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Bread winner
by nnoli, richard
THE BREAD WINNER
by Thajudeen, Muhammad Safa
FAMILY BREAD WINNER
by curtis futch jr, kurtis scott aka
sequence-THE BREAD WINNER
by Strand, Brian
THE BREAD WINNER
by ray, robert
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The Best Bread Winner Poems
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Bread Winner Poem
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Since I was Tom Thumbs
petite little sister,
the scientist used me to help deliver
the info. from the volunteer mister,
injecting me into Mr. Smith's ear canal,
with the first door appearing pretty banal,
it boasted a picture of a grizzly bear,
opened it up and heard a bit of swear words,
also thoughts alternating between
sports, lust and making money,
you were obviously feeling kind of ornery,
had to close the door on those thoughts pretty quickly,
because the testosterone fumes were literally overwhelming me...
The second door had a picture of Winnie the Pooh,
which I thought looked adorable and very cute,
opened it up and took a peek inside,
heard some awful and horrible whining,
the mans thoughts were switching from
thinking he had the 24 hour flu,
to thinking he had a horrible disease
and was literally dying,
and not knowing if he needed a nurse or a hearse,
I left the room baffled and got on with my research…
The last room had a picture
of Gentle Ben posted on it,
peeked inside and it was all nice and quiet,
his thoughts were all about pleasing
his wife and kids and praying to God,
there was no denying this room
showed his intimate, tender side,
before I knew it I heard some loud snoring,
the man falling asleep from sheer exhaustion…
Well I thought I'd better get back to the real world,
as I slowly crawled back out of the ear canal,
with my bag of his mixed emotions,
of machoism, tenderness, humor, mr. fix it,
mr. bread winner and some peter pan thrown in it.
Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2016
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Bread Winner Poem
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mom and dad
my all time favorite heroes
who take on the days task
of the everyday running
of running our lovely home
they compliment each other
in everything they do
dad the bread winner
and mom the home maker
and help each other were
the other has failed
they do not show any fear
whether times are good or not
and make things seam all perfect
even when they are not
can not still figure out how
they managed to pull this off
cause my life is not as perfect
as they made our home seam
Copyright © sharon anena | Year Posted 2013
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Bread Winner Poem
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BACK BITE!
-Dharga Nagar Safa
My Back,my home,
Back bone,it's roof like a camp pole
I carry my slice of bread on my back,
As a bread WINNER winning only the defeats in life,
Back bite,
With the mouth but without teeth,
The wound,no cure in health
Tell me anything to my heart,in front,
But don't back bite,
It is breaking not my heart but my back bone!
Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen | Year Posted 2014
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Bread Winner Poem
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A Chauvinistic Ode
Written: by Tom Wright
1999
In days of old,
When Knights were bold,
And shuddered at the thought of laundry;
You could look around,
And nowhere was found,
A Knight such as me in this quandary;
But that olden day,
When Knights had final say,
Was before N.O.W. appeared on the scene;
Now the Maids dictate,
While Knight's vociferate,
It's a rock and our armor we're between.
Then, young maids would shriek,
As they trouped to the creek,
To beat clothes between two rocks;
It now sounds real sad,
But surely wasn't that bad,
Because then Knight's didn't wear socks.
However, in those Medieval days,
On her Knight she'd heap praise,
Her protectorate and true bread winner;
But now from work she returns,
And for yesteryear yearns,
Greeted by, "Sugar Plum, What's for dinner"?
Copyright © Tom Wright | Year Posted 2015
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Bread Winner Poem
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This night fate had been decided in the moonlight
As the bread winner had answered to the doomed call-
The compulsory striker had kicked to his goal post.
This sure-bet would never miss the net.
Ere his 'lift-off', our old man had whispered
Love words, and sang spiritual songs to our souls.
Not knowing that this full moonlight night trace will gulp his gullet
And he will never babel any more on this land he keep.
Home couldn't do anything but to wonder about
And soak the floor with our tears.
What an unbelievable seizure of the soul!
Do this means our man had parted this world
And we would see him no more until the final world?
This moon mustn't go in
Before his body 's laid (down)to rest
As his faith demanded.
Should this be a bright moonlight night to spare?
Note;
***sure-bet, compulsory striker- death
***home- family
***our man, old man- Elder
Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013
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Bread Winner Poem
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Another blast
Few killed, many injured, all innocent
News put 17 nos as killed bodies count
Who knows how living death hovers when bread winner is lost ?
Politicians are genesis of surge in terror
they are safe, with commandos and bullet proof cars
Common man is King maker on paper
Except right to defeat in elections, is he not helpless pauper ?
Politicians do us a favour
if you can't abort every attack of terror
At least, drop your fancy security cover
Who nows, given access, terrorist may opt for politicians, leaving civilian out of fear ?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On backdrop of recent serial Bomb Blasts in Mumbai
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hitendra Mehta
July 2011
For Members contest - A POESY any theme/form By Brian Strand
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright © Hitendra Mehta | Year Posted 2011
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Bread Winner Poem
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She is a bread winner,
who takes care of her family,
is it any wonder,
she still has her sanity,
she takes any new job
like a duck to water,
she is more than likely
your wife, Mom or daughter,
working full time 40 hours
plus each and every week,
afterwards doing the chores,
the house, tidies up and keeps,
goes grocery shopping
to keep the cupboards full,
pays the bills on time,
worries about the emptying till,
will not borrow from
Paul to pay her Peter,
is stubborn in that regard,
as she steps up or down
her monetary ladder,
at times feels like atlas,
carrying all the weight,
you can tell by looking at her
she has got a lot on her plate,
thats why she looks forward
so much to the weekends,
like going on a retreat,
she gets a much needed
vacation,
unfortunately her weekends
abruptly come to an end,
and by the time she spins around,
has to start all over again.
Copyright © cheryl hoffman | Year Posted 2016
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Bread Winner Poem
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IMAGINE NIGERIA.
Imagine Nigeria,
Becoming a sweet fruit
Like my orange juice,
Imagine Nigeria
With patriotic youths
Who speck truth and
Make my future look
Good,
Imagine Nigeria
That education carry’s a
Concrete foundation,
Becomes a national tool
Towards economic civilization.
Imagine Nigeria
Where the Elders give me
Shelter,
As helicopters isn’t only
For the god fathers,
Imagine Nigeria
My area without malaria
Where the health system
Isn’t a trap wearing danger,
Imagine Nigeria
During the good and bad,
We all stick together.
II
Imagine Nigeria
Where majority is happy to
Sing her slogan,
Infants carry my flag high
On her shoulders.
Imagine Nigeria
That my export moves round
The world,
Without corruption been her
Escort.
Imagine Nigeria
Where terrorism isn’t the
MilitarY salary,
And unmask every stranger
Within her territory.
Imagine Nigeria
Where tension isn’t collected
Before pension, instead
The aged gather for happy
Recreation.
Imagine Nigeria
That electricity lights up
This city
Its connected with easy and
Distributed for almost free.
III
Imagine Nigeria
Where all my blames are not
Left for the leaders,
Instead, first caution our nuclear
Bread winner.
Never curse Nigeria
All I depend is these natural
Mineral,
I can never reverse the
Desperate immigrant,
Looking forward to construct a
Beautiful new river on
Another land.
Imagine Nigeria
When industries employ my
Indigence
And never appoint by your community,
Refineries doesn’t pollute the high
Sea and kill my cat fishing.
Imagine Nigeria
That farming is encouraged
By modernized planning,
Imagine Nigeria
The prosperity sister
Make big plans from your
Little area.
My governor isn’t a magician.
Imagine Nigeria
Beautified with Iroko
Sky scrapers, and
Ordained the genuine giant
Of AFRICA.
HABIB AKEWUSOLA.
Copyright © habib akewusola | Year Posted 2012
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Bread Winner Poem
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YOU COME HOME FROM WORK TIRED,WORNOUT,BEAT.
YOUR BODY ACHES ALL OVER FROM THE TOP OF YOUR HEAD,
TO THE BOTTOM OF YOUE FEET
THE RADIO IS BLARING,THE T.V. IS BLAST.
YOUR OLDEST SON WANTS TO BORROW THE CAR AND MONEY FOR GAS.
YOU GO UPSTAIRS ABOUT TO LAY YOUR WEARY HEAD ON THE BED.
THERE ON THE DRESSER,A NOTE,BLACK AND BOLD.
IF YOU DONT HAVE THE RENT YOU WILL BE OUT IN THE COLD
BILLS UPOM BILLS, A CYCLE THAT NEVER ENDS.
WHEN YOU ARE IN NEED, WHERE ARE YOUR SO CALLED FRIENDS.?
YOU GO BACK OUT OF THE BEDROOM AND PAUSE IN THE HALL,
YOU ASKED THE DEAR LORD IS IT REALLY WORTH IT ALL.
AS YOU STAND THERE AND PONDER THE THOUGHT,
YOU HELP YOUR THREE YEARS OLD OF THE BATHROOM POT.
YOU GO BACK DOWNSTAIRS TO THE KITCHEN,
THERE STANDING BY THE STOVE,ON HER HAND A POT HOLDER GLOVE.
IS THE REAL BREAD WINNER,YOUR WIFE,THE WOMEN YOU LOVE.
FROM THAT MOMENT ON, YOU KNEW THE ANSWER FROM THE HALL.
YES DEAR LORD IT IS REALLY WORTH IT ALL.
Copyright © robert ray | Year Posted 2008
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Bread Winner Poem
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They found the bread first,
To joy,arranged a contest next,
Rewarded the winner this,for his breakfast.
That's how the word bread winner came in the list!
Copyright © Muhammad Safa Thajudeen | Year Posted 2015
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Bread Winner Poem
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I can’t say it yet, but I will
When I can effect you and instill
My mind and emotions you destroy
Like a soul you own. Like a toy
One day I will defeat you!
Punch, kick, and beat you
The bruises and cuts sting right now
I want to get you away, but how?
All I hear from you is pain and torment
It is a waiting game for the one single moment
Learning hate and dismissal with indifferent tones
While I sit in a bed weak and alone
Brings me to my resolve and what I must do
Get ride of the demon and *** whole in you
My days of suffering come to an end
When I make that phone call and bring you in
Relief in the eyes of my mom and brothers a real
We made it through this whole ordeal
Most of all I except the role you failed and didn’t deserve
Bread winner in a house that can finally be heard!
Copyright © David Welch | Year Posted 2007
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Bread Winner Poem
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bread winner
we enjoy the beef
but the cow pays
the price
bread winner
he fight like a lion
work like an elephant
despite he could earn alot
or little
yet he eat like a aunt
cos alot of mouths he
got to feed
bread winner
his life is full of responsibilities
his head thinks alot
he got not alot time
to rest
always he has to work
cos
as money comes
money goes
bread winner
he is a sacrificial lamb
he is the hope of his family
he is a pain relief
to those he looks after
he works so hard
to put food on the table
under the rain
under the sun
he is never relentless
what a soul
bread winners?
respect to all
hard working poeple out there
keep up
your are a blessing
to humanity
Copyright © richard nnoli | Year Posted 2017
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Bread Winner Poem
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I am a strong brother with pride look as I walk with my head up and my slow stride! You
know I look good! I see you checking me out and checking me out again! Saying you don't
notice me as you pretend!But I can wait but not for long as the seasons passed and ends,
you know I'm gone! I'm a brother with confidence ! I'm a single dad with two kids,I'm
night school student and a bread winner of a family of six just trying to get by! So don't
be quick to judge. You say you know me but you don't! Even to go out with me you won't. My
strength as a brother comes from not what you see but what comes from me. The
understanding of who I am and where I am going! I can give you my body, I can give you the
world or I can share my life with you.What do you want?
Copyright © Curtis Nicholas | Year Posted 2011
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Bread Winner Poem
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What is God’s Love and his great Compassion?
Why it is only for some and why it is ration?
This morning I was so perturbed
When I was going through the words of a local news form
Some had to call the authorities it had reported
When they got a stinking smell from a house near by
Police had to force open the door, had to enter with masks
They heard a faint voice from a gloomy room inside
Found a weeping old lady beside a dead malodorous body
“Wake up my son. Why don’t you open your eyes?
Here I have brought you some rice.
So wake up my little love.
See officers! please ask him to have this food
Without torturing me this much”
It was a nonstop pleading the officers had to witness
The old lady was holding a plate with few biscuits
Which she had collected from dustbin it said
The woman is insane!
For a long time neighbours had claimed
They had been living in that house
No outside world had reached their eyes
Once she had been extremely rich
Leading a luxury life with ultimate joy, it added
Fate had turned a cruel face, they were told
After her husband’s death, her sole bread winner
The old lady had no one’s help
All their money had been robbed by her loving relatives
Finally she couldn’t sustain her courage it seems
Left with crippled from birth, a bed ridden only relation
The body whom she was holding, was her beloved young son.
How can the world be so cruel?
Where is God? Why no mercy upon some people?
If the World is created by Him why people suffer so harshly?
Please don’t judge me or my faith dear Soupies
I am so shaken you see
Copyright © manel gunatillake | Year Posted 2013
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Bread Winner Poem
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AM ENSLAVED BY LIQUOR
The bottle had become my friend and companion
When the sun rises I stroll to my favorite drinking salon
Leaving my wife and children in bed to quench my thirst
And spend my monthly salary on my best hobby drinking
Till when i feel that I have bought all the patrons a drink
My children are better sitted at home
Than wasting money educating them
My boys are better at rearing my herd of goats and cows
While the girls can assist their mother in cooking and doing home chores
While I their father can drink and do my usual routine; drinking
I
I abscond from duty because I can’t miss to drink
My work mates remind me to resume work but that’s is none of my concern
As long as I serve my precious master the “bottle”
If am not the one to leave last the drinking joint last am not faithful
So I make sure I leave last
Now am sitted all alone at my veranda wasted
Having become a laughing stock by my village mates
I had turned into a greedy father and bread winner
I failed to provide for my family needs
I gave up on educating my children
My wife had to endure regular beatings and insults from me
All this I did under the influence of alcohol
Not knowing that my family was being ruined.
Copyright © MWESIGWA MICHAEL MICAFRICA | Year Posted 2013
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Bread Winner Poem
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His days drag on, nights routinely the same.
Work and kids consume his time none left for the game.
With all his responsibilities, he needs none of the drama.
The bread winner, the daddy, and now even the momma.
Being what his little ones need
His desire is what he has no time to feed.
Cant invest what is required to have a regular chic.
Tired of playing with his own dick.
Out of his overstressed lips, passes a long drawn out sigh.
She steps out of the shadows smiles and says hi.
He looks down and sees a lady her curves are pleasing.
Thier eyes meet and he can see already shes teasing.
Not one single word or even a whisper,
You can feel the air heat and become crisper.
From the sway of her hips to her exposed flesh
It wasnt long and it was thier bodies that meshed.
Afterwards exhausted and totally drained.
He reaches for her but only her scent remained.
Copyright © Rose Henderson | Year Posted 2015
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Bread Winner Poem
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in our house
there's no mouse
its dream
and its clean
there 's those who work
so there's no drit
and we are alert
some was sinnerS
now theyer the
FAMILY BREAD WINNERS
Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012
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Bread Winner Poem
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Buried Alive, 2010
V. Ortiz Vazquez
House play with a neighbor friend
Older than I is he, yet not old enough
Husband and wife, house wife
Bread winner comes home
Home, field between houses
Time for bed, naked from the waist down I lay
Caught, I’m to blame
Shamed with no explanation
I should have known better
Older than I is he, yet not old enough
Locked inside, exposed to me
High schooler, teenager; younger I am
Adult act becomes mine
Young I am, no stranger is he
Salty, whitish, I don’t understand
Shamefully I lurk around, searching without understanding
Finding similar, no teenager an adult
No teenager is he, still young I am
Sled to the side, incognito a touch
Finger nail’s cut
An excitement unforeseen
Unexplored essence exposed to me by his touch
Tragedy
Blamed, shamed, grounded
Who is to blame?
Trinity: him, you, they
Should have known better, Female I am
One forgotten, hazy memories, not even his name
Second not seen for years, learned of recent lost—grandpa dies
The other, seen by occasional visits
Declining health, prostrated to a wheelchair
Life’s move, checked yet not checkmate
Here I stand, age 33
Foggy days, shatter pieces
Lights out
Checkmate since childhood
Life cut short
Living without breathing
World’s brightness taken away
Shifted to black and white
Muted
Silence my home
Distance my protection
Youngster, buried alive
Copyright © Vickie Ortiz Vazquez | Year Posted 2010
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Bread Winner Poem
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In
the wind,
sweet music
of ripening
wheat-
an
echo
of harvest-
repeated each
fall
Dedicated to Norman Borlag (Iowa born farm boy) 1914-2009 Nobel prize 1970 -developed
the new high yielding wheat strains
Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2009
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Bread Winner Poem
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Mother and three siblings to keep,
bread winner, man of the house,
at pit head, down into the deep,
to extract coal like a sucking louse,
twelve hour shifts, morning to night,
water to drink, jam and bread,
working in poor artificial light,
coal miners life until he's dead,
thousand feet down, four miles along,
on man rider to coal face,
sound of mind, with arms so strong,
essential to keep up the pace,
with pick and shovel in hand,
now at the sharp end, damp hot,
more coal employers demand,
this hard life is a miners lot,
miners blood flows through his vein,
coal the centre of his soul,
buried Ancestors down pits remain,
reaching retirement his goal,
from a sunless place,he emerges,
moleskin trousers, dirty shirt,
gassed canaries, in cages,
aged fifteen, an inherited convert,
his hands are rough and beat,
grime ingrained into palms,
his fathers boots on his feet,
miners lamp, full of charm,
head to toe covered in slack,
survived another day young lad,
colleague to scrub his aching back,
thoughts of dead, especially his dad.
Copyright © Roy Pett | Year Posted 2016
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Bread Winner Poem
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A Horny Walter Mitty
Her plunging neckline drove him
to want to sink his face deeply
between her bulging firm breasts,
but his wife would never let him.
She kept him from living the lifestyle that
he always fantasized about.
Unfortunately, his wife was extremely
devout and built with a very stout form.
She was always the bread winner of their
household.
If she wasn't, he'd find himself between the slender thighs of many buxom brunette
beauties.
He once got laid by a sultry red headed,
french maid while zoning out during rush
hour to his wife's prison tower.
This poor man had absolutely no power
or manly backbone.
He crawls home every night like a baby coward.
Maybe one day she'll die or he'll nerve up and
leave her.
Until then, he'll have to dream of a team of
Russian blonde bombshells, scantily clad
to serve him vodka shots on their tanned and toned bodies before dinner.
He smiles a devilish grin,
for he secretly enjoys being a sexy sinner.
He is pleasantly pleased and well satisfied
to be the sole winner of his own household.
Copyright © Marie Harrison | Year Posted 2010
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Bread Winner Poem
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he mabe a sinner
but the bread winner
there when you call
hes over you all
if having a ball
be glad not sad
and
remember
DAD
Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2014
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Bread Winner Poem
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you know who you are
your the family star
the bread winner
mabe at time a sinner
what you say stands
if you're a
FAMILY MAN
Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2012
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Bread Winner Poem
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D-ay of the fathers
A-llows the children to greet;
Y-es, let's love all dads who make both ends meet.
O-ld or young male parent deserves the kid's respect;
F-athers all over the world want a family's future perfect.
T-he bread winner does all he can,
H-e works day and night;
E-arly in the morning, he toils neath the sunlight.
F-ruits of his hard labor
A-re enjoyed by his loved ones;
T-ill he breathes his last,
H-e will never tire even once.
E-veryday of the week,
R-egard to them really matters;
S-unday eighteenth of June is the day of the fathers.
Copyright © Bernard F. Asuncion | Year Posted 2017