Best On Work And Workinglife Poems
Can't tell us can't
For our immense pleasure of a broad recant
Cause we know we can walk on the ceiling
While we know just what is the feeling
As it may be a scare if too many are up there
As life squirms and men fall under exposing inferiority fears
No longer "king of the mountain" or "big dog on top"
We're moving upwards and we'll never stop
Our flock will sing on a mountain high
As small as it may be, we'll rejoice with a sigh
We'll claw our way up the ladder
While we know just what is the matter
Is it wrong for ladies to have ambition for the race
To ask for a raise and command praise
However so, we know the lovely birds will follow
For our life we never let a man swallow
By Susan Mills
I've lived life hard, I've lived life full,
I wasn't the type that stood around and shot the bull.
Every lesson I learned, I learned complete,
Life was good but it wasn't always sweet.
Rigging up drilling rigs and tearing them down,
Moving from county to county and from town to town.
Turning that drill pipe around and round,
Sending that pipe deeper and deeper into that old ground.
Searching for oil, searching for gas,
It was a way of life that is hard to surpass.
The work was dirty the work was hard,
And if you made it in one piece from payday to payday you could thank the Lord.
It's hard to explain but it gets in your blood,
Maybe we just swallowed too much of that nasty old drilling mud.
Only certain types of people can ever relate,
A place where you go to test your fate.
I'm a mighty lucky man and I've got the scars to prove it all,
The life I led, I wouldn't trade for the world, but it took some gall.
Although I wouldn't recommend it to anyone else, I personally miss those days,
Some of us born down here in Texas are a little mental, but it's just our ways.
No need to mention any of the names of those who ask me, “Why so quiet, James?”
In truth, I’m quiet since I do not choose to shallowly discuss the evening news,
to idly chat about weather reports or wager over who should win at sports.
And why reveal the details of my life to those caught up in private griefs and strife,
who listen just to items they can use to gossip, harbor ill, taunt or abuse,
or those who, learning of me, would dismiss as crazy anything that runs amiss
to attitudes with which they feel at home and scoff at the suggestion they might roam
beyond the kind of life they’ve preconceived or outside of the faith they have believed?
Why waste a discourse on those without will, to whom stupidity’s a social skill?
And why discuss philosophy and art, or matters even closer to my heart,
or, with light-hearted wit, why try to start with those whose highest humor is a fart?
This is really why I’m quiet today, though, “... just tired, I guess,” is all I’ll say.