Best Shift Poems
My Dad taught me to drive stick
On warm Sunday mornings while Chicago slept
Before the church people left and returned
On a freeway still under construction
Past yellow barricades and
Caution signs
Recklessly cautious
Without benefit of power steering
And power brakes
We flew past run down homes
And new skyscrapers
We owned the road
The lesson was simple
Real drivers drive shift
They control the car
Balance clutch and gas
Life requires our attention
It demands our patience
We advance slowly and carefully
Real drivers drive shift
And so we traveled
Across a city still lazily stretching
Not quite awake
Down a freeway under construction
On side streets and in parking lots
We owned the city
For years and years
I lived the curse of all women
A woman’s work is never done
That is, never finished
The more work I did the more work showed up
The To Do list was never ending
If I made a dent in it
You couldn’t tell
It was multiple pages and still
I refused to forget a single item
I used to work my To Do list and hope
For some opening somewhere somehow someday
Where I would be able to read, take a candlelit bath
Go for a leisurely walk, paint, write poetry
It never happened
My ever growing To Do list
Had stopped even giving me the glimmer of hope
I was just that crazy hamster busy at her wheel
Till one day
I was late with a painting I had promised
I was pushed to the wall I had no choice
I just had to focus on my craft and not think of anything else
I went at it and focused and focused
It wasn’t easy but I eventually got it done
It was an awesome feeling to finally sign my name
And say it was D-O-N-E
But my celebration was more to me
About having won over time
Time who had always been so elusive
So demanding so full of orders and ultimatums
Seeming so rigid and inflexible
All of a sudden I had decided
I would ignore it
Along with my long list of To Do’s
And surprisingly life went on…
Nothing drastic happened
Nothing fell apart
Nothing exploded
I was actually stunned to tell you the truth
I had once learned about
The differences between Important and Urgent
But my power over it never really sunk in until then
Now I have a new life
Where my Important priorities are in front of me
Where I can reach the one or the other
And the dishes get done but not till I decide to take a break
I do my best to add less to my To Do list
And most of all, pace myself instead of
Trying to kill myself racing through it all
It may seem to you like a small paradigm shift
But to me, my life is turned inside out for the better
AP: 2nd place 2020, Honorable Mention 2021
Submitted on August 21, 2017 for contest THE POET'S OWN sponsored by GREG BARDER - RANKED 4TH
The lighting - it was over-bright
above the table where she lay,
her skin dead cold but lovely white.
The lighting -it was over-bright,
He loved work best alone at night.
With corpses he could have his way.
The lighting - it was over-bright
above the table where she lay.
Written June 19, 2016
‘My biological clock
is upside down,
fifty years and more of night shift,
so, the experts tell us
will decay one’s memory over time.’
To remember the innocence of youth
from out of these eight decades of mine,
trawling each day within crystal memories
some days those of montage to piece together
others full and complete, shallow also deep.
So many days within images of islands surrounded by blue skies
some where waves of rogue clouds bearing rainbows of colour
crash against walls of submission and resistance,
when life the teacher became the truth to survival.
So sad are these days for our descendants
where childhood removed and the race
to enhance artificial intelligence
brews in one’s veins.
© Harry J Horsman 2022
Long was my time of proudly witnessing her endless charms
ability to seed smiles and respect with Southern wiles aplenty.
Then, intrusion of quick insist, in shadowed shift, gave glimpse
of her facial expression failing her known impression and lilt.
Flash lit sad scripts and ego drips, pained my daughter pity adrift.
Each year since, our shared authentic love became more ripped as
she brazenly exposed self-loathing, clothed in superior mode and
attitude maintained by pathetic tries to admire herself in other’s eyes.
Summer's dead leaves spin down
Autumn's red, crumbles brown
contest In its Essence
Frederic Parker 10/13/14
If this is going to work
It's time to change
How you shift
You'll be smooth as lubed
Changing gears
If you ease up on the pedal
Find your cadence
Then roll with it
***
Night Shift Worker
At sunset is the beginning of our day
Darkness embraces our peevish spirit
Flashing neon signs bring us in esprit
We are mindful of making a living
Danger awaits us anytime
But this is where my feet are destined to go
Where the crime took place, I need to be there on time
My pen and camera come along to tell stories awhile ago
Steady and careful hands are attentive to ailing one
Life and death situation, I presumed life will always prevail
My job demands accuracy, for mistakes will hound my wisdom
Nursing to sustain a losing life will not fail
Eager to go to the heart of the sea
While the full-moon beams dwell into the deep
My fishnet awaits patiently for a catch
For early in the morning, I bring meals to a family
I need to be tough in any situation
Unwelcome visitors alert my action
To guard premises and valuables stay untouched
By greedy creatures harmful to the serenity of the place
The graveyard shift is my time to log for work
The workplace is loud where the phone ring is enchanting
I need to stay calm and soft to answer complaints
In the end, I say “thank you for calling, have a nice day”
I am at work, while most of the humans are sleeping
I sleep when all of them are awake
Cursing words are normal, my ears are adjusted
I am used to it, to make it through my shift every single day
As soon as the sunrise, my day ends
Daylight warms my weary eyes and body bends
Down the hills and street, I rushed
Only to keep the promise, to come home for my family I must
Posted also in voicesnet.com poetry site last: 26 August 2009
Shift gears, shift gears, excite our spiritual peers,
they’ve lived for years… observing our generations of tears,
for Love’s sake from the limitations of egos’ innovations…
the outer self logic, the mechanic.. the mechanic, of cumbersome thought,
processes the established enemy , escape… escape the human mind,
the tangle vine…the vintage of the whore’s wine..
its rape its murder the sickness, the disease , the fleas..
of strife, the strife, the schizoid, of the void,
explored of Sigmund Freud, …
the logical ego entity … shift away infinity… infinity, the divinity,
the cup of Love’s logic awaits…
with Spiritual plates, with open gates…
unlimited possibilities…
the infinity of divinity the beginning of thee,
let us fly freely into the sunlit arms of the fresh blue skies
into the very nature of the power of life, the being of free…
out of the prisons of the self mutilating concepts of logics
flagellant human projects… keeping us bound,
away into oceans blue, Agape’s unlimited…clarity
into the fluid of faith hope and charity…
thine sacred, thine… sacred heart, Love‘s apple cart..
life… before the human concept of strife… the knife, the knife…
Oh.. the concept logical knife, the parasites, the parasites…
the makers of false love in the night… the egos up tight.
the children of the night, the human plight…
of the logical concept black as the night..
beware… beware of mechanical egos up tight…
Selah
Poem for contest: Short Shift, prison,
betrayal, dance, death, death of a friend, destiny,, food,
Short Shrift Betrayal!
Governor's out to dine and dance
With important guests who count
Invitation requested to attend
One five star restaurant uptown
Menu fair is set for seven courses
Savannah cigars and vintage wine
Will be served before and after meals
All timed for 10:00 and well before
Midnight when a dance is to be staged
Toasts before and after dinner is a given
One guest of the Governor's will not attend
Unless the invitation to get away arrives
But he is in for a special treat if not
An execution dinner has been prepared
Prison chef does his five star best to comply
To the wishes for this last dinner course
Of just roast turkey with all the trimmings
Provided with paper hats and prizes gifted
In a traditional Christmas wrapped cracker
And all this sent below at 10:00 right on the dot
To be eaten in plenty of time before the ‘last call’
When this prisoner becomes the Governor's guest
To ‘walk the line’downtown into a cold lit private room
Made of steal to sit in the 'chair'at midnight
Where electrocution will make him dance his last
And his last words will be I'm innocent!
Every night since you've gone
I sleep on both sides of the bed
as if to reenact
sleeping with you...
If I switch sides
quickly enough I feel the warmth
from my own body
as if you were beside me...
Back and forth wrapped around
my body pillow as if it were you
I hear myself breathing
in my pillow in my own ear...
Perhaps my sin was falling for you
so quickly my fantasy lover
then again would you want a man
who sleeps with himself to keep warm...
I need you like salt
storing you in my body
to taste the salt of your skin
sweating you when passion overwhelms me...
~ ~ ~ ~
I used to complain about having to work at night on weekends.
Everyone was having fun but li'l ol' me.
Some years back I had an epiphany on the matter.
Suddenly, I had time to cash my check AND pay my bills!
Then, I might possibly catch a movie, which has plenty of seating on Monday nights!
But my favorite part is: The People Zoo.
I started visualizing folks in their cubicles and at their counters as exhibits.
You find mostly monkeys in cubicles working for some government agency.
The sharks you'll find in the car lots and on showroom floors.
The insects buzzing and dutifully mimicking their peers are found at schools.
The buzzards and carrion feeders can be found at law firms and in courtrooms.
The bulls and bears can be found scrapping it out on Wall street,
While the elephants and donkeys exchange insults on the TV monitors.
The pigs are found cruising the streets making sure the rats and snakes don't take over.
The blood-sucking Vampire bats can be found working for insurance companies.
BUT.......
Just a warning: Most of these exhibits offer you no protection from the brutality of nature!
There are no tour guides and no guarantees of safety or fun.....
And, one more thing: They will eventually come to see you in YOUR exhibit!
PARADIGM SHIFT.
Here is my version of a paradigm shift,
Socratic questions if you get my drift!
Why did God make the Universe elliptical?
To make an Aussie football, not spherical!
Why did God make football? See here,
To make men miserable, my dears!
Why did God make beer?
To make men happy, my dears!
So, some intelligent chappies here,
Taking beer to the football, no fears,
Now they're miserable and happy dears!
ghostly figures dance
diaphanous dresses swirl
in the pale moonlight
it’s the graveyard shift
on the eve of Halloween
we’re in good spirits!
10/10/17
Senryu Contest
Sponsored by Laura Loo
Darkest night and longest hours:
Hours to labor and
Hours to trip in the primitive ooze of repetition
Hours to catch up or trade for spare minutes,
Hours with eyes only half aware
Of life and its warnings,
Lifeless and blissless hours of emptiness,
Hours that never end,
Hours of yawning and stale coffee,
Hours measured in radio songs and cigarettes.
Darkest light before the day,
With shades of grey and
Unidentifiable lumps of black.
Humped, dark masses of human
Trudge through the hours
With brooms and coffee and sleeplessness
And floor buffing machines
Humming angelic tunes like flagellant dirges.
Shapeless figures with no place to go
For hours, no home to fine
For hours, no peace of mind
For listless hours.
Moonless hours for the streetlamps
And for the peddlers of lawlessness.
They count their hours in dimes
And nickles and quarters,
But never pennies or half dollars,
And never by retracing foot steps,
If they can help it.
Hours for the fools that sleep.
Hours for the watchman on his beat.
Hours for the black blood
Puddled and undiscovered on the blackest streets.
Still to come is the hour of discovery.
Hours spent despairingly counting
The slow progression of passing hours.
A second hand that drips like cold molasses.
A minute hand that tortures
A set of wide and soulless eyes.
An hour hand that doesn't move at all.
Rituals and rites mark the odorous plumes of hours unseen.
An echoing scream amplifies the darkness.
The howl of sirens follow in the distance.
Hours of violence or depravity or sin or pleasure.
These are the hours set aside
For the ageless telling of tales
And the insomnia of music makers.
All the misery of graveyard hours
If for no other reason
Than the gravity of their six foot title.