Best Paychecks Poems
Someone said, Hey Christopher
Someone said, “Hey Christopher,
what’s up with all this love
It seems in every poem
that is all you’re thinking of
Why are you always dreaming,
why is it you can’t see
That love is just a legend,
a made up fallacy
The world is filled with evil,
don’t you watch the news
CNN or NBC
or others you can choose
Clinton is a liar,
Trump is just a creep
They’ll both destroy the nation
for fortunes that they reap
Murders by the thousands,
death is in the streets
I can’t believe you haven’t seen
within the many tweets
Our water is polluted,
we’re choking on the air
Hate is growing rapidly,
why are you not aware
Prices through the ceiling,
paychecks in the ground
Protesters are screaming,
you can hear them all around
There’s war in other countries,
servers have been hacked
Innocent bystanders
are caught in the attack
Little kids are crying,
not enough to eat
Begging just to make it,
sleeping in the street
So tell me, will you Christopher,
what’s up with what you write
Every poem filled with love,
morning, noon and night”
I looked at him a moment,
this person I now see
And then replied, “I’m sorry sir,
were you talking to me?
I was writing out a poem
for the one I do adore
I didn’t hear you talking,
could you say it all once more?”
He just walked away shaking his head
Old ideas, more like character defects--
no way to pay bills or get paychecks.
Mind-aching explosion,
put up the road blocks,
ticking like a time bomb or a grandfather clock.
Time's up, make a decision,
something you can live with--
space just to breathe and enough room to pivot.
Exquisite provisions--
invaded by religion.
Predicaments that can change one's whole way of livin'.
Conditions,
they can make you
or absolutely break you.
Be wise with the lifestyle and morals that you take to.
Make haste not to
delay the truth inside the prelude
and maybe one day you
will finally have a breakthrough.
trickle down economy
pissing away
the poor
pissing off
the middle class
as less and less
our paychecks
pay the bills
ironic how
when I was
still in diapers
the rich got taxed
a whole lot more
and yet
Prosperity -
along with rock and roll -
was King
Now it’s all about
protecting those
whose money
no one sees
as it sits
in nice safe havens
Make a war -
no money to
sustain it
Let the wealth
come
down
TRICK-TRICK
TRICK ling
down to
you and me
T
R
I
C
K
l
i
n
g
.
For Brendan J. Simon's 'Societal Discontent' contest
Another wave of voter vexation
is swamping the shutdown nation
To the left,
the windpipes are hissing
To the right,
the windbags are dissing
And all of the kitchen cabinet aprons
got their middle fingers
pointing up deaf adder listening
Their thumbs down
is the ballot death blow sign:
Telling the weathervane citizens,
the rainy day
slush fund money is missing
The proletariat are up in arms,
so voter vexed ... they’re getting no paychecks
When the last mint cookie crumble,
the murmurers
are gonna misty-eye mumble
The viper sound bytes
are cobra kissing —
Blowing inherit-the-wind
lipstick jinn wishes
Getaway stage right poll exit
says last count call:
the vault money is missing
The proletariat are up in arms,
so voter vexed ... they’re getting no paychecks
To the right,
the windpipes are bursting
To the left,
the windbags are cursing
And all of the kitchen cabinet aprons
got their middle fingers
pointing up to the empty cookie jar
As the latest patriotic wave of voter vexation
is giving wet back hex to a grumbling nation
And the whether vain citizens don’t know which way to turn
I am my father’s daughter —
quiet when it matters,
loud when it doesn’t,
loyal like a bruise that never fades.
He was a man of few words
and too many beers,
a homebody with calloused hands
who built his love from paychecks, plywood,
and patched fences.
He didn’t say much,
but he never let us go without.
We all worked with him —
held tools before toys,
learned to measure twice, cut once,
and use what we had
to make what we needed.
He handed me a hammer
like it was a promise.
Taught me how to build things
that wouldn’t fall apart.
And somehow,
that became a kind of love too.
He taught me the stillness of fishing —
how to listen for the pull,
how to wait without wanting too much.
He showed me rivers
the way some fathers show their daughters cathedrals.
And when I stand near water now,
he’s the first name that echoes back.
His anger could shake the walls,
but his lessons still hold:
Don’t waste. Don’t lie.
Always bait your own hook.
I used to sit
in the passenger seat of his silence,
learning how love doesn’t always speak,
but shows up every morning
with boots on
and something heavy in its hands.
"The Folk Dance"
On the backs of well formed muscular miners
Working hard in the trenches on a daily basis
For the men who need coal, fat cats and such
Dirty, sweaty and tireless toil try to wear them down
Dehydration and soot inhalation runs rampant
An epidemic throughout lower Appalachia
The jobs they need, for their survival indeed
Their meager paychecks insist they must do it for the love
Ten to fourteen hour shifts and then they collapse on the bed
Six days of the week it's merciless work to anybody
Sunday comes and they can take a day of rest
A certain buzz going around electrifies every last person
Timing is just right to surprise the deserving workers
Since people have prepared to throw down a hoe down!
The good old fashioned type with the elongated dresses
In classic style with seemingly everybody statewide participating
With a do-se-do and an allemande left good country spirits spin uproariously
Twisting and turning to chanted rhythms on a hard packed dirt floor
Inhibitions are nowhere to be found amongst these family friendly folk
Arm in arm with strangers they know each other wants a fair time
Soon the energy starts rocking to the extended company outside
The hootenanny has grown too big for just one barn, they are tireless
"Well Shucks." says the fat cat "I don't work them hard enough!"
Watching from afar he fumbles with his pocket watch just a little miffed
A raucous good time for a genuinely good people
The orchestrator slows it down some and pulls out his granddaddy's autoharp
Relaxing to an old fashioned twang, the couples do their thing
Getting closer to each other rocking calmly to and fro
Feeling four minutes of tenderness with filled loving concentration
Because those seconds are the fleeting ones
Then the banjos bring the pace back up to complement rowdy fiddles
Moving and twirling, elation fills the air for a chance at remembering
Why they are alive for each other, ingenious in its simplicity
While Merriness is their motto
And not even the coal mines can make them forget that
Forget about mortgage or rent.
These days with our paychecks fast spent,
In the future I see
The hot question will be. . .
How much for one BIG sturdy tent?
For Carolyn Devonshire's Contest: Economic Woes Limerick
Birthdays, like paychecks,
Always on time, spent quickly,
And soon forgotten
When did the concept of family become
a tired cliché of phased-out tradition
in need of redefining?
And when did we abandon our parental duties
to glorified babysitters with no real interest
in our childrens' physical and emotional development
outside of their weekly paychecks?
We are bombarded by screaming advertisements
dictating an acceptable standard of living
requiring two or more incomes and
measuring our success by the sum total
of our net worth.
The decline of civilization progresses
as fast food replaces home-cooked meals
and quality time is staring blankly
at a flat screen television
with a group of strangers
living under the same roof.
For you my dear, of glistening gold and hues of blue,
A mirage created by the constructs of feeble minds.
Our ability to connect is truly frayed, a romance delayed,
Short as the breath of some insectoid, bent on lustful satisfaction.
Are you even real?
If so, very little time is spent on the marvelous experience that is joy.
Pure and free of the adultery which is an office and a cage.
The highways connected like the arteries of some foul beast,
Circulating through the body with the opioids of ignorance and indifference.
How is it that you would like to pronounce my name,
Would you make a gentle song out of it and lull to me sleep?
Or spit at my face with anger and disgust?
I have yet to know the ailments and disease of a life full of unhappiness,
For I have not lived one.
To yearn for your touch in the waking slumber of the schoolyard is to daydream,
But not of my distant hopes and visions of accomplishment.
But of truth, brought forth through the neutrality of time.
It is the waiting game, which I cannot live through,
A wasteland filled with the death of youth and innocence.
Their ghosts, specters that drain from you all the creativity and imagination
Of a child, to alter you into the grotesque twisted form of a worker ant.
Subduing the hearts desires with binds
Made of paychecks and the disillusionment of having importance.
But you are no fake, nor cheap reenactment of some unholy war.
You pulse and vibrate with the magnificence of laughter.
Your tears shred through my dissected emotions.
Freeing me, no, all of us from the confines of having just one feeling.
Broadening our mental scopes,
How can I feel hate and love at once?
We were taught that they were polar opposites, not of the same lineage.
And so I say to you
With the unflinching eyes of man decapitated on the stump of an oak.
That I hate, love, fear, admire, and envy you.
Following your cycle of death and rebirth.
Think you’ve got the workplace blues
No matter what work you do
These words will hopefully inspire you
Yes, your job may be redundant
But the paychecks are abundant
Some days you will get off track
But the next day know your plan of attack
Bring a smile and get it back
If your productivity is ever low
Learn from the experience and continue to grow
Remember, “You reap what you sow”
Keeping a positive attitude can sometimes be rough
Remembering your mission and purpose is often enough
Embrace what’s in your control and let go of the small stuff
There’s no need to be discouraged
Each day someone’s dreams you encourage
As cliché’ as it may seem
You are the gateway to many dreams
Recognize the value in what that means
No need for the Workplace Blues
Instead, work on the attitude you choose
Think of the many lives enriched by you
Lay
Smoke ‘em if you got them.
Save the bottles for return.
That hippie needs a haircut.
What the hell’s a Lady Bird?
My Christmas tree had bubble lights,
My watch lit up at night.
Four-bits for my gasoline
And Cassius won the fight.
Music was a wall of sound.
A Stingray running fast,
Footsteps left upon the moon,
War’s ended, "Peace at Last".
Paychecks from the mills and mines,
From Ford and IBM.
Farming amber waves of grain
That’s how it was back then.
From all around on Friday nights
The hometown crowd, the football lights.
The pom-pom girls would dance and cheer,
I saw you there far so near.
And though my odds were slim & none
I had to try to make my run,
And never look back on the day
I had my chance and walked away.
The party went ‘til midnight,
Coors and California Dip.
The Ventures playing “Pipeline”.
You said “Let's do The Twist!”.
We dated first on New Year's Eve,
I looked into your eyes.
We tied the knot in April,
We made love until July.
But the world and I spun faster then,
You tried to be my rock.
Me, I acted like a fool.
You said “Its time we talk!“.
I thought I was your shining knight
And you my Perfect 10.
Why can't we get back to be just
Like we were back then?
Throughout time there’s joy and pain,
We can't expect things not to change.
When it was time to leave our mark,
Time after time I broke your heart.
The Texas sun goes down again.
A long day's work about to end.
Forty miles to drive back home
Flip on the light and drink alone.
Damned if I know why it all changed,
Wish I could tell you when.
I only wish that I could make it
Like it was back then.
Yiu can walk a mile in a mirror stance and
never feelyour own re reflection. Your glaze gaze
bends on invisibility--a certain humor
crosseyed cleverly cleared like the rooms in the
Winchester House or a traffic jamitis through
the Mac maze at sundown. Feel ferr to co caress
your tired instep and take a loud load off
hope for that new impact that will tell
the torrid tale page by page compact dutiful
but united in a duffle bag born of poise
pronounced zipper closed but not finger
forgotten-A minor standing at the Bebop
wishing well cool crammed
with apast B&W luxuries like a passed used
kleenix round for loose nose hits--picture
frame elements often snotconceived, but
always matted for ignoi insignificance. Like
clean tree pages waiting to be messed by
someone's illict penmanship, dry but butt bold,
promising but hiding those grammar grabber
glib gratuaties in hopes of a chance for a fat
freeload advance and a creamy handshake which will
sale set the ass o nine critics on their
Keep pseudo salient the echo encrusted
think thoughts you columinize- like a pants
pair without the cute cuffs--hope your midsection
is in tune with the public bulge extroadinarre.
Simple times, simple terme, simple thoughts
simple solutions knowtellseefree for all course
bookings on a thorny stitch stage- pious prowess
butt ugly unique paychecks pay roll a sham stabbing
sliky slander most of the toime home prompt
legal-though low-some in in intent and
dubious dime parlor dance demeanor. Customize, cannonize that cowper's
culprit calamatious catastrophic claim. WTF?
Paul Le Mat, the guy
Who drove the yellow roadster
in American
Grafitti starred in the show,
Aloha Bobby & Rose,
With friend Manuel
Padilla Jr. who played
The little kid in
The Tarzan series of the
Mid-sixties as Jai, Scarface,
Also, Grafitti,
Wanted to cash their weekly
Studio paychecks,
But they knew of the hotel
'DO NOT CASH' memo, but they had
Known of this sucker,
Behind the desk chiefly named,
Tom, so I did cash
it and made two new friends for
the longest two minutes, e'er.
***Manuel, who was two years older than me, has since passed but Paul, who was in his early thirties at the time, is still kicking at 73 years of age.
Date 08/28/2019
HOWMANYSYLLABLES.COM
57577, 57577, 57577, 57577
BY STREET CRIES
MY PEN SPEAKS POETRY WITH A PASSION
RELEASING MENTAL PRISONS POSING AS PROBLEMS
PEOPLE POINTING FINGERS IGNORING PARAGRAPHS OF LIFE SCRIPTURES
PROMOTING THE PENALTY OF MINDLESS POTENTIAL
IN A PARADOX PASSING BY PEDESTRIANS
PLEASING PARASITES PUMPING POISON IN THE POPULATION
PROPAGANDA FOLLOWING PROTOCOL
POLITICS PLAYING GODS POSITION
POSSIBLY PROVOKING PESTILENCE AS A PRESENT
BECAUSE OF OUR PAST TENSE
PROVIDING A PATH PRACTICING PAGANISM AS PARADISE
PERPENDICULAR TO NO LIFE
PERSUADING PARTICIPATION IN THE FORM OF PROFITS
PURCHASING A GENERATION POLLUTED WITH IGNORANCE
PURPOSELY POSITIONING PUPPETS AS PRESIDENT
PROBING PODS PENETRATE THE SKY LOOKING FOR PLANETS
PROVING POINTS THROUGH PROPHETIC PROPHECY
PROJECTING PAINFUL PREMONITIONS
PARANOID PERKIEST PILL POPPERS PARADE IN PUBLIC
WHILE POLICE PUSH PASS PERIMETERS OF PEACE
CAUSING PICKET SIGNS OF PROTEST
FOOD FED TO THE POOR PROCESSED WITH PESTICIDES
PROTECT WALL STREET POCKETING PAYCHECKS FORM POVERTY
THAT'S WAY I POST POEMS WITH POWERFUL POTENCY
REPRESENTING THE UNHEARD CRIES IN THE STREETS