Long Labourer Poems
Long Labourer Poems. Below are the most popular long Labourer by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Labourer poems by poem length and keyword.
Black Christmas
Spread your gifts beyond boarders
This season if you care
Let the brightest of you be
The gift to humanity
End the year with gratitude
And remember
The empty tables of the
Poor
While you merry
Out there
Some were
alot are in need
Of the third quarter of your waste
At Xmas day
Some were at the third world countries
Were the Xmas are black
Black Christmas
Share your gifts beyond families
And relatives
Reach for distance relatives
People that need something to have nothing
People that are starving
People that don't look like you
They also deserve to merry this Xmas
Refugees stranded need a merry Xmas too
The orphanage need one too
Your poor neighbour deserve one too
Yes your poor labourer deserve it too
Your dying sick foreigner deserve one too
So spread your gift beyond boarders
And stop some families out their from
An empty plates on an
empty tables for Xmas
Help Change their
Black Christmas
Abroad got jobs I hear,
Abroad got cash too I hear,
But getting there is a hustle.
And staying there is a hustle.
I need to get there
Before the bridge is cut.
I will study hard to win a scholarship,
I promised myself earlier,
Then final exams arrived
And I fail to excel
So that bridge collapses
Maybe I look for jobs overseas,
Then I am flown as a labourer,
Then I find agents for male workers,
They charge a nightmare.
I don’t have the cash they demand,
And that bridge breaks down.
Do I have any other option,
Maybe I go as a refugee.
But my country is peaceful,
It’s unfair to pretend
And deny real beneficiaries their chance.
Again, I close this bridge.
Now I will marry a white woman,
And secure a place as husband.
But the law abroad is harsh
For a cultural African man.
Will I bow to my woman as said?
Again, this bridge is shaky.
Or, I win a green card,
Again, this is always on luck,
What if I am not the lucky one?
Will I raise the fees after the green card?
This seems a more unstable bridge.
It is not cheap or easy to get there.
Either way I need to get there.
I just need a piece of advice
A little piece of your mind.
every day without fail he stopped at the small stall
whatever the weather and however hurried he was
his shoes did not need glow for his path was muddy
and the sweaty feet managed to moisten the leather
from inside so much that he seemed walked on water
but the shoe shine was his regular daily luxury and
he wished to portray that his slippers eased their way
through striding about his life with decency and pride
‘never judge anyone unless you tasted their journey’
and thus he always parted with a coin for a sparkle
the labourer was dressed in rags and in need of repair
in himself weary eyed with sad smile cast from his lips
but the young artisan knew his craft with the cloth
willing to serve as he creamed lathered and polished
until the footwear were mirrors reflecting his work
never once was he careless or sloppy in his service
worked with whatever dignity that had remained his
the vendor unlike others never addressed him as boy
always gave him a heartfelt ‘thank you kindly Sir’
and knew truly he head the better side of the bargain
as the years went by the shoes became so threadbare
that they resembled foot rags but not one to worry
the wearer enjoyed his small part of the transaction
that he rather invested in shoe shine than a new pair
until it eventually came down to rubbing wax on his feet
13th April 2021
Writing prompt Shine
Sponsor Constance La France
At dawn , I met an aged sturdy toddy tapper, He was a strong,sure-footed and flexible, Who is well-suited to do the risky job rather, And the tools of that job were primitive and stable.
He climbed around fifteen palm trees every day, Their heights were nearly fifty to sixty feet, And he ascended thrice a day per tree anyway, With simple equipment tied his waist like a seat,
He scaled the tall palm tree precautionary to harvest,
And he prepared by fermenting the sap of its flowers,
He climbed dawn and dusk to extract toddy in earnest,
At noon ,he climbed again to prune the tree fronds for hours ,
He did magic with the palm tree and produced wine,
The tapping labourer got a thousand per day only, He worked in the lonely place to make a living out of it and dine, Alas, the tapping has no future across the coastal area slowly,
The demand for toddy sap dipped very rapidly, And the government has banned on toddy business, All their repeated requests fell on deaf ears nastily, Bring back the lost business and restoring its liveliness.
He was the village blacksmith
To us children he was known
As our adopted Uncle Wilf
They’d no children of their own.
Six days a week he worked,
His hours long and physically hard.
Our cottage back door opened
Straight onto the smithy yard.
The yard was full of machinery
Each one a potential toy,
Schooner, stagecoach, tank
Imagined by a lonely little boy.
A binder, a reaper, a hay rake
A seed drill, a harrow, a plough
I never saw them arrive and go
They just came and went somehow.
Sometimes there were farmers
Serious, big weathered men.
Talking quietly in the Forge
Maybe laughing now and then.
I stood there among them,
Old Tom’s youngest lad,
They all knew and respected
My hard working labourer dad.
Uncle Wilf talked as he worked,
Never had much time to stop,
Always work to be done
In a busy blacksmith’s shop.
Sometime he’d let me help him,
Giving me a little job to do,
Like handing him the nails to be
Driven into a Shire’s new shoe.
Just a country childhood
Just after the Second War
And binders, harrows and reapers
Weren’t so much needed anymore.
The big Combined Harvester
Very quickly came along
And, not long after, the Shires
And village smithies were all gone.
Now, seventy years later,
Eyes closed, I recall with joy
My very special childhood as
A lonely Yorkshire village boy.
Life seemed to be a lot slower
And people didn’t have a lot
But we’d really appreciated
The little bits we’d all got.
I am what I am* by the Lord’s gracious gesture:
Adopted child of God, imparted with divine nature
Beloved daughter of parents who raised me by loving nurture
Cared for and caring sibling around Christian family culture
Directed volunteer toward ministerial faith-venture…
Empowered prayer-warrior for triumphant temptation flight
Forgiven sinner fulfilled by Christ’s peace delight
Governed Gospel-proclaimer bearing redemption light
Health-conscious vegetarian along ideal weight plight
Illumined Bible-reader against skepticism’s blight…
Joyous sister, partner, mother striving to be a blessing and encouragement
Kind-hearted convert trusting the Holy Spirit’s enablement
Loyal lover as first loved by the Saviour with divine endearment
Mercy-granted recipient engaged in sharing, full of enjoyment
Nourished soulwinner over famishing worldly entanglement…
Optimistic life-builder prioritizing spirituality
Persevering social worker for children’s welfare-prosperity
Quickened believer of the Scriptures against self-righteous religiosity
Rescued hell-bound lawbreaker striving now to please the Almighty
Strengthened full-time church worker serving thru Jesus’ capacity…
Thankful teacher, writer, poet advocating responsible communication
Upheld victor in discipling, anchored upon virtuous instruction
Worshipful xenial congregant who praises the Creator with jubilant adoration
Young-at-heart adult defying, yet succumbing to aging manifestation
Zealous labourer in the Master’s kingdom with brethren’s inspiration.
*1Corinthians 15:10 But by the grace of God I am what I am: and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain; … not I, but the grace of God which was with me.
LIST in Bio and ABC forms
May 8, 2020
3rd place, "I AM: A LIST BIO CHALLENGE" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Andrea Dietrich; judged on 5/25/2020.
These are photographs of my village
Taken over a hundred years ago
The streets look just the same
As those I used to know
When Fifty or more years later
That village was my family home
And i wandered them as a child
With streets and fields to roam.
They show a part of my family
Each stood by their front door
On the little row of cottages
That isn’t there any more.
Condemned, demolished, erased,
New dwelling replacing the old
Some not yet quite finished
But each one already sold.
Large, desirable modern residences
Where once workers’ homes had stood
The village of my childhood changed
But not necessarily for the good.
None of those posing for photographers
Could afford to live here these days
Once working village dormitories now
As they have adjusted to modern ways.
One farm worker can do the work of ten
So you don’t need the labourer in the field
And modern mobility means most villages
Are full of commuters or the retired well heeled.
The orchards, allotments, garden meadows
That lined nearly every road and street
Have identikit brick dwellings built on
Grass destroying foundation concrete .
Sometimes, unrecognised, i visit my past
Still enough unchanged to make it hard
To accept these days my family presence
Is restricted to graves in the old churchyard.
Maybe it’s my imagination at work
But it seems to me a peculiar thing
As i wander those known streets again
I no longer hear so many birds sing.
June 7 Heart for God Bible Meditations Based on Job 21-23
Key Verse – Job 21:22 Shall any teach God knowledge? seeing he judgeth those that are high.
HEART THAT SEEKS THE KNOWLEDGE OF GOD
Our heart seeks the knowledge of God that is worthwhile
Since He is our great Lord Who governs us in His wise style
Truly doing wondrous works devoid of any vile which does defile
Thus, we trust Him in every step along obedient smile.
Our heart seeks the knowledge of God that is purposive
Since He is our sovereign Father Who keeps us in His design, eternally conclusive
Truly showing mighty acts for us His children, divinely exclusive
Thus, we praise Him, jubilantly expressive.
Our heart seeks the knowledge of God that is meaningful
Since He is our gracious Guardian Who makes us holy and spiritually bountiful
Truly guiding toward righteousness with His ways, merciful
Thus, we honour Him, overcoming pride, grievously awful.
Our heart seeks the knowledge of God that is teaching us to be contented
Since He is our abundant Provider Who supplies us where He has us planted
Truly showering blessings, always giving even beyond what is granted
Thus, we please Him, being gratitude-oriented.
Our heart seeks the knowledge of God that is driving us to be fruit-bearing
Since He is our compassionate Master Who builds us up in His nurturing
Truly answering prayers with efforts for soulwinning and Gospel sharing
Thus, we serve Him, and for Him, willingly labouring.
Our heart seeks the knowledge of God that is making us victorious
Since He is our majestic Saviour Who rules over us with His kingdom so glorious
Truly reigning in miraculous ways, with deeds, awesomely mysterious
Thus, we cling to Him, earnestly and blissfully serious.
Our heart seeks the knowledge of God that is empowering us by His partnership
Since He is our kind Co-labourer Who enables us with His discipleship
Truly perfecting us along servant-leadership through diligent stewardship
Thus, we abide in Him, thanking Him for His offered vibrant relationship.
June 7, 2026
I think I can remember, maybe dreamed,
a bright green field one handsome summer day,
the Duke's blue tent resplendent with its flags,
his drummers practising for Festival,
a sense of things to come - that's happiness -
a chimera you're certain you deserve,
but, like the Jews in their Messiah-vigil,
you wait until the waiting rots your bones,
and in your heart concede it's not for you.
I don't see life as hopeless - goodness, no.
It's possible to wade through misery,
to cross, and clamber out the other side.
And work will help you do it. I don't love
my work. But I have reached accommodation.
A labourer is what I happen to be,
a cobbler, sir. A brandisher of tools.
The habit of work bestows dexterity,
an easy, nerveless knack of hand and eye,
but it takes back. I'm not so steady now.
I do not relish ladders. Spandrel work,
above head height, with cold paint dripping down,
is horror for an old man's finger joints.
I cover this blind wall with squares of meaning,
and - in my little way - I've changed the world.
I've taken a recalcitrant universe,
and branded it with purpose. My threefold
accomplishments are here before your eyes -
I overlap the figures, so, for depth,
the satisfying quadrilaterals,
the bloom I give to human flesh. Yes, these.
But these themselves are far from unheroic.
Encountering nothingness, I've used it up,
and spent it. These, my children, will survive
me. Ah, the plaster's ready. It won't wait.
I'll use the daylight that remains to me,
sir, by your leave, for these December days
allow no tarrying. Thanks for your pains.
So, look about below! One coming down.
The sun slowly peeps its head in the east, A bird barbet flies towards its nest, Labourer follows the landlord with the beast, Blue heron sits on the teak tree for rest, The big temple bell is rung by the priest, Children run towards the river with vest, Village maiden prepares the harvest feast, Babies feed milk from the blouse less breast, All the events have taken place at least, When the dawn sunshine appears very best, God has done all natural phenomena like Trieste, By which the children of the earth are blessed, We thank the creator for the peace,we assessed.