Best Menial Poems
Public transpo buses are a poor man's taxicab,
but you can't hail a ride when you need one
You must sit and wait on a wooden street slab
Buses are municipal elephants
that move on asphalt trails
If one arrives on schedule, then all is well
Drop the money into the pay slot,
and get taken to that menial job you got
But marginal income don't motivate you a lot
Yet, be glad you're one of the fortunate few
that has a cool bus driver who loves to skirt the rules
He will tell you to call him Zeke
Not mister, not sir
Just Zeke
Thirty years, he says he's been
on the urban safari beat
Says he's seen it all
on the jungle concrete streets
Zeke loves to laugh a lot,
he loves to give out friendly hellos
And Zeke really loves helping
the disabled and old widows
Next time you're in his city,
take a chance and ride poor
If you meet Zeke, you'll be richer for sure
Categories:
menial, happy, humorous, jobs,
Form:
Light Verse
A contracted seafarer...concerning no servile rank,
kept e'er involved watch...away from menial daily tasks top deck,
while steadfast wary of...the diligent taskmaster's whip.
A dawn swift gust...brushes the ship from a rocky pillar,
duly rallies from rest...aids calamitous bellows from crow's nest,
witnessed by crew...rose an angel disguised with devil horns.
Seawater laps feverishly...against ship's wooden hull,
as panic over breed minds...once sturdy legs go feebly about,
cascading thoughts grips privately...every man for himself.
Another abrupt action...frees a churning sea expounds,
and an opening hole...devouring anything within its midst,
as desperation consumes...a ship has long met its doom.
A lone selfless soul of limited else...moved past the lost,
and hastily clutched a burdened javelin...and hoist it upwards,
with his petitioned combined strength...released the deadly blow.
Her dying scream...was drowned out by restored happy voices,
and a wealth of well-wishes and praises...honoring accolades,
as lone eyes of a humble sort...gaze a siphoning pass.
Categories:
menial, mythology,
Form:
Sijo
to have and have not
is reason lent to logic
and reality left to disspare
to my heart oh, not where?
the place of peace not there
then where can the weary traverse
where the dreams are not night mares
loud noises not explosions
loud voices not fights
and darkness a place to sleep
rather than a place to hide
who is it that insist
on our depravity
whilst we are not in captivity
fleeced of menial freedoms
by a monsoon of unjust laws
furious my psyche can deduce
that i am not wanted here
in the midst of all the false advertisement
one country can give
about how much blood was
spilled to make them free
do we dare to think
that this excludes me
have not i been knitted into
the matrix of this thing
called freedom
have my dreams deceived me
about the land of the free
are not rights given in duplicity
and these ideals; do they not
come from God
to have and have not
the rights of men
and the peace there in
belonging to every citizen
Categories:
menial, passionpeace, peace, rights,
Form:
One September morn, Barry is born, one day a little man that society will chastises every day, poisoned with dour memories of a life passing, staggers habitually along life’s broad way, yet still, he believes an ardent player of this earthly cast.
the mould human kind
every one naked the same
circumstance fate plays
One September morn Larry is born not a volunteer, into this place, no developing embryo given a democratic choice, but oh the joy the accolades, freedom of youth rampart significant, carte blanche credit card.
silver spoon protrudes
freewheeling society
so much to tire of
An unknown purpose aided each step, for Barry with holdall and worldly baggage around his neck, whilst trying to escape societies goals and social orders, life’s hypocrisy filed against this frail oppressed old man, living with a menial existence inside prejudiced borders.
daunting are the nights
beneath a blanket of fog
soul destroying dawns
Here Larry the mellow fellow who toast, boast every night drunk with his host, cocaine his specialty, whilst trying to escape societies goals and social orders, now his empire has closed the high life exposed a hobo a bench a lamppost his only light.
Barry and Larry
mix for the first time at the...
crematorium.
Entered 2022 Poetry marathon Mile 20
sponsor Mark Toney 12/11/2022
written 2021
Categories:
menial, identity, life,
Form:
Haibun
Thence they come, these thoughts again
As I brood, on mind thus dimmed
Fraught with doubt, crossed by light
Naught but rout, mine sublime such night
Shall I muse on love or war
Fall on fuse or seek Paramour
Laugh or cower in shadows of mire
Caraf or bower or madness my sire...
First is love, that Venus sin venal
That gloves us, that makes great what might be menial
Ye Gods that strike us and make us wonder
What askance could discover, instead we blunder
Next is war, to which we hasten, alight
Vex't too far, we hurry, eyes red bright
For what do we stand, for what reason we fall
For lauds or bands, or glory for all
Last is madness, that indefinable mount
Fast it abandons, leaves a cur, a lout
Yet while in this life it hobbles, in-famy arraigns
In eternity recorded is all but fame
William* knew love, was a master unmatched
In his words our nature unmasked, unlatched
Lee* was a genius, in a cause infamous
The perfect warrior, strong-gentle-just
Poe* was a daemon, Pandora, of dark
Yet lauded after, today our 'Goth' art
Which embodiment was true, was pure?
Which could you most admire, follow, ENDURE?
Could you follow if combin'd in all
As Dumas* once quipped, one for all?
What human could be them, combine in power
Would he be tyrant, belov'd?-Sought?-cowered?
Was he Alexander, of whom knowledge bereft
Was he then Caesar, Cleo*-love, General, Epilept*?
I know not who embodied - genii* of three
Yet at some point existed this man, tri-breed
I know which of these I am, maybe
Yet which one are ye, God damned though may be
if needs must decree ye must be
choose from these distinct sep-equal* three.
* Notes
William - William Shakespeare
Lee - Robert E. Lee
Poe - Edgar Allan Poe
Dumas - Alexandre Dumas
Cleo - Cleopatra
Epilept - Epileptic
Genii - distinctive character or spirit, as of a nation,
period, or language (plural)
*Sep-equal - Separate but equal
Categories:
menial, introspection, on writing and
Form:
Rhyme
The Dignity Of It All
Don’t look me in the eye
Don’t look at me and sigh
Or shake your head and wonder why
As I walk along the street
Ensuring our eyes never meet
I frown, and look down at my feet
A mere and simple cleaner
Don’t laugh at my demeanour
Don’t be sad, for there are no keener
No barrister am I
No educated guy
Don’t look me in the eye!
That dirty, menial task
Which for nobody would ask
(Nor do I behind this subtle mask)
I pick your rubbish of the floor
While you hurry through the door
Who am I to ask for more?
But if you gave another look
You’d surely bring yourself to book
For my “lack of pride” you’ve sure mistook
I may clean up all your dregs
But I’m not one who begs
Not while I can stand on my own two legs
Don’t think that it’s a pity
As you travel through the city
Don’t dare question my dignity!
For you see I’m very proud
Of that I’d shout aloud
Above the heads of any crowd
Because, in my mind, I guess
Somebody must clean up your mess
Though it’s me I am no less
An honest person - just like you
Who takes pride in what they do
(Is there a moral in here too?)
Don’t look me in the eye
We just can’t see eye to eye
As I pick up your junk and sigh.
Categories:
menial, appreciation, identity, london, pride,
Form:
Verse
The human qualities and potential isn’t limited nor territorial
kindness at its peak is indeed interracial
it is brutal to keep this knowledge confidential
b’cos, my experience is first hand and crucial.
Pouring out serial disgusting output, I've been consistent
hence nurturing my friendship is menial,
such a risk is definitely consequential
and it becomes official when a friend’s head is hit
Despite my social status compounded in filth and lots of irritating effect
I've been embraced and kissed by luck
making me believe life is indeed partial
A controversial creature, I am
yet, surrounded by the wonders of true friendship
its complete care, no where near superficial
its love, so congenital
to the point, I feel I’m in denial
My stink spreads across towns
my words attract infirmities
my mind has been the warehouse of lawlessness
and everything bad is registered in my accountability
but the one and only good side of me is you my friends
the day you leave, is the day I join the Dinosaurs
Categories:
menial, beauty, best friend, character,
Form:
Epic
I nestle a tab under my tongue
At just twenty eight, I’m still quite young
Before too long
I feel it coming on strong
Dreamily, lazily
I see my past with new clarity
Every question now answered amply
I see nearly three decades filled with so much regret
An eternity before I’m permitted to forget
I lead an unremarkable life
Few advantages, laden with strife
Only now can I see the failure of MY choices
Surrounded by better options, my compassion convulses
I can do so much more
So many different ways to create joy galore
Menial tasks needn’t be a chore
It’s always been my choice
Is it OK if I choose to rejoice?
I can find ways to enhance my self respect
With others in need I choose to connect
What I have I can celebrate
What I want needn’t devastate
It’s always been my choice
Is it OK if I choose to rejoice?
I can
Live without disdain
Lost friends I’ll regain
Feel pride when sought-out comforting others in pain
Embody excitement, accepting the occasional mundane
I can
Teach
Convey hope with new found reach
Channel empathy through innovative speech
It’s always been my choice
Is it OK if I choose to rejoice?
I have more control than I know
Now is my chance to let it show
There can be more laughter
With humor, I can be an injector
Mastering quiet, when others speak I’m an active listener
I can read more, learn more, invest in myself
Spend my time with greater purpose
Sprinkling fun into drudgery I’m tireless
How do I know,
This leads to a more fulfilling existence
A life of broad acceptance
In which I make a difference
I see all of this with great clarity
Only now
Because
I died,
Twelve minutes ago
Categories:
menial, abuse, addiction, dark,
Form:
Narrative
You call up and say:
“Hello, how are you today?”
I’m dead and rottin’ away,
But my droid is pretty bright,
It answers “I’m all right!”
You celebrate the bi-centennial,
And call up your oldest serving menial:
My spirit is hardly congenial,
But my droid is going strong;
It accepts congratulations from the throng.
So when all is said and done,
I’ve been dust on the floor of sub-station one
Twenty-three revolutions of the sun.
Your polite query is replied,
By the droid who inherited my pride.
Originally published:
Clarke, R. (Ed) The Mentor 87, July 1995, fanzine published by Ron Clarke, Sydney, Australia, [Archival copy available online at http://efanzines.com/Mentor/TM87COMP.pdf].
Categories:
menial, science fiction, society, teen,
Form:
Cinquain
Life is full of chances
But the number is not known,
Careful steps and sideward glances
Voice our fear of the unknown.
You've never played this game before
You do not know the rules,
Ant through each hand you’ll learn to name
The aces and the fools.
So when you reach the road that split
And grapple with your doubting mind,
You roll the dice of guess and wit
And gamble with the wind.
Life is full of choices
But the answers have been blurred
And the world, the world of voices,
They will echo to be heard.
The sky is never clear to see
Beyond each menial task,
And so allusive destiny
Approach you with a mask.
So when you've drawn your lot, advice
And once more, unsure, glance behind,
You take a breath and roll the dice
You gamble with the wind.
This table had been worn with scars
Its players left behind,
Where gamblers gambled through the years
The gamble of the wind.
So think before you cast the dice
And blindly draw the blind’s advice
For there will be a price.
Before you listen to the voice
And take the chance and make the choice,
Before you guess you have to see
Your bet is your eternity
So think before your name is signed,
Before you gamble, gamble, gamble, gamble
Gamble with the wind.
Categories:
menial, career, change, faith, family,
Form:
Rhyme
He who seeks pain for pleasure is a real aboriginal,
Runs slowly yet leads subservient to international.
He who has a mental condition stable aberrational
And is clearly confused for his rule over junior biennial.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader fictional?
Believes has virtual reality and qualities supernal;
Worries by relaxing, is a truly called stupid sentinel
Off laissez faire causing democracy death prenatal.
He is the original copy; autocracy does he disannul.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader nominal?
Babbles less on many topics but talks lot notional;
Real oxymoron, a worthless gold is a role fictional.
Such a stupid, such dark snow acts like nocturnal
And wishes us follow him like a true myth tensional.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader attritional?
As little pain hurts none, such nonentity optional
Is singly double natured like oxymoron is binational.
Such a tiny elephant of no use is a leader sectional,
Unlike Modi or Mahatma who is pretty fierce finagle.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader supernal?
A rightly deceitful leader propagates worries parental
Agony, by loving humanity loathing persons is menial.
Is such afunctional leader be only choice? Oh! Marginal!
An open secret for such leaders, this Monorhyme is a signal.
Is such one busy doing nothing our leader eternal?
Categories:
menial, absence, addiction, anxiety, funny,
Form:
Monorhyme
Altered Perspective
“The higher you go the cooler
“The air and weather become.”
No sooner had I been a Ruler
Than I was utterly unwelcome.
“We elevated you to the Chair
“Of comfort and to Authority.”
It turned to be an electric chair
That torched me to Eternity!
“You’ll receive very fat peaks...”
Attractive package so I thought.
Ah! What deep and deadly peaks
From vultures in a drought!
“Adopt being a true Motivator
“Who, by example must lead.”
I turned out to be an Activator
Of worker indolence instead!
“Management means doing a job
“Through others; one, two or three.”
Yet, menial work bereft my snob,
All are doing work through me!
‘You must Control, you must Lead.”
How sweet power sounds to be!
Yet, en masse my toe they tread
‘Before chasing me up the tree!
“You should do all but Plan,
“And eschew deviating Course.”
I’m isolated, I am just One
On the mercy of a United Force!
The Higher you go the Cooler....
No! The Higher, the Hotter:
I’m brewed, they are the brewer
I seethe in Management’s pot!
**Management Principles construed from a different perspective!
JM
23th Oct’ 2013
Categories:
menial,
Form:
Quatrain
My love of life can really be explained
By a very happy childhood, a very happy first marriage
And a very loving and happy second marriage
What more can anyone ask for
I realize I'm one of the more fortunate ones
Believe me, I am so very thankful of that
I wish I could transfer some of my happiness and good fortune
To those who have been less fortunate than I
My happiness and lust for life can be transferred
To those in our immediate circle of friends and family
But more difficult to reach the cashier at the local supermarket
Or others who hold menial jobs
But it's basically, “think happy” and you will “be happy”...
It ain't rocket science!
I realize for some, this might be more difficult than others to achieve
But if you don't give it a shot, you'll never know for sure!
© Jack Ellison 2015
Categories:
menial, happiness,
Form:
Narrative
Imagine being labeled unworthy for the land you were born upon.
Imagine being marginalized because your skin is of darker hue.
Imagine being excluded even though you did no wrong.
Just imagine it was you, just imagine it was true.
Imagine a class system that labels you inferior.
Imagine being classified irrelevant to cast a vote.
Imagine being educated to perform menial tasks of labour.
Just imagine the hurt, just imagine your voice unheard.
Now imagine a revolution driven only by peace.
Now imagine compensation without protest
Now imagine a generation returning to where they belong
Just imagine the privilege of a righteous inheritance.
Now imagine the dignity that was lost now restored
Now imagine a healing and all illnesses cured
Now imagine redemption of land with a peaceful hand
Just imagine......
Categories:
menial, abuse, africa, courage, discrimination,
Form:
Dramatic Verse
Part 1
1958 (Introduction to employment)
Often I drift back to the days, where it all began. To feel again
the sharp brisk morning air against my inferior nakedness,
whilst sprightly making my way down school lane, towards the local builder’s yard,
to earn my weekly pittance!
here where the first day ritual, of one’s treatment an introduction to.
“Left handed screw drivers, buckets of steam,
(and don’t forget the lid,)
sky hooks for the innovative amongst us;
and grease around the balls ‘had they been quick enough!’”
My last day of education, teacher said I was a hopeless case,
the picture they drew for me, was one of depression.
“Curriculum vitae” none existent buried deep within my soul.
“God! What I’d give to be a footballer.”
(“Newcastle United” Laid heavy on my mind.)
Yet! Who was there to help me? Why this constant inability to learn when
no one spent the time to coax, or simply understand, and encourage,
while indoctrination imprinted from many years past, handed down through
generation to generation, taught one that,
“Hard work never hurt anyone.”
(“It bloody killed my father!”)
Employment a new world, the master’s menu
now activated upon an innocent ego, waiting to be stirred, by the privileged.
To confuse the gullible “Master” moves in many devious ways, to coerce one to believe in
a system that spawns tyranny! “These Rams of society” Manipulators all, whose ecstasies
of sweet moments are drawn from the cries of menial men, those whom when on his morning tour of the works, doff their caps, as one would when Pharaoh entered the room, therefore destined to wander aimlessly, within each corporation statutory limits.
It was here an introduction to the red power, born from ideological ideals,
collective thoughts being their strength, leaving individuality as a nonentity, and a friendly threat that left me cold inside.
Yes! It is this system I grew to despise so much, yet kindled by England’s very own
“Twin seeds of learning.”
© Harry J Horsman 2012
Categories:
menial, day, life, morning, work,
Form:
Free verse