Long Blue collar Poems
Long Blue collar Poems. Below are the most popular long Blue collar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Blue collar poems by poem length and keyword.
LEAVING BOYHOOD BEHIND
White shirt 'n' school tie to blue-collar, dress-code is changing with age
From schooldays to pay-days, from homework to hard work
School bells and game playing to work's whistle and wage earning
With new mates, dirty jokes and smoking, oh where has my boyhood gone?
Seven-thirty start time to five-thirty finish, playtime is shortening with age
From footy-boots to work-boots, from school cap to flat-cap
Five hour days and school clock to nine hour days and time-clock
With clocking on, punch cards and overtime, oh where has my boyhood gone?
Sitting with the lads and a big mug of tea, some things taste different with age
From cream soda to warm beer, from tu'penny mix to filter-tips
Learning piecework rates and new skills, paying union subs and betting slips
***-packet backs, sledge-hammers and betting, oh where has my boyhood gone?
Working with Paddy in the oven's fiery heat, this is much too hot at any age
From cold iron bar to white hot, from straight angle-bar to boiler-flange
From the furnace to the big rolls and bend it, working fast before
Lift it out, knock it flat and weld it, oh where has my boyhood gone
In the Boiler-shop to learn fabrication, things mustn't drop apart with age
From marking out to Oxy-gas cutting from riveting to electric arc welding
Not much in the way of protection with no heath 'n' safety laws here
With air-hammers, no ear-plugs or goggles, oh where has my hearing gone?
Moving big metal sheets down the plate-shop, I must be getting stronger with age
From plate stack to marking out table from load stable to not very safe
Two tons of metal on the pulley, the chain slips and it's down with a bang
Metal crashing, men jumping and cursing, oh where has my life nearly gone
Day-release Thursday at college, lessons still needed with age
From going to Derby and back again, from going by bus to car driving
The Lacarno dance-hall at lunch-time, try chatting up girls for some fun
A quick jive, some posing and a coffee, oh where has my boyhood gone
Dating girls at the week-end and hoping, urges get stronger with age
From meeting up early to dancing, from front seat to back seat for fun
Babysitting her niece on a Tuesdays this gives us some time on our own
Snogging, heavy petting and much further... boyhood gone
Form:
Herons fragment the mist,
appear and disappear while remaining motionless.
The skiff rocks as a coal barge trundles past.
A dewy sky shivers.
Nowadays he just sits in a boat looking at Ohio.
This morning the sun reached the top of a willow
and got stuck.
He rowed toward the bank thinking to get under the tree,
filled an imaginary pipe full of tangy river smoke,
sucked on the wet air
as he watched the tree struggling with the sun.
For a while it was a tussle, then the willow shook itself
and the sun slipped away like an unmoored ketch.
At first, the sun just hovered like a blanched balloon
then it found a window above the mounded smother
and it rose up like a Choctaw bass
about to mouth a trill of small fry.
He was near to the shore now,
Ohio slanted down to meet him
cattails and reeds scratching the aluminum hull.
A couple of mallards jumped out of nowhere
and flew over his eyes. The clatter of wings
ruffled the chill bank where a dank light had sunk.
His mind followed them for some time
until they settled deep down
amid a wraith-wrapped Kentucky.
A heron slowly rowed the wind
stirring up the vaporous air, Patches of clarity
drifted across sky-high filtering puddles.
Ohio becomes a river town, the huddled houses
have scuttled their roofs upon soggy pathways.
The mossy hulks of an abandoned industry
wallow in a foggy backwash.
Castaway wharfs drip a spatter and smear,
a hand me down script of a yesteryear.
A small blue-collar marina,
beer cans roll on swaying pontoons,
a couple of dry docked rowboats
and canoes.
Truck tires thump harbor chains.
Someone is up early, someone else watches him
gut and clean a large flathead.
On the damp dock cats circle the bones and scales
creep through the miasma
their fur wet and glistening eyes flashing a liquid silver.
The catfish is naked and shorn of the river
a thing to be watched least it return to life
as something beyond the ken of cats and fishermen.
On the ramp he hitches up his straggling life
and drives away from a berth awash
with the haunted cries of Loons and Redtail’s.
Soon he will be back in the patched-up pockets of Ohio
where corn husks snag hoarfrost and rattle
in a fresh rinsing breeze.
I start my uncertain day with coffee, reading both The New York Post and the Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!
After a good night sleep, I jump into the shower,
while the freshest coffee is brewing on the counter;
my favorite newspapers have declared the new elect US President,
and I am very glad to hear that, and begin writing with a renewed zest...
to start my uncertain day with coffee,
which invigorates me with the creation of poetry!
I start my uncertain day with coffee, reading both the New York Post and the Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!
The USA Drug Administration states that
moderate amounts are healthy, and I sip it
with a spirit that's really exuberant;
without coffee I am inactive, lousy and distant,
and all who say that's an addiction that can cause much harm...
I can prove them entirely wrong by an opinion that's solid in form!
I start my uncertain day with coffee, reading both the New York Post and the Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!
How do you think I have gotten to be such a prolific writer:
by working hard at a blue-collar job, or dreaming of a million dollars...
when I finally become a published author?
Think again, nobody gets very far
without persistence and sacrifice!
Try to visualize me, I wouldn't be a hypocritical liar!
I start my uncertain day with coffe, reading both the New York Post andthe Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!
During my coffee-break and lunch-hour,
I sit thinking, in my green Honda, how it all can be changed:
to embrace another life-style by glimpsing into that glamorous, literary world;
every door seems closed, and each hope so sour,
and if by merit and luck, my published book became a best-seller in days...
what would be more gratifying: satisfaction or monetary gains?
I start my uncertain day with coffee...reading both The New York Post and the Daily News;
sharing this destiny with most of Mankind: struggling and paying with sweat my dues!
Erasure Poem
So many fake Indians these days
Elizabeth Warren is one
And according to my DNA results
I am too
But my grand-parents spoke Cherokee my mom claims
And they disappeared into the hills
She claims
Is the DNA test wrong?
Was I adopted ?
Or is it possible
That I am a real deal
A real Cherokee
Or am I fake Cherokee???
A Cherokee weighed in on this on Quora
First, I would never call them “fake Natives”.
They are 99% white,
mostly Blue-collar, and New Age Hippie,
Anglo-Americans
who are simply
lost without their own specific identity
that they can proudly Claim,
so therefore,
they search for a certain Popular,
Romanticized segment of Indigenous People
that will “fit”
into their Family’s historical Lore.
Second, it just happens to ALWAYS be …
the Cherokee …
sometimes,
either Blackfoot or Lakota.
AND, “My GGM was a Cherokee Princess”,
as an add-on VALUE.
This is primarily
because of the vast area
formerly inhabited by the Cherokee.
However, the tribes’ interaction
with European immigrants since colonial times,
led to a great deal of intermarriage
with non-indigenous populations.
In many cases people have limited knowledge
of the other Native American nations,
that inhabited the areas in which they live.
However, a lot of this is wishful thinking,
and these people have African American
or other non-European ancestry.
It is fashionable to claim indigenous ancestry ,
in an attempt to legitimize t
Their sense of belonging on our lands.
The reason is simple,
they don’t know the names of the other tribes.
There has never been a song called
“Indian Reservation” about Apache People
or any other tribe but, the Cherokee.
“Indian Reservation”
by Paul Revere and the Raiders.
So if those people aren’t Cherokee
by blood at least it’s in spirit.
And so I conclude
I may be part Cherokee
Part of the lost tribe
Of the Cherokee
But who really knows
My mother took many things
With her to the grave
Lots of family secrets
Things I will never know
But in my heart
I know
That I am part Cherokee
And so I will proudly
Claim I am part Cherokee
In spirt
If not in blood
An a show! Bravo we applauded. We
see past the befores' and look toward
the nextes': we thought it was one of
those nights. Durning the main attraction
most who were interested stopped and
went out and became audience, you know
regular guy's. I sat next to members of
the areana staff who were midway finshing up
cleaning. A couple of the guys there were
big fans. We sat queit for twenty nine
minutes watching. I remember jumping up
in excitment durning the match when the champ
seemed to be pinned.A queit came aross the
stadium of 25,000: it appeared the champ
had been pinned,the ref said no shoulder up.
The match restarted and wham, clothes line,
one, two, three! Again we thought new champ
the ref said no again shoulder up. Moments later
a fellow asked me if there was surposse to be a turnover
I said no, I doubt it I know whats going on and
the champ is in better shape thaan his opponet, I said
I think
they are hamming it up for the fans. And suddenly the
chmp is picked up on the shoulders and streched
we heard the guy say submit!, submit! Submit! The ref
said no and started the count for the champ to
be let go. Conversation with the ref, the champ pushes the ref
and the ref pushes him back: I'm like no way! Small package
and we see a three count but the ref said no: continue.
I checked my watch to see if we were close to a draw. No they had
plenty of time. Champ rallies back, and his signiture
manuver and we all said it's over. Challemger kicks out. Small package again surprises the champ, a clear thre count. And then it happened a queit and then a loud Boo! nd people began walking out. Fights on the floor and empty seats. The Promoter stops the match. And the next day I hear that
people were complaining. I can't even mention either champ or challengers name on air due to neogated interest by the three companies who
promoted the event. Well we haveman issue one company refuses to reogize the champ and award the championship to the challenger withdrawing from
the alliance. Within days we have Two champs. And the Promotion refuses
to show the tape to the fans!
it's over.
M y brother turned his back to a flaming sky
said, "If ya seen one sunset you seen em all."
I was slowly losing my tiny empire
It was so upsetting to watch it fall
Every night before we'd go to bed
My brother would read from, "The Lord of the Rings"
"We only see shadows", my momma said
We'd light up a joint while she threw the I'Ching
And when she read it, we were all ears
"The superior man always perceivers
In the morning, we'd fire up Mother, and hit the road
I was " Two Toke Tito" back then
The toe headed stoner bandito back when..
Mom threw the TV out the window
when they pretended to land on the moon
I made up my very own language back then
Had my first magic mushroom sandwich back when
They killed those kids at Kent State
and Abbie tried to levitate the Pentagon
"Mother" was our psychedelic house on wheels
We headed south to land with a little more sun
Back then there were Gypsies in Mexico
the locals would gather and wait for the show
Momma told them that we were just hippies and there wouldn't be one
Our cat, "Hash" ran away down in Navidad
at least it was a place where he would never lack something to eat
The darnedest cat that we ever had
He loved to smoke dope and he was never bothered by the heat
We always wanted just one more year
in the tropical mountains where the air was so clear
and the mornings were cool enough to see our breath
We tried at the border for another year
when they turned us away it felt an awful lot like death
That was back then..
Back when Timmy O leary had something a lot cleaner than meth
Now thirty eight years have come and gone
My oldest brother's republican and momma passed on
My real dad did too, but I didn't know him anyway
Now I'm a blue collar stiff fighting to survive
I swore that the system wouldn't take me alive
It makes me feel like dying sometimes, That's all I've got to say
I still remember when
My brother turned his back on a flaming sky
and said, "If ya seen one sunset ya seen em all."
In an old Victorian building live two cats and a lady,
The girl cat is Patches and the boy cat is called Peanut;
And the lady is called mother, they all live in harmony.
One day, mother decided the cats needed to have collars,
So, she bought a pink one for Patches and a blue one for Peanut;
Each collar had a little bell that tinkled and tinkled as the cats walked.
Now, Patches loved her collar but Peanut twisted about,
He flopped on his back, putting his paws inside the blue collar;
Finally, the bell fell off and he pounced after it across the room.
As Patches walked around her little bell went tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,
Peanut was determined to get that bell and became quite the pest;
Mother talked to Peanut telling him to STOP and leave the bell alone.
When mother came home from work the cats came,
She reached to stroke Patches and noticed the pink collar;
The bell was MISSING, she looked at Peanut, bad cat she said.
Where the bells went is still a MYSTERY that will stay unsolved,
Patches always wore her pink collar, she really loved to show it off;
Peanut totalled destroyed his within days and was very proud of that.
Mother pulled out furniture to look for those bells,
She looked in every corner, in every cupboard and drawer;
The bells were too big to eat, where did Peanut put those bells.
Well in time Peanut, although young went to heaven, God decides,
Patches followed not long after and mother was left so heartbroken;
One night, she was awoken to the sound of two tinkling, tinkling bells.
And still years after . . . she often hears those mysterious tinkling bells.
____________________
October 27, 2012
Poetry/Narrative/The Mystery Of The Bells
Copyright Protected, ID 10-431-323-27
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
In Memory of Peanut the Cat and Patches the Cat
(and the bells have never been found)
Submitted to the Standard contest, Mystery
sponsor, Nayda Ivette Negron, Judged 11/2012
Third Place
To All Mothers Everywhere
To all mothers
everywhere
Why do you part your legs
toward
the 21st Centaury
Didn’t you know
That the future is our final station
Where the monkey sits and waits
To collect
For a debt that has long been owed?
And he will never be denied
payment.
That fateful stop is close now.
Didn’t you know that this train will never be slowed?
Maybe we should have planned our escape
Before the monkey smiled
Instead of wandering like dumb beasts
That serve as an exhibit on some distant safari
Under the burning glow of industry.
Yes
it gave us the TV and black lung.
And
Yes
we should be grateful
What other system allows you to own a Statesman?
Or
Pay for the right to soil your water
Or
Blacken someone else’s?
How else can you explain the water’s
And this century’s
Taste of curdled milk
That sits in some hoarder’s fridge
Waiting for the next great war.
Why do you offer your babes the fire?
Everything that blooms
In the forest where we once played
Is consumed
Immediately
Now a days.
On America
Which is the land of the disposable hero
And disposable victim
Where do you think your babes will land?
The hoarder?
The fool with a loser’s dream?
The second storey man
Or the industrialist who wallows in his moneyed slop
Or grows fat feeding on the blue collar?
Maybe the hero
Who will be torn apart for touching the wrong ass?
Only to fade into the gutter?
And did you think you could
Swim in this ocean of equations?
This is elemental my dear.
The only end is the shore of a negative.
The only outcome when you try to defy these waters
Is a riptide that will pull you under?
What role do you really think you have?
2
Finally
Under the sour winds
That blow in the coming shadow
Of the kakocracy
Nothing grows
But the desert
That brings
dry dreams of your children.
But at least their sheets are clean.
yeah yeah so here I am at the voting booth
the voting booth
if we only had some tabloids I'd know what to do
one devoted to digging up the dirt, the perks, and the poop
on this gal and that guy with sincerity and truth
yeah yeah at the voting boooooooth
the voting booooooooth
because I'm freeeeee
the commies had one guy to vote for and
we got two and sometimes threeeee
and I don't know any of theeeese
Hmmm let's see
to whom shall I cast my vote
think any of these are full of good deeds
think any of them are
vote for me vote for me
I need this job so please please please
think any of them are blue collar
or are very poor with mouths to feed
or an American brother who knows what it is to be
in need
yeah
an American brother
that's what we need
somebody like us
somebody who sees
someone with integrity and heart
fears God and bleeds
know no no no
I don't know none of these
let's seeee
we got this thief or that thief
crawling out of the rats nest
hungry to go meet their new boss
big world lobbyists
yeah the real boss
big world lobbyists
green horn and don't you know
their gonna eat'chew alive
you better learn real fast
how to cheat and lie
and the only love I can see in DC is in
the vultures eyes
their hungry hugry eyes
and you know they don't kill
no no they don't kill
just patiently wait for you to die
circles in the sky
laughing so hard they cry
working man better stand up
working man better stand up
I think we need to police the greed
and string up the guilty
enough is enough
and we don't want you ruling over us
anymore know no no more
we need to police the greed
and string the guilty up
before they completely destroy us
I think we could all agree
that the problem is greed
yeah we need to police greed in
Washington DC
and string up the guilty
if we ever want to be free
again
The little servant upon the motley colored stead riding the ironic militant donkey
Lowering the wit a marotte lance raising the shield a stone of scone doughnut
Life without Jesus at the picadilly circus devastating Hell
Penning the tale upon the Joker Henry the eighth I am not
The gig from minstrels to jesters something cultural feasters Paying tribute to an evasion loss of self expression gilded by the paid troubadours
Licensed fools itching the aristocratic ears per king
Scraping skat man enters byways to plead loose the blue collar chains
Buskers beware disclaimer the governor shaking the monkey stick
A bag of wind blows across the country side if your not mad as the hatter
Because you separated from the double think I think Jesus is the only way
Evangels preaching the messiah's return as he wills hallelujah No fear of lashes because the king and minions ego’s needed to let go
For refusing to skim truth for the end is near pop a good bottler's grip
Spongers would you where like me except for these jingle bells
Pitch within and without the truth is free looking out of place like a football bat
Walking naked without fig leaves gathering to the end washed in blood of the lamb
As seen on TV blue wigs graced with John three sixteen so is God’s love to them that parish