Best Clerks Poems
E Pluribus Unum ~ Out Of Many, One
[Author's note: E Pluribus Unum is a traditional motto of the United
States, but the scope of this poem is intended to be of a more global scale.]
We are farmhands, postal workers, we are rich industrialists
We are pilots, sailors, warriors, mathematicians, scientists
We are doctors, nurses, dentists; taking care of those in need
We are teachers, flight attendants, moms and dads with mouths to feed
We post blogs, develop websites, we are software engineers
We are athletes, video gamers, we're retired volunteers
We are dancers, painters, sculptors, we are actors on the stage
We are clerks, construction workers, pay for night school with our wage
We are high school educated, college maybe, or hard knocks
We are barbers and beauticians, drive a truck or work on docks
We are clergy, civic leaders, wardens at the county jail
Roll in wheelchairs, use sign language, wear prosthetics, read by Braille
We are bankers, tax accountants, proud grandparents, husbands, wives,
We are activists who strive to give our children better lives
We are widows, orphans, childless; we feel sorrow to the core
We are social workers, advocates of justice for the poor
We make music or just listen, sing out loud or softly hum
We are common, we are special, we are those who overcome
We are poets and songwriters, we write letters to our kin
Sharing stories of our life, of where we're going, where we've been
We are those with beating hearts, with flexing muscles, red blood cells
Kidney donors, missionaries, we help dig fresh water wells
We praise God in mosque or church, in synagogue or kingdom hall,
In a temple, or in nature, maybe have no God at all
We are from around the planet, we have skin of every tone
We have short hair, long hair, no hair, kinky hair; we're not alone
We esteem diversity; you value me, I value you
Always with respect for those who hold a different point of view
This, my dream: to be united when it all is said and done
Though we may not be there yet, we share this journey -
We are one.
Written 1 Feb 2022
I was reminiscin' the other day about times that were more sublime,
And got to thinkin' about those old stores called Kresge's Five and Dime.
I recall browsin' through Kresge's Stores as a lad with Mom and Dad.
There ain't no more Kresge's Stores as far as I know and that is very sad.
There was a Kresge's in every sleepy town along Main Street.
Sittin' on a stool at the lunch counter was always a special treat.
Munchin' on a hotdog and tater chips and then a slab of cherry pie,
Or maybe a sundae concocted by the soda jerk would lighten up my eye!
Notions galore were displayed on tables, bins, racks and shelves.
Friendly clerks stood by to help but folks generally helped themselves.
The cashier put yer money in a tube that sailed off into space,
And in a trice returned yer change from some mysterious place!
I recall the squeaky wooden floors and visitin' the store at Christmas time,
When Santa Claus doled out bags of candy to kids at each Five and Dime.
Alas, those neighborhood stores have been replaced by huge national chains,
And only pleasant memories of Kresge's Five and Dime Stores remains.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2014 All Rights Reserved
It’s that time of year again
when lights are strung, wreaths are hung
and glass balls in every color and shape dangle,
sparkling from evergreen branches
in homes, displayed in front windows
with plastic Santas, (some waving)
standing in Styrofoam snow
for all who pass to see
Department stores are all a shimmer
with sweaters and mittens
lining shelves in themes of red and green,
as illumined reindeer hover overhead
the frantic shopping crowds while
sales clerks wear red pointed hats
with white furry balls atop
City streets are draped in
silver and gold glistening garland,
offering season’s greetings
as even traffic lights seem festive
with “Jingle Bells” blaring from
car stereos through open windows
inviting the cold air in
And I chuckle,
not in a bad way, perhaps in a selfish way
for you see, I know that this is me,
no matter what time of the year it is
because my heart is decorated
with the most beautiful ornament
I could ever find…your love
And every day is Christmas to me…
Written for The Heart of Christmas poetry contest
Sponsored by Mystic Rose
You think it a lie, seeing that
old man in the mirror: some
imposter taking your name,
living in your house, calling
out to your wife as though
he had married her 40 years
ago and not you... what can
the old fellow want of you,
you wonder, and would ask,
but you fear his laughter....
So you never speak with him
and he runs the place just
as he sees fit: sleeping late,
eating early, taking a nap
and going for brief walks
when you'd prefer a jog.
He also doesn't care much
for taking those long drives
you love so much--too, too
far away from comfy home.
A thousand carefree miles
is but a dream to you,
while he shudders like it's
climbing Mount Everest!
Worst of all, he is less
patient with the myriad
fools of the world-- so
he'll rant and rave
when clerks misbehave.
And his politics! Right
and right he feels,
caring naught for the
downtrodden masses.
Yet he is kinder than
you ever were, more
thoughtful of others,
more giving, less taking.
He loves his friends and
doesn't seduce women
only to leave them empty.
Best of all, the old man
loves God-- he won't
see belief as folly,
for he has learned
the real illusion is
mortality, so he knows
death is a door, not
an impregnable wall.
You could learn much
from the old man
you share a life with,
but you won't, for
you are young--
what are God and
death and endless
soul to you...?
How Hungry for GOD Are You?
How hungry for GOD are you? Do you pray and read the
Word daily? Do you stay in an attitude of prayer throughout
the day? Do you stay in fellowship with other believers?
Do you support the work of the Kingdom?
Do you hunger and thirst to know more of HIM? Do you feel like
you just can’t go on any further till HE touches you afresh? Do you
cry out for the fire of GOD to come on you by HIS SPIRIT?
Do you look for HIM to send you to unsaved people so you
can tell them about JESUS and lead them in a prayer to HIM?
Do you pray for the youth of this country and ask the LORD to send
a tremendous revival to them? Can you hardly wait for another
service so you can worship HIM with other saints?
Do you sing and worship HIM around your home and as you are doing
your work, cleaning, washing, and cooking? Do you sing n the SPIRIT as
you are mowing the grass, changing the beds?
Do you and your husband go to the mall purposely looking for
people to tell about JESUS? Do you seek out young people to
pray for them if they will let you and when they do, are you
praying for HIS SPIRIT to saturate them and use them and
keep them?
Are you longing and crying out for JESUS to come for HIS church?
HE is you know! Do you look for opportunities to tell people about
JESUS whenever you check out in stores, restaurants? I tell the
clerks or checkers that JESUS loves them and that HE is coming
soon, sometimes the reaction is tears, some laugh, some love it,
some hate it but needless to say, they got the message.
Do you pray for our nation and leaders to be safe and to be
led by HIS SPIRIT? And also, are you still and tuning
your ear to hear HIS still small voice? When you came to HIM
did you jump into the river of revival with all of your clothes on?
Did you tell HIM, Whatever YOU hate, I will hate, whatever
YOU love, I will love! Did you determine you would give
HIM everything and will follow HIM wherever HE wants you
to go?
Did you determine to be like a good little pot of clay made
by the GREAT POTTER and asked HIM to cover that little
pot with HIS SPIRIT and fill it up so HE could pour it out
on who so ever whenever or wherever HE chooses!
Oh, yah~~! Then, you are definitely hungry for our
GOD!
GOD bless,
Written by: Marilyn S Jennings
May 6, 2019
You meet and shake hands
Things seem fine, real grand
You're married; so are they
You all work for your pay
He's a dentist; she's in social work
Professionals, not lowly clerks
Then you notice their kids. They're strange, a bit weird
One wakes up after noon; another has a full beard
Of course, your first two divorced; they take after you
The next two -- idiosyncratic: Are you that way too?
When you visit their home, their kids are all raging
Yelling and screaming, constantly upstaging
Their parents, who'd once seemed so engaging
And when they return the favor, your oldest just sits
He stares into space, picks at buttons and zits
As the other texts like mad, anything to
Avoid talking to friends of Mom and Dad
You view them as parents now, and what do you see?
A pair of losers whose kids run wild and free
And when they look at you, they see something similar too
A couple of failures whose kids drive them cuckoo
It's time to go; you smile and shake hands once again
Half-heartedly agree to another date, but when?
Who has time these days? "We'll get back to you."
As you silently stew: How'd it all come unglued?
What could have been more expected
from a system created on greed
Where the donors all make legislation
via Congress they constantly feed
When a country is poisoned by money
it no longer looks out for the small
It is owned and controlled by the richest
who’ve decided that they want it all
Our history, bloody and violent
was a preview of what we would be
Just because we can’t see all the bodies
doesn’t mean that their spirits are free
The obsession with money and power
are the perfect dictatorship blend
Void of love for the land or the people
who are merely a means to an end
They all file in the chamber like robots
and their leader looks on as he gloats
The decisions made by all their donors
turn into the Congressional votes
They say capitalism is wonderful
but who is it wonderful for
It is not for the factory worker
nor the people who mop up the floor
It is not for the ones who build buildings
or the secretaries or the clerks
It is not for the drivers of buses
or the ones who toil in public works
Capitalism is poisoned
it is not for the poor or the old
It is not for the cooks or the teachers
or the soldiers, as they have been told
The system is for corporate donors
who get rich on the taxes we pay
We all work to provide them the money
which they triple on stock market play
Underage drinking has taken its tolls on all the teenagers today, including the ones under
the age of 21. It's been affecting the minds of all young people for years to come. I'm
told that drinking too much alcoholic beverages, including vodka, can not just mess up
their brains, but will have lest them hungover for at least two days. What I really don't
like about underage drinking is when these teens are trying to put their own lives and the
lives of others. The parents should've been informed that there was going to be a lot of
underage drinking at all unsupervised parties. Everybody knows that all underage kids,
including the ones who are currently attending middle school, really shouldn't be drinking
alcoholic beverages, let alone beer, and they really shouldn't be using fake I.D.s to buy
liquor at any store possible. Those store clerks should also know that should they sell
alcoholic beverages to minors that they could be fined $500 and/or spend some time behind
bars. there's no way that these kids are going to be drinking a lot of drinks, filled with
alcohol. They're better off spending Saturday nights at the movies, at restaurants, or
with their parents. If these underage kids keep drinking all alcoholic beverages behind
the backs of their mothers and fathers, then they'll die of alcohol poisoning. Now I know
why I never drank any alcoholic beverages, let alone margaritas or wine. Now I also know
why I'd never gone to any of those unsupervised parties, filled with underage drinking.
I'd rather keep a clear mind than having a hungover head after drinking to many drinks.
That's why all parents should get involved in the lives of their would-be teenagers and
talk to them about underage drinking. And if this keeps up and all teenagers keep drinking
alcoholic beverages, including whiskey, then all of their parents will be in for a rude
awakening.
The November skies darken early
Citizens walk in
To vote
Nationwide elections
High school gym
Opened just for them
Voices echo in the large hall
Clerks check names and addresses
Pointing to names in musty ledgers
As lines get longer.
The ones I can spot
Are the old veterans
Who spent their youth at
D-Day, Battle of the Bulge, Guadalcanal
I say
Courage to them
Who knew how to be brave
At so young an age
They walk slowly now
Wives often leading
You sense that for them
Time is running out
The hour glass near empty
They never bragged all that much
To them voting is a right.
You can spot the others
Waiting on line
Veterans of
Korea and Viet-Nam
They walk a little faster
Stand a little taller
But time will catch up
And the hour glass will reach its mark.
The voting is over
Discarded papers litter the floor
Doors locked
Lights turned off
As darkness slips into the empty hall.
Across town
Politicians congratulate
The winners
Deal are made
Promises promised
And on this cold night
Honest taxpayers turn in bed
Knowing that the next workday
Always comes early.
Supermarket celebration
shoppers are cytoplasm searching
for cellulose, muscle, photosynthesis.
Oils, petrochemical and vegetable
love: faith and trust
for instance, the Food and Drug Administration.
In America, the custom is
to avoid meeting the other shoppers' eyes. We graze
like cows or wander as zombies to the oldies played over the aisles.
I've always liked it here.
Cornucopia, yes. Also
a place to be alone and depressed, or cool off.
Water and bone
and the known ingredients. Neurons
for remembering, calculating, touching stuff.
I have a favorite bagger
who has the smile of a lover,
wouldn't rather be elsewhere.
Like glamour stars in bikinis
(but unlike tomatoes and bananas)
cashiers and clerks are admired from afar.
Joe says What's not to like? Ice cream, yogurt,
profit, tofu.
To eat your fill is a blasphemy against God.
The preachers say they have my God on speed dial
A ladder to the heavens once again
Operator, put me through directly
This time I just don’t wanna go through them
I fear my calls may not have been delivered
And maybe I don’t have the time to wait
Now I am concerned that I’ll be buried
And that the payphone in the church was just a plate
I surely can’t contest the pulpit masters
Indeed I have transgressed a righteous law
But if it is God’s laws that I have broken
Why is it a man who flaps his jaw
What man can say that he will end my quarrel
With the One that I offended through and through
Is there a mercy store with clerks who sell forgiveness?
Is there anything that God Himself will do?
Never will they have to pass my message
I will place my own confession in His hand
At least if I'm beyond my rights to do it
For that I will not answer to a man
Kyle Ezra Kriticos
Across troop ship bow the cliffs drew nearer
and into harm’s way mighty battalions drove -
men and mule upon cold waves of terror
stormed the beachhead landings on Anzac Cove.
The digger Dogs of War unleashed again
an Expeditionary Force by sea,
in hallowed ground of brave infantrymen
lie the bones of Empires in Gallipoli.
Great southern blue, red and white standard stars
in battle hymn out of Commonwealth port,
where the flame of liberty fiercely chars
every bleeding heart whose sons fell and fought.
A hundred years ago soldiers in a world at war
battled on a foreign shore
for King ‘n Country, God ‘n Corps.
The battle was lost, the Great War won,
their sacrifice laid bare, their duty done.
We march at dawn for mate and vet
and to remember the fallen Lest We Forget!
Sappers, farmers, salesmen, drovers and clerks -
young men and boys their slouch hats wore,
and in steep gullies and ravines fought the Turks
like when on the velt they fought the Boer.
In muddy trench and bunker riflemen joining
charged the lines on Ottoman ancient land,
loud shellfire through dead night and dawning
fell in great battle Anzac’s finest stand!
On Lone Pine, Dead Man’s Ridge, Chunuk Bair
the battlefield told a colony’s tale,
beyond those cliffs soon would her bugles blare
in Palestine, Fromelles and Passchendaele.
A hundred years ago soldiers in a world at war
battled on a foreign shore
for King ‘n Country, God ‘n Corps.
The battle was lost, the Great War won,
their sacrifice laid bare, their duty done.
We march at dawn for mate and vet
and to remember the fallen Lest We Forget!
Raise the flag and let us honour the slew
whose battle is over - the glory and the ghost
of those men of valour in distant graves who
stood their ground and stood their post!
Written: April 2015
In the parking lot of the DMV
I watch the privileged
and the not so,
come and go.
They come in "Beemers"
and rattle clank clunkers,
desperate to join,
or rejoin,
the lemming like hordes
of autos.
So it goes from 8 to 5,
tentative migrants and
confident suits
queuing up,
checking and rechecking
their papers, hoping
that one visit is all that it will take.
Some mouths are mouthing,
practicing their excuses,
as to why they were late,
or need more time,
addressed to bored clerks,
who have heard it all
before.
All are reduced to a
singular oneness,
begging for a privilege,
without which they feel
they will starve.
For which they give up their life
in ways they can't account for
" If someone is rude, mean or sarcastic
their life options will be very limited. "
Quote by _ poet
Why are some people so mean to sales clerks,
young folks who are trying to make money;
why are some people acting like such jerks,
their rudeness and remarks are not funny.
Why so nasty to staff in coffee shops,
being polite does not cost you a cent;
what makes you think and act like you are tops,
and so important and to staff you vent.
When I was young and had to work these jobs,
would just keep smiling while screaming inside;
I think these people are unhappy snobs,
but, I was hurt and when at home I cried.
When I finished school and was in nursing,
I thought at last I would get some respect;
was wrong for many times I heard cursing,
patient's suffering I would never neglect.
Then, I worked in long term end of life care,
people would visit with an attitude;
not my fault they died I wished to declare,
God bless the people who showed gratitude.
____________________
December 18, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Often, I Cried
Copyright Protected, ID 12-1413-776-18
All Rights Reserved, 2021, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Bull Size Bull Crap
sponsor, Charles Messina, Judged 01/18/2022
First Place
Silence is my favorite crypt,
and when I'm feeling pious, or
magnanimous, or greedy
or alive,
I go there.
I go there because
in silence, I can run so far
away from the creeps and the
whores, the moneygrubbing
clerks and the bilge of puddles
splashing my pantlegs. And if those
shadows catch up to me, I can always
close my eyes and pray for them to
go away.
I'll pray forever, crouched and blind,
but never break my silence,
because that's my wormhole out of this
luddite galaxy,
my trapdoor in the floor
of this devolved society.