Best Janitors Poems
I love Guns
Guns make us safe
Guns are rights and freedoms
The more guns, the more freedoms we shall bear
Every man woman and child should be armed
So that we are all safe
All schools should be armed
Teachers, Principals, Janitors, arm them all
The finally we can relax
in total safety
knowing we are all armed
I say give arms to the amputees too
Gun control is socialist and fascist
We registers cars
Houses
Pets
Bikes
We have banned toys
We regulate all kinds of things
Yet we are free
Totally free
Because we all have our right
To bare arms
Ask Kim Campbell! she agrees!!!
Not only guns
They must be automatics
The more bullets you can empty out of a gun
the better
the more freedom you shall feel
Its called projectile dysfunction
And......... any man with a high IQ
Need's an assault rifle
Why of course to outsmart those ducks and turkeys
I firmly believe in a fair fight
Assault rifles to catch a duck
common sense to me
Quack quack
Guns have rights
Own a gun you have double rights
They are made to kill kill kill
Did I say they KILL?
Nothing more, nothing less
I need that right
Any child killed by a Gun
is only because we haven't enough guns
By the way
Children have no rights
Kill em all for all I care
as long as I have my rights
I am not concerned with facts
Evidence
Or the humanity of it
Is all about my Guns
Why
Cause I love Guns
More than humans
And thats my right
No matter how wrong it is
Allow altruistic artistry among ailing american adversaries.
Bartering begins before begging beasts break brothers.
Capture calamity controlling catastrophe calming castration.
Dedicate decisions directed down dreary deaf disillusionment.
Eradicate equality earning efficient energetic epiphany.
Follow fallen foreigners forgetting faithful flight from fluid folly.
Gasping greatness growing grapes given golden goodness.
Halt hollow hearts hearing helpless happiness.
Imagine impurity imitating indestructible ice inflicting impotent illness.
Justify jolly jerusalem jingling janitors joining january’s jewelry.
Kill kindergarten kings kicking kindly kindred kilts.
Lament likeable links lingering lowly light like lavender letters.
Mount monetary moments melting motherly marshal monuments.
Negate nightly notions noticing nurtured naughty nakedness.
Open oblivious obligation of odd operative oceans.
Propagate proposed premonitions producing proud pirate papas.
Quiet quilted questions quickly quoting quaint qualm quandary.
Remember righteous royalty returning rotten remnant rage.
Skip silent sulking surrounding super salty sounds squeezing sanity.
Teach talented tearful tyrants total trivial topics training treason.
Utter utopian universality upon united unitarian usurpers.
Violate vermin validity valuing victorious vomiting virgin volunteers.
Wash wandering women wondering whether western whiteness welcomes war.
X-ray xeric xenophobic xylem-made xebec.
Yearn yellow yearlings yelling yonder yuletide yachtsmen.
Zebra.
When I was young my mom, like most women, donned a hat when she went out.
Dad said it added to her beauty…of this I had no doubt.
My mom had a collection of hats she stored in boxes under her bed.
So many different kinds of bonnets that sat atop her head.
Moms of today are different they go out with their heads bare
but one thing they share with Moms of the past are the many hats they wear.
If we tried to count the hats they don...we couldn’t...they go on indefinitely
Perhaps one way to approach it...is alphabetically.
Moms are:
Accountants
Babysitters
Chauffeurs...they do what
Doctors and
Electricians do…they are
Farmers
Governors
Housekeepers, and
Ice cream makers too…they are
Janitors
Kitchen and
Laundry workers, and
Maids who clean the floor…they are
Nurses
Optometrists,
Painters
Quality control inspectors and furthermore they are
Receptionists
Seamstresses and
Teachers…they can
Upholster that sofa or that chair…they are
Valets
Washroom Attendants and
X-Ray technicians…ready anytime and anywhere…they are
Yard managers and every Mom I know is also a keeper of the
Zoo
That’s 26 different hats they wear…
26 different jobs that all Moms do.
Moms are the original and still the best multi-taskers the world has ever met.
In fact, I didn’t run out of hats for them...I ran out of alphabet!
I guess it’s a good thing each job doesn’t have a hat that sits atop Moms head
for there wouldn’t be enough room to store the boxes under their beds.
They are visionaries, they are cheerleaders, so much of our existence they adorn
yet they had no experience as a mother until the day when we were born.
Because it was at that miraculous moment, despite their fearfulness and qualms
when they smiled as they looked at us and realized……’I’m a Mom.’
For that is the hat that encompasses the rest...the hat we call motherhood
and I must admit, from where I stand
Moms…you make that hat look good.
So Moms, here’s to a wonderful Mother’s Day as this poem bids you all adieu
For all the many hats you wear…
our hats are off to you.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY
the janitors' broom,
it sweeps every room,
under each desk,
cleaning up the mess,
it never complains,
leaving a clean environment for our brains,
this broom is on a mission,
without recognition...
A Renga:
Still warm, 2 a.m.;
Deep night is another world,
An owl on a branch
Seven oak trees in the field
And the surrounding grass
From the canvas bag,
Which she always has with her,
She removes her lunch
In the cafeteria
Of the large office building
Janitors clean up
Under the light of the moon
In the high window
Moth wings that are dry as dust
Caught in ancient spider webs
The collapsing house
In a town that the young leave
The sound of the wind
Sub-freezing temperatures,
Ice here and there on the streets
"I am tired of this.
You always want to argue.
You go. I'll stay here."
A few petals slowly fall
From the blooming apple tree
Beside the old farm,
In a still rural section
Of a mid-west State
The wanderer registers
At yet another motel
Well, you went on vacation,
which is legal I suppose!
I guess you felt you needed rest.
From what, God only knows!
I know the other girls are missing you.
I know they really care.
They keep saying "We wish the hell she'd hurry back
so she could do her share"!
The janitors sure miss you too,
they expressed their great elation,
the floor has been free of coffee stains
since you went on vacation!
We toil away, eight hours a day.
Our breaks are very few!
We have to work our butts off,
just because of you!
While you've been basking in the sun
and strolling sandy shores,
We've been working extra hard
to keep our jobs, and yours!
We hope you got the rest you "needed",
but lets make one thing clear.
There's no way, in hell, you could ever beat
the rest you get right here!
I like El Paso...the heat, the dust, the heat,
I like the cars and the hats the cops wear,
cowboys in a rusty B movie,
but most of all I like the people, the
janitors and doctors and newsreaders,
who don't care if they're American,
Mexican or both...
and the bars are cool, so cool... some
smell of menthol and others like a clean
latrine,
but that's OK..it's alright and I don't judge,
and the girls are single and friendly and they
like you 'cos your'e tall and white, with dollars
and tooled brown boots
but most of all I like the warm wind that blows
in sweet guitar music and shimmering light
from across the big bridge, tussleing the hair
of the janitors and doctors and newsreaders,
who don't know if they're American, Mexican, or both.
Summer hath come, May blocked the sun, son, yet I know you read this Jedi
poetry.
Airwaves reek of radiation, reverberation stagnant holds no key.
Here we, hear yee, Kings of Alchemy
everyday, every way, mopping floors like janitors, scientists of style, fluidity.
Yet, have you ever seen "Good Will Hunting?" "How do ya' like 'dem apples!?!"
Faces fraught with pale, we do not understand or yet fully comprehend what it
is being accomplished here.
Still, week after week, we build this small community of ambition through
attrition. We pour out our souls...FOR WHAT? Bickering in this pan, flash
flooding through months supposedly in a drought. But, FOR WHAT"S IT ALL
ABOUT. (or Aboot, for my Canadian brother's and sisters)
I give thanks for your interaction, but will not accept judgment of the few. In
fact, purists, I will address you too, by flying high my middle finger, resisting
the itch to even edit this "worthless excuse for a poem". But I know better
than to pester you much more than that. For I too, need readers, and you're
dropping like flies in protest. Still I say: "You're pissed off, it sure beats
getting pissed on!" Perhaps the world really fades to black when everyone
stops talking of you.
There is not much I believe in firmly as the Universe/Multiverse is a million
white canvases. But I, and I do mean butt-eye believe we are waking up. My
duty involves elimination of the snooze button. If wishes were coffee, I'd stir
the world hot, and see that cups overflow with pure energy. The black veil
over our many nations needs lifted, and it's gonna take full concentration,
positive motivation, and quite possibly myriads meditating.
Amen brothers and sisters!
***
If this piece doesn't resonate, I recommend one week off from television and
or video games to improve clarity. Light becomes clear when dimming what's
dumbing you down.
Awkward moments fill the air;
they trouble me when I sleep.
Behold the wonders of the great,
killers and murderers of all kind.
Catch them we will the officer says,
but forget them we will and go on.
Dying are all the people around you,
sooner or later it will be your turn.
Enthusiasm, enthusiasm, oh that’s all so great,
blood and violence tastes so sweet.
Fetch the demon in your dreams,
or forever he will haunt you.
Glitter and fame, they are all that,
they’ll pay with their life to witness.
Hate and misery powerfully rule,
the people of this town.
Insomnia will keep you awake,
yes; your past will haunt you.
Janitors of the rich and famous,
get a little tap on the back.
Killing love all around the world,
leaders now feel safe.
Let me lie here hopeless,
I’ve lost all energy to fight.
Martyrs of our time are heroes,
but count them on my fingers I can.
Night and day shiver cold,
the sun has run away.
Oceans and seas have dried up,
but our tears will replace.
Power sought by the entire world,
the same thing that will destroy them.
Questions raised that have no answer,
how sweet is confusion…
Rest my friend, it will be better soon,
as soon as we are all dead.
Sanity has forever disappeared,
along with thinking minds.
Tragedy of all kinds;
the deaths and betrayals.
Undo all your mistakes?
Now it is too late.
Venomous poison in our drinks,
to brainwash our innocence.
Warriors die for the wrong causes;
it is all but a silly waste.
Xenophobia of all races,
we will kill, kill, and kill.
Yowl out your sorrow,
it is all you can do.
Zigzag thoughts run through my head,
as wars come and go.
Institution Ain’t no Solution!
I’m a feeling sick,
I need to leave,
Rosy plays with feces,
As she clutches for my sleeve,
Where the hell’s the keys
Lock the door,
Blood trickles from Geoff’s ear
As he cracks his head against the floor
Archie’s breaking windows
Cutting up his wrist
Glen’s going stir-crazy
So he lashes out with his fist
Hold that bastard down,
Strap to the bench
My vision getting foggy,
I’m getting nauseous from the stench
Do we know what they want?
Can we give them what they need?
Shall we modify their behavior?
Or sit back and watch them bleed
Psychologist, Psychiatrist
Teachers and their aides
What function do they serve?
Besides that of janitors and maids
They wear Institution clothes
They follow Institution rules
Eat Institution food
And become institution fools!
So sleep my friend
No reason for to rise
The sun forsakes these wired windows
Bringing brightness to your eyes
Your body’s trapped within these walls
Yet, I know your soul soars free
So do your thing, you’ll be king
And I pray that you pardon me
carol: they took my kiemona and my angelo(parents)with brutal-force and left me
for the janitors of the deserts to feast on my child wounded carcase. i live within
the hidden confines of a twisted and perverted place. my heart be not tainted
with hate nor my mind disturbia by the cruelties of the pasted hidious inflicted
fate. i merely await my future manifestation of a hopeful love of life and all its
splendor. why else would i have survive such deeds ago, which render me once,
the invisible child?
I suppose one of the most awful parts
Of the annual American tradition
Like this
Is that from just after lunch
Those 19 2nd grade children
Must remain in school until the next morning
With their parents sitting on parking lot curbs
Just out of reach
Screaming
In the heat
Of afternoon through dinner time
And a typical softball game sunset
The insects
Chattering under the douse of stars
Until a sunrise paints the rows of houses
Pink
And the streetlights shut off and re-set their cycles
The children propped up in tiny chairs
Or sprawled on the floor
Crooked
Bent out of shape like tossed cabbage patch dolls
No longer hungry or thirsty or sleepy or cranky
Or scared
Pencil in hand comb in pocket ribbons in hair
Maybe even a first crush frozen on their face
A little handsome shirt
A beautiful skirt
Red sandals red tennis shoes red socks
No one can change their pose of holes
Until all the pictures and measurements are made
And taken and filed away
By vomiting uniformed strangers
And this takes an eternity that will never shorten
It always comes down to the janitors of society
With name tags stitched over their hearts
To keep the waste out of our sight
So we may live on without the real images
Boiled in our eyes
Spoiling our good time
Every one of us pulled the trigger
And ran
Ran for cover.
The NYC. Detective strolled into his little office that once had been a janitors supply
closet in an elementary school . It was converted into a police station after the school had
found a more suitable spot to try and teach those unteachable little darlings from this
neighborhood. The cops were cruising around here most of the time anyway. It just made
sense to the higher ups to operate from here, and besides, it fit into the limited budget. There was talk that next year we might even get a janitor. Till then we would hoe out our
own cubicles. The name plate on the painted peeling door read Detective Sgt. Bill Lipton.
NYCPD.
Looking around he could see it was much the way he left it before heading out for a
much needed two week vacation. The tarnished coffee perculator was against the back
white washed wall on a bench where he dreamed there’d be a window some day. Ahh.. It
didn’t matter, he didn’t spend much time in here anyway. All… or at least most of the crimes
were happening outside these walls and he spent most of his time in the middle of that.
One picture of his partner decorated the wall; a police Warm Blood horse he named “Red Neck”. Bill toured a Central Park beat on Red Neck . Actually it was relaxing to work the beat on his trained horse as a mounted police officer...most of the time.
Continued as a part in unison with Richard Picketts Shogun/Samauri Stories on his site by his
permission. -to be continued-
Hearts beat in shallow chests as brains tick in empty heads
Unseen eyes glitter as to small hands pull to big triggers
Money wouldn’t let go as it dragged the world behind it
If bombs fall killing everyone do they make a sound?
Lies come from microphone equipped stages as the masses keep a clapping
I watched millions die for greed of the liquid black gold genre
After he lost faith the son of god sold out and did Nissan car commercials
Truth is swept under the rug by the politician janitors
In the jails of hate of race only people stood
Only language of government, propaganda
Nations bleed white vomit as they all turn into one
Open your mind to your own thought not just what your taught
Flags of freedom flew high creating shadows of corruption
Someone asked quietly did he find his nuclear weapons?
Our violence took control as we laughed at history
Calling voices from the gutters to an unhearing feeling
Indicating that this is a mistake and it may be too late to start to cooperate
Even religion took its place behind the rolling tanks of destruction
Thought is the only thing left to save
Kneel to our new god, fear
I remember my mom having a collection of hats she stored under her bed.
For any occasion that could arise…she had a hat to set atop her head.
Moms of today are different…often they go out with their heads bare
because of this we don’t often realize…all the hats they wear.
If we tried to count all their hats...we can’t…for the list goes on indefinitely
perhaps one way to approach it...would be alphabetically.
Moms are Accountants, Babysitters, Chauffeurs...They do what Doctors, and Electricians do
They are Farmers, Governors, Housekeepers, and Ice cream vendors too.
They are Janitors, Kitchen and Laundry workers, and Maids who clean the floor.
They are Nurses, Optometrists, Painters, Quality control inspectors…there’s more.
They are Receptionists, Seamstresses, Teachers…Umpires…and not always soft spoken…they are Valets, Wardens, X-Ray technicians who can tell if that bone is broken.
They are Youth counselors and every Mom I know is a keeper of the Zoo
If you’re keeping track that’s 26 different hats...26 different jobs that all Moms do.
Moms are the original and still the best multitaskers the world has ever met.
In fact, I didn’t run out of hats for them...I ran out of alphabet.
I guess it’s a good thing each job doesn’t have a hat that sits atop Moms head
for there wouldn’t be enough room to store them in boxes beneath their beds.
They are visionaries, they are cheerleaders, so much of our existence they adorn
yet they had no experience being a mom until their first child was born.
For it was at that miraculous moment in a panic mixed with calm
when the doctor handed them their baby and said, “Congratulations…you’re a Mom!”
And to any Mom who might not have given birth…might not have been there from the start…here’s to all the Mom hats you’ve worn once you opened up your heart.
Do you remember that miraculous feeling…with a mixture of panic and calm…
whether you chose the moment…or the moment chose you…
when you became a Mom?
And therein lies the hat that encompasses all the rest...the hat called motherhood
and to all you Moms out there…I must admit…you make that hat look good.
So to all the Moms everywhere,
here’s wishing you a wonderful Mother’s Day…for all the things you do…
for all the many hats you wear…
our hats are off to you.