Best Workworld Poems
I
am a photographer
I take stories of people
their lives
their hardships
their joy
with a single click
A solitary second in their life
now
forever immortalized
Captured to share with others
to show them the lives of people
who are just like us
who love
who laugh
who cry
but most of all
who long for a chance at a better life
a chance
for their children
As a photographer
if I am given the chance to help change the world
one click at a time
If I have to get down
in the mud
in the filth
to experience the lives of these people
in order to bring back the emotion
in a single frozen second
A second that will wake people up
make them care
make them angry
make them cry
at what they see
at the atrocities
at the suffering that is going on in the world
If I can get them riled up enough to want to help
to want to become involved
If I am given the chance to capture photos of this world
to bring them to the people
who are sitting in their overstuffed easy chairs
so that these people
might feel
might act
Then the chance is worth it
and this is an opportunity that will not be wasted
I have traveled this world
walked it's roads
seen the best and worst of men
I have looked into eyes hungry and cold
eyes with pain
eyes of hate
and those eyes looked right back into mine
From little girl prostitutes in Hyderabad India
to landmine littered fields in Cambodia
where people live with missing limbs
to the tent cities of Haiti
across the waters
to the children of the Inca in Peru
I have seen suffering
and pain
and grief
that doesn’t need to exist
I have listened
as they tell their stories
as they look with hope
when I shoot photos of what’s left of their lives
and all the while
I am wondering
who am I
that they should have hope
in me
the quiet of the spring day was broken
by the noise and shouts in the fields
belching smoke the great iron beast
dropping its sharp blades into the soil
took large bites into the soft belly of the earth
warm and moist the soil yielded to the blades
as the monster moved quickly forward leaving
straight lines of soil like long ribbons
behind
following was yet another of the beasts
smoothing the rows and carefully planting seeds
into the long ribbons of soil
the season of planting had begun
and another year awaited for the time
when the soil would give up
the long awaited harvest of its crops
the call of that grand lady welcoming all
to our shores with her message: "bring me
your hungry and tired, and we will care for them", was being answered
America's feeding of the world's hungry
had begun, and the great food basket of the country
was about to be filled
the first tender shoots began to appear -
small and fragile at first - and then with the aid
of a soft rain grew stronger and taller
looking over the fields the long green ribbons of
the manna of the soil - soybeans, corn, sugarcane and
the once king of them all, cotton, now reduced to
a lowly position due to cost and price - all were about to fill the
breadbasket of the world
the great crops of the South all in one of many fields
spread out as far as the eye could see
great green ribbons - swaying in the soft summer breeze
majestically saying to the world that the time would soon
be near to provide a filling of the baskets of the world
another season, another planting, another feeding -
the busy cycle had begun as had been done
since the earliest days of the nation
corn planter, bean puller, cane cutter and cotton picker
of the world, the great smoke belching, iron monsters of
the fields had begun their work.
rest would not be an option until the work was done
and the plates of the world filled with the products from
these southern fields
If only life were that of a child's imagination,
Of fairies, ponies, princes and princesses.
The happily ever afters.
The dejected hearts of dreamers cry for what was,
Such a feeling of inspiration, of possibilities.
Then reality hit.
Oh how the routines of life laughed merrily at the fallen visions of the mind.
Oh how the need to impress and to logically perceive the world did ruin the marvels of
mysteries.
Where is the mind?
Is creativity deemed unnecessary?
Why must we box ourselves into the adult world of paper work and uninspiring tasks?
The day Man discovers he no longer possesses the spark to progress
Will forever be the day the world withers in despair.
Maturity hath conquered.
At peace midnight he blew his whistle
Down the street he walks alone
Followed behind by his own shadow
He makes the dark aware not to be lone.
There he steered by the chromatic moonlight
And fight against those felony psychs
He palisades by his valiance so intent
Yet he never abscises his pride.
Once he acquaints with the shadow of his own
And once he portrays the shush of the street
Once he co-occur with the beggars penury
And once he scouts the homing boozier.
He meets with the world unspoken by us
And augurs the dormant cursed by the veil
He is blessed by the mighty of his nous
And devour the dark by the power of his soul.
Beguiles his journey by the yowl of the owl
Enriched by the wrawl of the embryos
Befriendly he enured the life so perverse
Fruitfully he lives with the liberty of his own.
Followed behind his own shadow
He deserves the world to see all alone
Yet he never abscises his pride
Down the street he blew his whistle lone.
-----------------------x---------------------------
Another rainy Glasgow day
And I'm stuck in this train
With the rich kids from Hutchie
Bound for work
With a heavy heart
And they're all mocking me
In uniforms so smart
Confident and cocky
With the world at their feet
I wonder if they pity
This man the world has beat?
Anger wells up inside
As high-pitched squeals
Pollute the air
So many lives unburdened
It just isn't fair
But this fury is really envy,
Mourning for a youth lost
I'd swap places in an instant
Even with the sullen goths
For there's no greater freedom
Than not knowing what's ahead
Memories of an office wall
Won't linger when you're dead
Big Bang transpires when you crack the spine
As eager eyes sweep the rows
Language consumes until you’re mine
Trapped inside a world of prose.
As eager eyes sweep the rows
Fact and fiction copulate
Trapped inside my world of prose
Possibilities generate.
Fiction’s reality without the proof
We haven’t the time to argue what’s real
Although our scientists remain aloof
Worlds are created through what we feel.
We have no time to argue what’s real
Too busy scribbling forth existence
Worlds are created through what we feel
Your mental refuge with our assistance.
Too busy scribbling forth existence
Although our scientists remain aloof
Your mental refuge with our assistance
Fiction’s reality without the proof.
**For Jared's Pantoum Contest
My mornings will begin five hours past midnight
Eyes barely open, calluses still hardened
I grab the pick from my nightstand
Feeling strong and hyped despite drowsiness
The pick flips as the strings sing their tune
Awakening bliss of chords and melody
Waiting to be in the studio with you..
Light strums become distorted beauty
Your presence is at my side
Power is on, inputs are occupied
Notes harmonizing ever so sweetly
Almost no effort is made
Yet the process is so perfectly tuned
Oh to be in the studio with you..
Time for a homemade breakfast
Familiar scent of eggs and sausage
Sunlight crashing through the open window
Plucking out my notes between bites
Such a warm and welcoming feeling
A morning complete, sweet songs and orange juice
Across the hall from the studio with you..
There's no need to leave our home
Business trips mean walking to the beach
Painting, drawing, creating for money
Submitting our hearts into various auctions
Odd jobs, writing songs, living simply
Food on the table, love in our home
Glad just to be in the studio with you..
Afternoon fades into a sunset
A visual reward for surviving another day
Playing guitar on a warm rooftop
Looking into the world resting in your eyes
Romantic chords intensify your glances
Our bodies embrace as sun lights the ocean
Holding you forever in the studio with you..
The pick lies on the nightstand as we lay to rest
I see it as my motivation and my charm
Fighting for what I love, evolving into my dream
So that happiness and satisfaction can flourish
Your voice is a lullaby, sweet and eternal
Resting our minds for the following day
Another night in the studio with you..
Music is a lifestyle, not a hobby
A lifestyle I hope to completely acquire
On a distant beach of endless splendor
Laying on the rooftop with guitar and voice
Music and love coexisting with no limits
The world is our studio
The studio with you..
Living in a world of guilt
Cross examining every thought
Slaughtering every thought
On which your world is built
Never gets you very far
You sit and wait
You watch and wait
To hit one under par
But you’ll get there one day
When you do something
When you start something
While your masochism is away
So maybe wait another week
To do something
To start something
And add a year to your losing streak
Have you ever wondered I wish the world would change? Like world peace or pollution
this can happen but the world will not just change its self. Believe it or not things in this
world will never change unless we change see we make the world the way it is if we do
not like it we need change it. If we want a changed world it will not be changed till we
decide to change it. This is the same with people we can’t change them they have to
change them self’s. Here is the bottom line this world will stay as it is till we all take a
stand and really want to change it. Ask your self will change ever happen think about it
do you want to see change I do. And I know deep down you do to.