Best Tardiness Poems
It’s said tomorrow never comes
Believe me it’s so true
I’ve got a massive list
Of jobs I’ve got to do...
Tomorrow!
I should not put off jobs
Until a rainy day
Unfortunately my tardiness
will just add to the delay
I promise I will get them done ...
Tomorrow!
6/2/19
On entering this contest I have to admit
The fame it will bring me when I push "submit"
Is all that I'm after - my name in bright lights
The kind of attention I earned with my writes.
I used to get noticed for walking in late
To school, then to jobs, and even for dates
My family picked up on my one loud defect
And thought they could fix me - no disrespect.
They told me that dinner would be served at five
When seven was really the time to arrive
Two hours they gave me to help cure the curse
But of course I found out and the problem got worse.
Right now I'm supposed to be cleaning my room
Instead, I am writing, ignoring the broom
My shrink says that tardiness is a cry for attention
I'll clean my room later for an honorable mention.
Cucu, maitu
Now that am older
I seek more answers
In the same manner I did
Those days gone, of fetching firewood to cook a cherished meal
I seek more answers
Not in the manner I did
Fetching sticks in the forest to be used by teachers for spanking and whipping
Oh how I dreaded those days, those chilling days of punishments for poor grades, tardiness and noise making
And there my hate for math began....fearing it even to this day
that math teacher that came drunk to class and we mostly got beatings for nothing
I seek answers to understand our family dynamics
Interesting, odd, sad, puzzling, beautiful, worrying, entertaining,
Is some of the descriptions
The reason we are the way we are
The beings we become in unexpected fate
Cucu, maitu
I've heard your many stories of "emergency" during the colonial rule
I've seen your youthful strength that grows more beautiful with aging days
You always say "it's the Lord"
I remember how when we were little you always got us to wash our feet before getting on your bed
How you then proceeded to pray for your ten children, your many grand children and your ever increasing great grandchildren
Telling God each of their names
My sisters and I always thought you said some of the longest prayers
But now that am older I know why
The number of family members I have to pray for increases with new age
Like the last video i took of you singing and dancing with some of your great grandchildren,
The melody of my life becomes more fruitful with each new beat
Cucu, maitu (kikuyu words for grandmother)
If Death in time should somehow find
I'm running just a little late.
I just realized to my great surprise...
I have an expiration date.
I pace the floor with Death at my door
With no out that I can see.
But I've thought it through, I have things to do
Before I embrace immortality.
With one last breath, I entreat with Death
If I might linger just another day.
I have family and friends... to make amends
And a bookie yet to pay.
But Death will brook no tardiness
As they seem somewhat understaffed.
So I accept this judgement
Knowing well my Government
Will have one less soul to shaft.
The End
(in memoriam, Eugene Lawler, d. January 29, 2012, aged 83 years)
--- Note: "The singing machine" is a not so tongue-in-cheek reference to Gene and his penchant for singing whenever and wherever he wished, as well as to his karaoke
equipment and his nickname at bars that featured karaoke nights. ---
You fancied yourself a singer,
and indeed you were.
What songs we heard from you
you had made your own,
and you gave them freely
to all who would listen
(though we were just a few
who were, at times, inattentive.)
Time and remembrance may color
the images you left behind,
and the sentimental songs
you sang (and scribed on silver disks
for us to hear when, and if, we will)
may prod us to recall
your willful, dour demeanor
which could bloom into benevolence
or darken further in stormy sneers
at tardiness, or at perceived
maltreatment of any sort.
You were your own arbiter of behavior
who kept before you expectations
of what was appropriate, for yourself
and for us, the others of your kind.
We were few (still fewer now),
who flocked together on occasion
to celebrate, in quiet fashion,
whatever anniversary we chose --
perhaps your passing date
will become another to be marked.
And your voice, reproduced mechanically,
amplified, may remind us of our loss,
and of yours.
Punctuality
Punctuality,
Responsibilities friend,
Abhors tardiness.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
1/ 5/ 2008
Here lies Deadline Devonshire, tardiness she did abhor
Her editor will tell you, "She was never late before"
Her sister laid claim to the gene pool’s beauty and brains
Carolyn took credit for writing verse that’s inane
Believed in reincarnation; wasn't Cleopatra
She merely adopted "been there, done that" as her mantra
She was the first to acknowledge her imperfection
But writing her own epitaph? Too much self-reflection!
laziness syndrome
laziness symptom
symptom of stress
stress that enervates
enervates at work
work in an office
office everyday
everyday is loaded
loaded with subject
subject to penalty
penalty for a day
day one absent
absent minding
minding the penalty
penalty for late
late consecutively
consecutively for 1-2 minutes
minutes in singing
singing an anthem
anthem of country
country citizens
citizens work hard
hard work inside
inside work place
place to be patient
patient all the time
time for cogitating
cogitating hard
hard life
life is a challenge
challenge to continue
continue to acknowledge
acknowledge more duties
duties for all
all must enjoy
enjoy and smile
smile always
always be happy
happy despite hurt
happy despite violation
violation
hurts
©2016Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
Feb. 19, 2016 10.14pm
poem based from an experience at work:) 5x late even 1,2 or 3 min=a day absent
-just a try of blitz poem
I look at the clock and shake my head.
We might be late-not looking good.
My friend is possibly still in bed.
This thing I've never understood!
How can you make a definite plan
and then just let it drift away?
Of tardiness I'm not a fan.
I'm thinking of choice words to say.
This annoys me so very much.
No excuse is good enough.
They'll have a tale to tell and such.
But in my mind 'tis just too tough!
I am a person always on time.
In fact at times I'm a little early.
Being so late has no reason or rhyme.
This pet peeve tends to make me surly.
There are people that I love dearly
who are always keeping me waiting.
All these years they never did fear me.
And I just can't end up hating.
I'm the only one who feels any pain.
I gawk at my watch when their time is up.
Now I realize I've got nothing to gain.
So I tell myself suck it up buttercup!
Time escapes my mind
All the clocks show the same time
Still, I will be late.
I failed to comment
on wonderful poems,
but they deserved a response
from me with many wishes sent!
I apologize with a sorry heart
for the hesitation and delay on my part,
nothing pleases me more than reading a fine poem
that can inspire, comfort and cheer up someone in a cold home!
I will make this solemn promise:
to review and comment on all, if time allowed; and if others
took their valuable time to review mine, I would review theirs, too...
to make our bond stronger: to understand each other as friends do!
I'm starting today as the Christmas' Spirit kicks in and the peddlers croon a lot;
I'll respond even after a hard day's work wearing these reading glasses fogging up
when heat arises to make them worse than theye are...so be confident that you'll hear
from me soon, and please accept my apologies for my tardiness with a loud Holiday cheer!
Please don't ask me to mince my words
If you talk crap I'll call you all turds.
I'll say how it is, I'll make no bones,
I'm not a believer of glossed over tones.
You've been hired to work, no doubt about it,
You'll work to the bone, and follow my writ.
I am your slave-driver and you are my slaves,
I am boss over here - make sure everyone behaves.
A wee bit late, you sheepishly state?
You'll work overtime, you'll work till its late.
I'll hear no excuse, for this you'll pay
There'll be no compensation at the end of the day.
If your work is too sloppy, I'll immediately fire,
Be quick on your toes, for there are plenty I can hire.
And I hate tardiness, want results that are quick,
And forget about illness or calling in sick.
Yes there is a dress code and you'd do well to abide,
No Mohawks or dreadlocks, no shaggy burns on the side.
I hate jeans and T-shirts and don't roll up your sleeves,
If you are not very happy, I just don't care for your peeves.
If any excuses you have, leave them out at the door,
You'll be relieved of your duties, made to pack up for sure.
If disgruntled you are , want to use the Union's might,
Remember I am the Boss and - THE BOSS IS ALWAYS RIGHT!
~18 Jun 2016~
IVF
Times without number
That’s as far as one could remember
Or better still conjecture
At this end of this ocean we stood, at the edge
Aghast at the tardiness of virility
Invisible except for its vivid physiognomy
That swirled and rolled and spent itself
In a recurring recuperation of empathy
Till rains agoraphobic arrived
As a successful ‘in vitro’ in the glass sky
A sodden blast of breeze scattering a mound of leaves
Breathing into the fertile insides
Slick in fermentation
Sticking to sticky bloodied life.
9 Mar 13
S.Jagathsimhan Nair
Entry for Rick Parise's contest
For PD's 'Freeverse contest' now on 13 mar 13
My Clock
By J. Philip Harris
Tick tock, tick tock the old man clicks his clock. That rude robust bellow of the long and short. Splattering seconds as it pleases. RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT, and on and on it goes, a never-ending cycle of cyclic stress syndrome. Oh, the tyranny!!!
SHHH!!!! Do you hear it? The crackle of the old man! It taunts me. It nags me. It’s pleased to watch my whits end. Oh why do your hands strangle me so?
Tick tock, tick tock the old man clicks his clock.The blundering muses of black wading in and waddling down the river white. You jezebels of Babylon! I long to murder you. I long to see your end. You spread me thin and drive my nerves into an early grave. My tardiness is amusing to you.
RUSH, RUSH, RUSH, RUSH! The aching grin that pushes me onward down the spiral of bleeding hell. My clock.
My Clock
Click
Clock
The old man clicks my clock!
Future held such initial promise
But shallow dreams disintegrated
Coalescing into shallower reality
Despite my youth, pain cripples me to geriatric apathy
General interest long gone, death has become the single concern
A welcome embrace, a welcome friend
Tardiness is expected, as well as encouraged
Release me from these eternally shrinking walls
Allow the peons to continue their superficial pursuits
Never meshing well into the fold, I yearn simply for permanent isolation
There is not enough joy to justify the agony that life forever guarantees me
Nihilism and anger, desires for maniacal retribution, the only feelings I've ever known
Clouded over now by perpetual physical torment, my formerly hollow shell continues to exist without capacity for optimism
Yet without hate, there seems nothing left
Shall I forever be adrift?