nature’s aggravation,
lends credence to the starved artist charade.

Copyright © Brittany Reynolds | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

Sitting in my Office

Sitting in my office
Papers scattered everywhere
Mid-term tests to type up
I've lost the heart to care

Sitting in my office
Reading some sweet rhyme
Wanting to write my own
But I'm so pressed for time

Sitting in my office
Typing fervently
No set theme in my mind
Just sharing part of me

Sitting in my office
Wish I could amaze
My words are all so...dead
Because I'm in a daze

Sitting in my office
Hoping my muse will bring
A dreamy gift of words
That makes hearts dance and sing

Sitting in my office
I let out a heavy sigh
Time to pack up and go
For now this is goodbye

Eileen Manassian

I know....Sometimes you just want to do anything but what you are supposed to do. You just want to give in your obsession to write....to taste and experience and live and breathe and live and live and live...and you're stuck in your office with deadlines looming over your head...wishing you were writing poetry tucked up cozy in your bed! :(

I'm in a crazy mood. See you all in a few hours when I'm rested. It's been a long day. Tomorrow is every longer.

Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Weaver's Gate

Not till the loom was silent
And the shuttle ceased to fly
When history unrolled the scroll
And reveals the reason why.
The darkest thread as needful
In the weavers skilful hand
As the cloth of gold and silver
Of an industrious ruin greed had planned.
No amount of corporate education
Could quell our simple brain
No grammar association
Yet unravelled the master’s pain.
They took away our ambition
Off shore was their devious plan
Tried so hard to pick our pockets
Yet our skill could clothe a man.
His call was for cheap labour
Some call it slavery
Now we buy at a thousand per cent
The product of knavery!

© Harry J Horsman 2015

Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Musicianship

Musicianship 
(3 May 2014;  For my son Steven, an ACCOMPLISHED guitarist)

Real musicianship can truly drive you nuts—
There really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.
Practice, study, memorize, then more practice--
Is this just an obsession or complete madness?

Learning chord inversions, arpeggios, and scales
Is like reaching Heaven by crossing through seven Hells.
It wouldn’t be bad if there were only a dozen majors,
But there’s also those other dozen minors.

What’s worse, it seems we’re never finished
Because there’s also augmented and diminished,
The major/minor/augmented/dominant sevenths.
And symmetrical double-flatted diminished sevenths,

And if this harmonic mess is not enough,
All those dissonant Jazz chords get really tough…
Such as the sustained seconds and fourths,
The sevenths add nines, sixths, blah-blah-blah, elevenths.

And if learning all this isn’t already extraordinary,
There’s music theory and music vocabulary.
Instead of just saying “get louder”, you have to “crescendo”,
Or for “fast” or “slow” you say “allegro” or “lento”.

Then there are names like Ionian, Dorian, Phrygian, 
Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian, and Locrian.
(All being modes derived from scale C-major,
Plus each major scale also has a relative minor)

Multiple pattern exercises on guitar fretboards
Are even worse than finger drills on piano keyboards.
Worse, the string tuning on a six-string acoustic guitar
Is not quite the same as on a 4/5/6/7-string bass guitar.

It’s hard to get up on stage and routinely play
That same song, for the umpteenth time, in an inspiring way.
No wonder musicians seem to all suffer manic-depression,
From trying to play a full sets with unique expression.

All the advances in music equipment and technology
Bless and curse musicians like two-edged swords, you see,
Because all this work they do to sound like a maestro or genius
Can be counterfeited on a computer by a musical ignoramus.

But computer geeks won’t ever find that special place,
That fugue-like subtle sacred state of grace,
Which for brief moments is like deep meditation.
No, that’s the forbidden domain of the real musician.

To suggest that musicians all are just “gifted” naturally,
Is the absolute superlative worst insulting irony.
Truly, real musicianship can drive you nuts—
No, there really are no “ifs”, “ands”, or “buts”.

Copyright © Mark J. Halliday | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

It's Elementary

The work I did was playing with the angels
We read and painted, dressed up for Halloween as rangers
The Universe so close from dry, paper mache
With older kids we even wrote an Etheree 

The work I did was traveling to Europe
With twenty of my students and an antelope
We colored windows facing the lights of Paris
and even opened a brasserie  "Gateau de Bliss"

So, Carolyn, you made me smile opening this album
When asking "Where the Wild Things Are? " Ka-boom!
Again it's "Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs"
...but empty are long gone  Elementary School halls...


www.scripca.com

Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2010

Details | Quatrain |

I'm Selling My Body To Science

My warm body's on permanent loan to Big Pharma;
I am chancing my health but could care less for karma.
All that money they pay is too good to refuse;
So with minimal risk I have little to lose.

Man, I shovel their food and I watch lots of cable;
And I gain as much weight as I'm possibly able.
I will sleep like Prince Charming awaiting a kiss
From young nurses so sweet their mere presence is bliss.

I can do what I want from pre-dawn to late night
Just as long as I don't give the staffers a fright.
I take nice, long hot showers until I'm beet red;
Some warm milk with six cookies, and then on to bed.

It's pure Heaven, I tell you, it's every man's dream;
You relax all the time, eat desserts with whipped cream,
Then you mark off each day as it languidly fades,
Blithely block out the world by extending the shades.

So work smarter, not harder, all you Type-A's out there;
And let stress be a kind of a fast fading nightmare
Out of which you've been wakened by a woman's soft voice
As she calls you to breakfast, and makes note of your choice.

Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

Compassion Abounds

Compassion does abound in this modern world we live
Where animal and man return ones love to give
An element we all do fear could have taken all their lives
But this was not the day, that fate could contrive

To enter a burning building where their lives take second best
Training and their bravery, a heroes form of zest
Within these darkened realms, aflame and spewing of smoke
Any life that's spared, we deprive the smoking choke

For outside this smouldering building lies a bundle of stirring rags
Blackened canine features, their lives in deadening flag
Whilst alone on the sidewalk a hero sits in thought
Despair hits his heart in helpless strained distraught

His head in his hands now lifted, stirred by whining sounds
Towards him walks the mother, he turns in total astound
Leaning down to pet her, compassion fills his eyes
She licks his face to thank him, all saved and so alive

Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2011

Details | Quatrain |

Wheels Rollin'

1 o'clock in the morning the alarm is loudly screamin'
I go wake up my brother who probably is still dreamin'
We jump in the car and the wheels start rollin'
Can't wait to pick up the papers and start strollin'

A smile planted on our face! The day is finally starting
The headlights shine bright! The animals are darting
Ah! Windows down breathing all the fresh air
My brother gathering papers with all of his care

Wheels steadily rollin down the road
Nothing is in sight, not even a toad!
Newspapers start soaring through the air!
Do I want this to end? No! I wouldn't dare

Starting to run out of papers as the sun is rising
Listening to the birds chirping is quite energizing!
I look over towards my brother to see if he is still awake 
Bless his heart! He has fallen to sleep, he really needed a break!

I throw the last paper and I began to yawn
The paper lands perfectly on that last lawn
Wheels rollin' as we head back to the beginning
Should this much fun be considered sinning?

Copyright © Becca Kock | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

There Tim Hortons

There a myriad of seats
that welcome you to sit.
There tables shining clean
meant to serve you for a bit.

There are monitors showing pictures
with their drinks hot and cold
There is food like their sandwiches
Some in zesty and in bold.

There are dozens of their donuts.
Many muffins and breads.
There are soups and their chili
served with butter and spreads.

There is coffee of all kinds.
Flavored hot, flavored cold.
There are some come with ice.
Some are mixed; so I'm told.

There are things of importants
in the Tim Horton's claim.
There servers work with them
in bringing them fame.

There a sign says Tim Horton's
all bright with it's pride.
There workers even brighter
at the counter inside.

There a team of Tim Horton's
that's thoughtful and wise.
There me as their customer
with praise and apprise.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Down and dirty

The rain had passed leaving fields of mud,
Mud to work with, to rest and to play.
Mud in our shoes, in our pants, in our hair,
Mud to brighten the rest of our day.

My girl and I, we worked the sheep,
Counting, marking and drenching together.
We tackled and fell, dragging each to the side,
And did it both dressed in full leather.

When we completed the sheep, all ewes and one ram,
We relaxed with a beer on the ute.
And we talked open talk about how lucky we are,
And I told her, in mud, she looked cute.

She whipped my legs out and laughed down at me,
Our day it was done by two thirty.
So I pulled her to the mud, and within half an hour,
We had both gotten down and got dirty.

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

The Beat Of Life Goes On



Mom got up early and is in the kitchen
Preparing the breakfast for everyone
Dad's still in the bathroom and is shaving
And the beat of life goes on

The kids are busy getting set for school
One is still trying to get homework done
The others are taking things really cool
And the beat of life goes on

Now all sit around the breakfast table
To fuel themselves for the day's action
Each consumes what he or she is able
And the beat of life goes on

Dad leaves the home for his workplace early
Mom patiently checks the kids one by one
To ensure that for school each is ready
And the beat of life goes on

Dad is at work earning his salary
Kids are at school getting education
Mom is at home with some chores she's busy
And the beat of life goes on

It's suppertime now for the family
And it's filled with lively conversation
Each one partakes of the meal heartily
And the beat of life goes on

After supper, mom tidies the kitchen
Then joins the rest watching television
Later, for next day each starts preparing
And the beat of life goes on

The kids get busy with their assignment
Mom and Dad continue to linger on
They chat a bit about now the day went
And the beat of life goes on

Then finally they all head off to bed
For much needed sleep and relaxation
To refresh each for the new day ahead
And the beat of life goes on
-------------------------------
Mom got up early and is in the kitchen
Preparing the breakfast for everyone
Dad's still in the bathroom and is shaving
And the beat of life goes on


Copyright © john beharry | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quatrain |

They Drudge Among The Living

They drudge among the living 
But count among the dead
Their youthful labor stolen
A universal dread

In stasis, they squander years 
In shock, we view their pain
Hostility - A witness to 
Their efforts done in vain

Copyright © David Rudisill | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Slag Dump

Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada


A skyline for a slag line.
A glowing melting rock.
An acid burning slag dump.
The miners on the clock!

The sunset meets the hill.
A seam of orange and fire.
Black smoke ascending from it.
The thickest form of mire.

A cauldron tipped and flowing.
A soup's heat puddle still.
The river red thin ribbons
and our love a slag dump spill.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Fire And Ice

The Devil sits there playing, he’s as happy as he can be
He has a new game to play, he rubs his fiery hands in glee
Down in the bowels of the earth, the deepest hottest spot
Where white magma burns, he collects it, in his devilish crock.

He keeps all the tortured souls he has collected through the years
Especially the greedy ones, he know how to play on their worst fears
Crucibles of white hot lava, he makes them pound all day
Until their muscles burn and burst, then the devils imps do flay.

The skin they flay from their backs, but still the pounding goes on
And little by little a diamond is formed, each one the bestest one
A pile of diamonds the devil has them make, but still the lava pours
The pounding must continue, piles of diamonds grow on the floor.

The clarity, the excellence, this perfection in clear carats
The devil tells them he wants more, the imps take skin from their backs
More and more diamonds they are looking as cool as ice
He taunts the greedy souls down there he says “Now don’t they look nice.”

When he has a mountain of them, he lets the pounding halt
The lava stops pouring for a while, and then there is a jolt
The poor tired souls are staring at this mountain of ice-like gems
When the Devil pulls a lever the pounding starts again.

This time a floodgate is open and he says they can take their fill
They can cool themselves on the diamonds; they can try it if they will
The clearest of all the diamonds, send shivers down their spines
They try to pocket a few but the devil says …“They’re mine.”

Another gate is open, lava flows through hot, the crucibles refilled
The Devil says now get to work I don’t want to see a single drop spilled
When they can work no more, he lets them have a rest 
Then opening up another door he says “I bet you all have guessed.”

“Now you have made more wealth, than the world can ever use
These cool pieces of pounded lava, this ice mountain you are going to lose
Just watch my merry greedy souls, just watch my new display
As a running river of lava washes the ice clear diamonds away… 

Now I will show you what we will do with all of them 
Just watch how they melt down, so we can start all over again
So pound away my merry soul’s, pound and pound them well
This is what you loved before; you found the love of money was Hell

Competition Entry: Fire and Ice. Sponsored By Carol Sunshine Brown 
 
© Mandy Tams~GG~ 21/11/2012

Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012

Details | Quatrain |

For I Had Lied

Dada was everything to our youth
Our wide faculty was his help
Our recognition was his sooth
Nobody does it than his rep

Many youth he carried up there
Without seeking any penny
Many services he rendered
For free. All of which we did see 

He was not a king or a prince
Perhaps he was just a God sent
To his community, king and prince...
He begot not but was begot

Mindful of his predicament
But dare not showed it on earth
Till that Friday night he drove out
Of town and took to a scar oath

The next hour we heard he had died
And left us belated letter
"Don't cry for me, for I had lied.
...I'll die now before later"


*cry for...: Mourn

28/05/2013

Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |

Of Offices and Orifices

Sordid tales your eyebrows tell
Insinuations start to sing
Things we all know very well--
Say, did you miss my wedding ring?

You’d do you worst right here and now
A stealthy drink from your chalice
Want me to forget the wedding vows,
A mechanical bull with phallus?

Pursing your lips, parading your hips
All the while, I’m stifling quiet laughter
As if your fries and shake could eclipse
My seven course happily ever after!

Coworkers of giant ego
And undersized self-restraint
Have fallen prey to your libido
Flushed it all to taste your taint

But see, here’s the baseline reality
About my availability you’re mistaken
Unless my wife’s nonexistent bisexuality
You can magically awaken

Sure, maybe you can be a roast turkey slice
Between our marital sandwich bread
Or our fresh sushi covered in rice--
I shouldn’t joke; now you’re being misled…

But seriously, there’s nothing to discuss
What you’re implying just ain’t happening
Further coquetry is simply superfluous
Back to the regularly scheduled programming

And in closing, here’s what I’d do
If you’re looking for lifestyle enhancement
Instead of looking for married men to woo
Perhaps try some legit career advancement.

5/1/16
© Thomas W. Quigley

Copyright © Tom Quigley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatrain |

Workplace harassment

Workplace harassment is rife, alive and well, 
Occurring too often in this pseudo company.
Derogatory, condescending words roared, inches from your face, 
Sounding like a battlesque symphony.

People in charge making foolish demands,
Then usurping workers places, employing visible stealth.
Not being productive, effective or profitable, 
To any of the workers, or for the companies health.

Forcing workers to feel small, inadequate, not bright,
Forcing workers to accept their lot in life.
And, to any workers who bring up any questions,
Publicly back stabbing them, with a knife.

Workplace harassment in this office, it’s cruel and demeaning,
To the folks just plying their trade.
It’s easy to see the bullies in charge, strutting around, 
Ready, waiting, clasping a shiny switchblade.

Copyright © Lewis Raynes | Year Posted 2016

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The Resurrection

It is not the case that Jesus ever physically rose from the dead,
Only that he was spoken of as alive afterwards by his followers, 
Because his offer of medical treatment to the poor stood, the fed, 
As it was obvious that it was moral to validate such behaviours. 

John had seen a beggar with a bloody leg and attended quickly, 
But he was spat on by rich by-passers who would loose status; 
They would have to sacrifice the prestige of their visit specifically, 
That doctor’s visit just for them as part of life in the wealthy stratus.

Because he had been Jesus’s best friend he looked up and replied,  
“Jesus is risen,” and that communicated his stalwartness and resilience, 
That Jesus’ principle was not going to go away as just one man’s tide,
But that his friends and the apostles were set on continuing his brilliance. 

And Andrew who’d been a fisherman before he’d befriended Jesus, 
Knew all the kids of most of the other fishermen, and some were sick, 
And because Jesus had taught him medical practises as there was a fuss,
Andrew made their children better in one and posited Jesus would stick. 

But their neighbours chided him and scoffed, obviating them as poor, 
Not entitled to a doctor’s time, and not entitled to free health care, 
So Andrew emphasised that these people were his friends, the lure,  	
And that he was no scare but that he would himself by ignorance scare. 

The intelligensia of the time, or the prophets, had predicted Jesus resurrection, 
Not his actual one, but just as a euphemism for Jesus’ power after his death;
When people said “I believe in Jesus!” or claimed that he was risen in dedication: 
They asserted it by their acts and so could claim the resurrection in a breath. 

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016

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Religious Freedom

The right of every man to follow his conscience 
In choosing and practicing his religion
Acknowledgement of religions are not saying
That all religions are equal or equally true

11302011

Copyright © Jacqueline R. Mendoza | Year Posted 2011

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The Beat Goes On

Grandma was German raised to value beauty,
her art found in nature the flowers and the trees. 
Grandpa, a Wentworth, from an English family
whose Great Grand sailed the Mayflower, across the sea.

In the time of William Morris, when craft was art,
Great Granddad was a shipwright that's how we got our start.
So, we valued craft and beauty and adventure charted. 
Through tough times, poverty, still wisdom was imparted. 

Born in a place of splendor miles from the bay, 
Mom was raised on the poetry of Edna Millay.
I was born there to and in the woods I played
amongst maidenhair ferns and violets unafraid. 

In art born, with brush and pen, often did I write,
raised on Lord Tennyson to great my delight.
And, I adored the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright
how he blended craftsmanship into each homesite.

Schooled in modern art Warhol and Mies Van De Rhoe,
my mind opened blooming to many new tableaus.
All my contemporaries were part of art neuvau.
Each masterly artisan's work helped me to grow

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012