Work to me is work
If you're not careful, you'll get hurt
Sometimes being at work is a joy
But sometimes it's rough, oh! boy
Work is up! Work is down!
Guys clowning around
Taking the forklift for a drive
Here in the warehouse, it's always live
Work can be sweet, work can be neat
The pace of work keeps a continuous beat
The people, some are great, some are not
Winters are cold, summers are hot
Author: Floyd Neal
Date: July 2003
Inspiration: Having Fun
It is all about children.
I know of a man who can be outspoken at times
he is also very rich, which can be an aber
the struggle to find meaning in life when
you can have all the physical things life offers
To be wealthy is a strain, do try it if you can
the man in mind also has a great sense of
wicket humor, which makes a so very human
He has the idea that people of means should
have as many children as they can
I agree the well-situated can afford to give
children a proper upbringing and a great education
and they will not have a disabling effect
the plague of poverty.
His critics are many, but that goes with the terrain
let me say the middle class also can have a child
or two or even three if they can afford that
the world needs lawyers and people to fill
office space and talk on the TV
As for workers, one child is enough physical
labor is no longer needed, anyone can learn
how to operate a forklift.
The rich man I know of has not spelled it out
like that because screams of protests,
might
lady riot, so let me put words in his mouth
It is all about children and the future
pictures of you
wishes on a forklift
another ordinary day
cannot afford to daydream
pictures of you
extended bathroom break
my cell phone comes in HANDY
cannot afford open eyed wet dreams
pictures of you
reality kicking in after the aftermath
my forklift key drops on the floor like a neglected bell
cannot afford You anyway
Thank God For Disagreeing With Me and For AllWays Being Right
A Quote by: Saint Augustine
Truth is like a Lion, you don't have to defend it, let it loose, it will defend itself.
Layers upon layers of deceit, when we practice duplicity
we lose the way of authentic self;
When truth has been buried within the walls of denial,
the soul suffers great loss;
Ask a child or an old one if they know truth when they see it
ask yourself this,
Can a bushel of light hide underneath a barrel
without bursting out from the cracks?
Drive the forklift of truth, take it to the penthouse
for lying will only keep you in the jailhouse of suffering
Truth is best served warm, with compassion and empathy
be as true to yourself and others, as you can.
placards (order sheets)
opids (labels)
pens (writing instruments)
forklift
pallet
zone (isle)
scan
lines
incentive
silk
soy
plain
strawberry
peach
blueberry
yogurt
yogurt
yogurt
Allegro
Crystal decanter, wine in a glass.
Tabletop woodwinds court candlestick brass.
Fine sterling service, stems in a vase.
High-tone enamel meets low double bass.
Pale yellow roses, peaches and grapes.
Clarinet colors tint saxophone shapes.
Citrus in concert, lemon and lime.
Echoes of summer in three-quarter time.
Adagio
There are brazen implications
In these muted, pulsing horns.
The strings are thick and creamy.
The bass line’s strewn with thorns.
Scherzo
Nail-tap percussion, tremolo drill.
Twelve o’clock whistle sounds cranky and shrill.
Shipping yard sunlight, loading dock shade.
Forklift holds pallet in mid-serenade.
Mustard-stained napkin, Styrofoam cup.
Strains of a power saw being tuned up,
Baritone belt sander wailing away.
White glove allegro turned grease monkey gray.
Rondo
Without darkness, there could be no light.
The sun would rise unnoticed.
Without silence, there could be no song
From either bird or locust.
Without winter, there could be no spring.
No flowers for your lover.
Without music, there could be no art.
They flatter one another.
Over in the corner of Grandma McDuck’s Farm House
Was the cutest little bunch of kittens, and a quite dead mouse.
We ran over to look and squealed about the large cow.
The carcass was removed, and those baby kittens began to meow.
Wait until you see the cute exotic one, Grandma said.
He is just darling with the prettiest bluest eyes in his head.
He was jumping around a forklift, pulling a lever.
I said “What did you name him? I was thinking of Clever.”
“Clever it is,” Grandma McDuck quickly agreed, tickled.
He was now chugging down some warm cider, duly pickled.
I taught him to ski, swim, hike, and ride a bike without any paw.
He was the cleverest prettiest kitten that I ever saw.
Living up to his name, he played a clarinet in the band.
He wore exotic clothing and traveled everywhere in the land.
We see billboards telling about Clever when he comes close to town.
He truly is the cleverest cat we have ever raised or found.
One more Day
Life is pointless, let’s end it all.
I'm not Brad Pitt and you’re not Lauren Bacall.
I drive a forklift and you stack shelves.
We’re only two inches, taller than elves.
End this misery, let’s call it a day.
No reason to live on our monthly pay.
Don’t give me that smile and don’t pat my back.
I’ve nothing to give you, there’s so much I lack.
Don’t bring me coffee and stare in my eyes.
And I won’t bring you flowers, as a surprise.
Stop telling me we can do it, life will change soon.
Stop reaching for the stars - promising the moon.
You know it’s useless, nothing will change.
We’re doomed for mediocrity - is that so strange?
Stop those sparkling eyes and beautiful smile.
We’re poor and we are hungry, bills in a pile.
Don’t cuddle me in bed, to take away the pain.
Don’t be so optimistic when you try to explain.
Life is my burden, it’s weighing me down.
But you stand there smiling, you never frown.
Perhaps tomorrow, will be better than today.
Your love has convinced me, so I promise to stay
A secret is granted
any curb captain
listening.
To speak rarely and
with roots.
Blake wears a hardhat,
drives a forklift for
Metal Products.
Whitman collects
unemployment in the mail.
New words
are mined coal.
They are the drink
from bags,
the suicide in jail,
and
the housekeeper
called only by her first name.
Keeping pace
with a secret at
the speed of light
is the wisdom felt on crowded subways.
The Bliss of Isolation
When the head of the nation
Said we need self-isolation
Well it was music to my ears
Because I finally had an excuse
To take my head out the noose
And not see her brother for a few beers.
His wife Marion is a moron
And Don’s a conclusion foregone
And she cooks worse than she sings
Don has no concept of life
That’s why he married his wife
And operates a forklift, amongst other things.
My wife had to make the call
And I let crocodile tears fall
But deep down the pleasure was great
She ummed and ahh’d on the phone
Finally, declaring, we won’t stay home
Then said we’re coming but we might be late
My heart was in my shoes
When she told me the news
And my plans lay in tatters upon the floor
Then I had a call from my niece
And told her that’s the police
Promising arrest if we stepped out the door.
Saturday would be bliss
Giving her brother a miss
There wasn’t a hint of anything going on
I was diplomatic but not rude
And said, ‘there’s a lot of food?’
She replied, ‘Well the extra's, for Marion and Don.’
David Cox 30/03/2020
Forklift tongue ...
snaky false pallet walk
be a paralyzing pulse dead stop
Viper lung flung from the bottom rung,
slithering slyly to the bury top
Pentagram aborted delivery —
Fake salvation
is morgue bad news
bifurcated breath received
Cottonmouth spitting graveyard shifty
labor blues,
Exhaling extortion sin wage scale dues
Forklift tongue
belly rolls across a serpentine cargo corpse bay
Anaconda pallet walk
got a hangman’s boa rope choke swinging sway
7/27/17
Going into light and dark places
With a steady pulse or as my heart races
What in tarnation
I see so much greed and starvation
Here to change the world
Whether or not using objects that are straight or curled
I'll still give it a whirl
Maintaining composure
It's far from over
But getting closer
Similar and varying degrees
The will to succeed
Knowing I shall bleed
I won't give up so long as I can still breathe
In and out of orbit
This is no horseshit
I'm not going to forfeit
I'm all game for it
Whether or not I have to use a forklift
Sammi was crushed in snow and ice,
Under the beam of a forklift truck,
Being driven by her dad on his farm,
Such that her back did break, no luck.
Her physio at Glasgow’s Southern,
Sent her to top Stoke Mandeville,
Because she showed interest in,
Sports and exercise’s cool bevel.
“I thought I’d be in a bed forever.
So, then…a wheelchair was amazing.
Sounds strange, but I was so happy.
Then to find [myself competing]
in sport in my wheelchair, [mega],
has just been incredible, [indelible],
Sport has helped me [lots], hugely,
Helped me to accept it really. [Able].”
Before the accident Sammi played,
Hockey, did gymnastics and ballet,
So disability sports just means that,
She can continue on with her way.
Sammi met Jo Butterfield, club throw,
Whilst in Stoke Mandeville, a click,
And the two of them have become,
The leading Scots athletes thick.
In Swansea at the 2014 Europeans,
Sammi returned with three golds,
One for the 100m, one for the 400m
And another for the 800 metre’s folds.
Then in 2015 in Doha, the Worlds,
She bagged a bronze this time,
And was a star at Rio de Janeiro -
She intends on marathoning fine.
Some Pacific islanders are all alone.
For money, they use big heavy pieces of stone.
The island of Yap is where they conduct this trade.
To live here, I would be a bit afraid.
It seems only the strongest people would be rich.
Hauling those monetary units would be a *****.
I hope I never land here if I am cast adrift.
If I do, where can I rent a forklift?
As we chased
Spotlights,
So did I find
Your perversions
Fearfully
Desirable.
What with
the oil in that
Hotel room, it
Must have
Been obvious
to you.
Speeding along,
Awaiting for Death
by a forklift
in Winter.
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