Best Operators Poems
My vacant stare was sure to be
a giveaway to anyone that saw . . .
I was a Pilgrim there to the land of techno-jargon,
of icons, Help instructions meaning nothing,
and a world of young and savvy operators.
Our teacher wasn’t there.
Certain that the worksheet explaining all the basics
would be a breeze for us to carry out,
he’d arrogantly left the room
and left the lot of us to the mercy of
a keyboard and computer.
I looked up from his worksheet
to a screen that stared right back at me,
awaiting my commands.
I was on the starting path to what is often called
the Super Highway,
and my boarding pass, tuition to the class,
was non-refundable.
Overwhelmed, I started out. Then I hit a rut
and didn’t have a clue what next to do.
My learning peers already seemed to know
the route quite well.
Some, in fact, were calling it a day
while I stayed on, ashamed to bother
any of the others there for help.
I looked around the room, my tired brain
a hot plate in the midst of younger minds
with the speed of ovens made for microwave.
Perhaps they’d all conspired to put
the older lady at unease.
It seemed the more I tried to understand,
the more pathetically off course I’d go. . .
Till finally (longing for a time when
“cut and paste” implied the use of scissors),
I got up from my seat and left behind
the self-instructing worksheet which
that egghead teacher said would be “a cinch.”
Two big words were scrawled across the top
of its first page, two big words in red,
written with the one tool I could trust:
SCREW IT.
For Natalie Whitlock's
"Talkin' Technology" Contest
There is so much deception
Diluted reflections,
Alluding to perfection
But denying the resurrection,
Changing what was formed during conception,
While claiming they are an exception.
It’s only a matter of time,
Before the righteous shine
For these trials are benign
In the grand span of time.
All these tests,
Bring forth the best,
And separate us from the rest.
Some think they are so blessed
But they are goats, I must confess
They are breaches in this mess.
Selling daughters
To the Order
Draping sin
In fine linen
Making love… a financial gain
While your sons go insane
Drinking blood sacrificed to demons
Making wealth off a man’s seaman.
Idolatry clothed in the "common good"
Many have forsaken what God said they would.
Perfecting holy words to fit a style
Don’t you know God says its vial?
Fear of man rather than the one
Who can cast you to hell and heal your son.
The infinite power, love and grace
Has suddenly been altered and replaced
By doctrines of devils and smooth operators
There is only one God and the rest are all haters.
But many go along with the times,
As if time won’t stop and require a fine.
We all have a date with an eternal fate,
We all have a dance with an eternal romance.
The question is what kind of dance will you eventually partake
Will it be pearly white gates or a fire filled lake?
By: Sabina Nicole
I work in an office
where they call me a geek
You can call me a wizard
But don't call me a freak
I'm a happy soul
Yes a handy technician
Bright computer buff
handsome and good looking
I keep all the operators
Working it out
If a machine breaks down
I'm here to help out
But don't mess with me
I could ruin your day
One press on your keyboard
And I'll blow you away
You're the one to be left
Looking like a clown
So don't call me a freak
When I ain't around
I work in an office
where they call me a geek
You can call me a wizard
But never a freak
The workers in here
They come and they go
I belong in this office
I'm part of the show
Yes
I work in an office
Where they call me a geek
Not very polite
But it's better than freak
© Copyright KC. Leake
10th January 2015
All Rights Reserved
Purely Fictional !!
I am out here on the strip.
Making men look at how I sway my hips.
I know many are in search of a relief (with)
No significant relationship in the mix.
No money
No sex
I have to take care of myself.
I am not just a piece ass out here.
Many I let pass by.
I am looking for the right guy,
In that I have a certain success rate on how I get paid.
The ones with the wife are always the smooth operators.
No money
No sex
I am not just a piece ass out here.
I am captivation of my existence.
Respite I felt, but then he stops to ask me was I available.
I said yes and asked what did he have planned.
His reply was a good time.
I smiled and these were my lines.
No money
No sex
I am not just out here as a piece ass.
I have to care for self.
Let’s go to my bordello to fulfill the rest.
This is my startup business.
Now, what's your name...
______________________________________________________________|
Written December 21, 2015!
My trade is printing
commercial web-press printing
Printing is an art
A difficult art
It takes an age of learning
to master this form
Printers are painters
yet we do not use brushes
We paint with machines
And do not use paint
but ink to produce precise
graphic images
We follow Franklin
who wrote a poem for us
(His proud Epitaph)
I refer here to older web printing presses which I used to operate. Of course, today's presses are completely automated. Most of today's press operators would be clueless on the ones I ran. Today, printing is not an art, but a lost art...
By: tryerson
motif: Historical
From undertaker to conversation maker
The callers were now all alone
The clickerty - clack
Of the Strowger exchange
No operators needed to answer the phone
~GG~
An Undertaker called Strowger invented the Strowger Telephone Exchange making the need of an Operator to connect calls unnecessary. The mechanism made a clicking noise as it selected the dialled number. He then returned to being an undertaker.
Customers are like bouquets of flowers passing through our twenty-four hours.
Breakfast, lunch, or dinner all 365 calendar days guaranteed for a full twenty-four seven.
“Hello Sir”! Welcome to Waffle House America’s favorite place to eat!
Some say we are the closest thing next to God's Great Heaven!
We have a confusing language of our own, the blabbering towers of the real “April Showers”
Service with a smile that has walked the many hard-earned extra tenths of miles,
Nothing computerized with files, just organized by our own genuine unique styles.
Waitresses are serving with hard enduring time and each crosses over a mighty fine line,
Master grill operators optimize a divine talent marking your plates perfectly aligned.
Friday and Saturday nights the party train arrives blessed coffee to the many lips we’ll revive.
Regulars and irregulars you’re served just the same, pardon me did I really get your name?
Loud ones, quiet ones, and even the picky ones strive to come back to us,
Here we bring back the basics of being alive.
Scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped, or topped?
So do you want them “All the way or just partly aflame”!
Young, old, or different at being indifferent just being sane,
Especially when the “Waffle House Way” is to say the first “HELLO”!
“Morning Mam”! Can I get you your usual or will you be having something different “TO GO”?
Brief moments of insanity with the moods that walk through our doors,
Thank God for every single one of those Jukeboxes!
The quality of service opening an eye to the sly foxes,
We’d really be in trouble if we sold liquors!
Foreign, military, and even civilian are in and out,
Our servers are like the gold stored at Fort Knox.
So what can we get you today that you haven’t already had before?
“The Waffle House Way” America shouts!
It’s like being home because that’s what we are all about.
for Jean Franco ?(March 15, 1907- April 15, 1992)
I
They opened his abdomen
found what they were not looking for though half-expected to see ?polyps enormous cancerous mush in lieu of and the rest that had given out on him
They said: if we had known we wouldn't have torn into his tripes?to see even the sample test told us as much but we did it for him he so wanted it done now we merely have to wait and see just how long it would take him to conk out without solid food to pass from his newly-grafted conduit
He was completely in their hands and hung on to their lips their every nod their plans for him and the use he had for their apprentis chirugiens sorciers
He kept his anger for his friends family telephone operators the aide-soignantes those he could intimidate with his age for he didn't know what they knew they wouldn't feel the hurt the slight for long the rankling umbrage sans riposte
He didn't mind all the inconvenience the constant waking to pass water the secluded room without tv without his wife to take it out on without the means to exude his usual referee's contempt of rules
In their hands he was the meek inept thing pleading with his eyes his entire body bent to their gaze of wonder of why he would so question going now then or even a little later
(Continued in Part Two)
He roars from the distance, instilling in everyone, terror and fear
Approaching stealthily, though unseen, somehow you sense he's near.
Then, in an incomprehensible instant of time, before you can react
The lion lunges at you, the unwary prey, in an outrageous attack.
The roar is intentional, skillfully utilized, to inspire fear, to paralyze
Shaking, quaking, fearing imminent death, the hopeless ones realize
The time has come, ready or not, for their premature earthly demise
Perhaps unaware, that God has prepared for all, an earthly paradise.
The lion is a beast, an enraged animal, with an insatiable appetite
Targeting humanity, especially the innocent, inexperienced in the fight
Hatred and extremism, promulgated by evil men, wicked schemes roar
Propaganda machine running full steam operators tabulating the score.
Wicked people brutalizing others, committing atrocities are inhumane
Deceived human agents of a malevolent unseen lion who's gone insane
This diabolical lion, is on the prowl, ever watchful, seeking to devour prey
Righteous humans will survive unharmed, if they humbly seek God and pray.
John Derek Hamilton November 18, 2015
Roaring round roads raucously
Orally overtly offending operators
Acrid antagonistic adjectives aired
Defiantly daring distracted drivers
Ranting raving railing
Aggravate annoy atrocious
Gregarious gone Goebbels
Exacerbate engage enrage
Racism,
and sexism
and violent capitalism
are as American
and as bad for you
and your kids
as pre-millennial rotten and burned-out apple pie-sellers
And ProMatriotic learning
and living
and health loving
post-millennial WinWin co-operators
against LoseLose
racism
and sexism
and violent capitalism
as AntiAmerican
as burning-out
and hanging-out
and banging-out
and harming the health in any way,
of matriotic cooperative apple-pie makers.
So said,
rather more than less,
one of the ancient river campers
speaking curbside
before the double-glass front doors
of his Cumberland Farms Cathedral.
In a sad and quiet voice.
Not a position he gloated about
as if he stood morally apart.
Rather,
he speaks of dis-integrity
of our shared powerless positions
as autonomous systems,
struggling through each impoverishing day
of lost good faith youth
for, now, mere survival
when we could become sooo very much lighter
to rediscover
remaining integrity of our identity systems
for cooperative organic thrival.
Outside,
my neighborhood prophet
for world peace
was long and lean
with sun-dried and bronzed wrinkled skin
over muscled sinew,
a long-grey bearded
and skeletal nature mystic,
with clear and open stereophonic memorizing eyes.
Inside,
remembering his times with swimming wet green frogs
and sleek flying flashing ravens,
eagles of EarthPatriotic balance,
both honorable predators
and prey to aging apple pies
regretted and suffered
by long grey-bearded prophetic times
surviving threats and violence of nationalistic racism
and monotheistic sexism
and MightMakesRight capitalism,
WinLose subnormal optimization
of WinWin BothAnd opportunities,
Left integrated in and outside Right-felt memories
of maternal love
far too unmatriotically far behind
for EarthTribe's cooperative thrival
of these our fit-in
cooperative powerlessness.
So, I asked our neighborhood prophet
if he had mentioned these problems to the Mayor.
"I guess your news for today,
I am the Mayor."
logical greedy
uncles unshaven, rocks and
arks terrified philanthropic cherubim blessing
logical operators, terrified detainees stones and
arks attacked
through the blessing
of cherubim
embarrassed greedy uncles
unshaven, basins and stones, cherubim terrified
bothered
embarrassed with
blessing, agglutinate greedy
uncles' rocks thorough meaning
of rock reservoirs hassling cherubim
terrified thanks to
greedy inmate physical violence, embarrassed offstage
cherubim kindly surprised
by bathos, rough arks'
empathic blessing on
physical violence, greedy uncles frightened
thereby embarrassed
frocked, cherubim's blessing on
arks and materials
bald greedy
uncles unshaven rocked with
hassling cherubim's
terrified thanks to
thorough greedy
logical drives, lodestones and
arks
the blessing of
embarrassed cherubim offering for
empathic fear, greedy logical driven
arks and
stones
cherubims' thorough blessing wasting ends of
rocks and wells
thoroughly concerned, thoroughly problematic grasping
logical blessing on arks, asking avidly rocky
sensation uncles unshaven
kept asking for bodies frightened by
embarrassed
cherubim's blessing reasonable greedy
uncles unshaven
thoroughly, cisterns and stones
greedy cherubim's frightened thereby embarrassed thereof
kindly held sensual
means
thanks to powerful flint arks
greedy blessing given, frightened
bothers embarrassed cherubim's rocked eggshells through
physical violence, embarrassed
cherubim's blessing on froufrou
Copyright © 2011 #307
9/Apr/2011 (0110hrs)
Dedicated to all Special Operations' Operatives Worldwide
Teams of Operators prepared for the call
honed and strong willed standing tall.
Shadows moving fearlessly in distant nights
these spirits never falter from death’s sight.
Back home, they’re not in headlines
etched in time behind foreign lines.
Year long deployments, and some dead
shrouded in secrecy the headlines read.
Seemed forever, did their loved ones wait
not sure of their Warrior’s return or fate.
Suddenly, from a sleepless night
shuddering from dream’s fright.
Hearing that doorbell ring
unsure of what it’ll bring.
One Warrior is finally home
downrange another gone.
Their Badge of Courage within,
carried with them until the end.
by: LP
April 9, 2011
An adolescent of the 60s,
now nearly sixty years later,
I still at least half trust
thirty and under agree
If you and I
are not part of our cooperative solution,
then we are part of Earth's competing subclimate problem,
pattern,
economic anti-ecological policy,
political bicameral bipolar procedure...
In fact,
or so I subjectively feel
is objectively pointed fact,
I could agree
this is precisely
an important half-balancing dipolar truth,
Because
if we are part of Earth's cooperative health intent,
motivation, both spiritual and natural
raison d'etre,
holonic gestalt,
then we are also not not competing co-operators,
as LeftBrain logically calculating
as RightBrain silently, holonically, listening
for non-violent co-operating potential;
Which is why I feel as fact
when +1 is not(not) 0-squared egalitarian,
then, at last, and least imbalanced,
we are getting some co-operative bilateral ego/eco-binary where,
phallic-1 and orifice-0 icons
following patriarchal and matriarchal behavioral passion powers
Both ego-here and eco-there
no longer quite so either/or square
LeftBody v RightMind, and Wing, and Wall
competitively dividing future opportunities
for health care circle giving
and receiving ZeroZone cooperatively owned
and managed
recycling wealth of binomial opportunity,
Like a universal patriarchal capitalist Right
bowing namaste with
uni-dipolarian matriarchal sacred communion Left
grace- and peace-full,
which feels awesomely like a square diamond
rational polynomial fact to measure
in a potentially flowing kind
of fleeting non-violent wave-function
ultra-violet brilliant
reverse dualdark
non-hierarchically inclusive
WholeSystem True
HolySpirit/Nature
ElderRight/NewerLeft ZeroZone healthy Life
whole warm womb
wealthy wet-flowing
wiki-nomial WuWay.
IF ever I had a country : XXI - XXII
" I will follow that system of regimen which, according to my ability and judgment, I consider for the benefit of my patients, and abstain from whatever is deleterious and mischievous. I will give no deadly medicine to any one if asked, nor suggest any such counsel; and in like manner I will not give to a woman a pessary to produce abortion. With purity and with holiness I will pass my life and practice my Art. " Excerpted from the translation by Francis Adams in Wikisource of the Oath of Hippocrates, 400 BCE.
XXI
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were but the Health Minister
And if some breach some tort against The Hippocratic Oath reached my ear
I'd rage and storm through ward portals in Olympian Apollonic gear
To arraign the culprit whether Male Nurse Sister Matron or specialist Doctor
Till no patient need fear contamination poison nor Secret Service murder
That is, if ever I were but the Health Minister
And even if I never ever had no country
XXII
IF ever I had a country
And if ever I were the Health Secretary
And if some sleepless stateless victim of the Secret Police's Third Degree
Was put under Trileptal and made to undergo Tomo-Scintigraphy
And the operators abandoned the patient to general tonico-clonic seizure in epilepsy
I'd either order the hospital closed or put the service heads out-of-activity
That is, if ever I were even the Health Sec in Gay Paree
And even if I never ever had no country
© T. Wignesan - Paris, July 9, 2018