Long Laid off Poems
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Curio cabinet full of
Memories; a small dent from a wild child
All hopped on penny candy, running on
Giggle energy, because of the excitement
Of the Little Orphan Annie radio program,
Stopped in her tracks, and stopped in her breath.
Scraped on the lion paw spindle leg,
From when nervous grandson watched
One small man shoot 3 small bullets into one small skull,
Like a whole book depository landed on point.
A stain mimicking the Grecian coastline,
On the drum top, from the spill
From the redwine from the news of pa-pa's death,
A slip and fall when reaching for the remote.
The drawer can't close correctly because
Daddy's head landed sideways after the bullet
Pierced his temple; how many times can you be laid off
On December 24th?
Curious cabinet guarded loosely
With skips in posture and hiccoughs in time.
Maker o maker,
Here is my resume.
a broken phone in the muddy dirt
a neglected charger hanging on a badly worn clothesline
turned down for another loan
everything has been cut off or repossessed
now all my stuff is baking in the sun in a multilayered line on a very short curb
i am sitting in a raggedy chair wondering where to go with some type of next move
i am still also trying to find a new job after being laid off from the one i have been at for 21 years with no type of announcement or warning
i guess i should have cared more about caring
i guess i should have paid attention more to paying attention
i guess i was stuck in an imaginary waterfront version of vainglory
now here i am......humbled with nowhere to go and not a soul to call
with tears in my eyes and an ego painstakingly crushed, i blame myself
The thought of you taking lives....
Your very existence angers me, angers us...
Causing people to lose their jobs,
So unfair and unjust.
I can't stand you.
You consume my spirit with rage....
I wish you were an actual person,
I could tear apart in a steel cage.
We can't even clear our throats,
without someone jumping the gun....
Because of you being here, all around,
Life is miserable for everyone....
I hate you, Coronavirus.
I hate everything about you....
I hate that you're killing innocent people....
The though of you makes me sick....
One cough.... one sneeze....
And you're easy to catch.
Go away.... back to where you came from....
Go back to the depths of nowhere....
Go back to the lowest areas of nothingness.
You're not welcome here....
All you've done is strike people with fear.
Toilet paper out of stock,
employees laid off....
You're as annoying as a collector,
nagging for a debt to be paid off.
You've caused cancelled flights,
cancelled games, and everyone is irate....
Thanks to you being present,
WrestleMania had to relocate.
You make me sick....
Go away, Coronavirus....
Go away....
Achievement, 1 of 2
—Time to share—
I grew up in a slum where the gang members,
at the risk of their lives, fight over their turf.
My lullaby was red and blue warning lights
flickering from dashing squared cars and ambulances,
and my bedtime story was the blow of sirens passing through
the streets and alleys between boarded up abandoned houses
standing in rows here and there.
My mother, though loved me dearly,
happened to be a high school dropout
and single who brought this world to me at her teens.
She was a minimum wage earner, therefore, her life was
nothing but struggles, kept body and soul together in misery
between laid off to employed to laid off, between paycheck to welfare
to paycheck that is thinner than a sheet of paper.
Although under educated, she was a pious woman,
and that is why her keen desire was not her son to follow
the steps of her mistake and suffer like his mother.
Her wish was to raise her only child to be a decent citizen
with a noble profession and thereby add some value to the community,
return some good things to the society.
Apart from mother’s great expectation, however,
I was a disobedient rogue child, a kind of problem kid
on the block when I was a lad. I got into bad company
and led astray by them, was irregular in attendance to a school
and cut classes whenever I felt like.
Until one day I learned of my mother’s tragic death
on the way back home from her work,
she was struck by a stray bullet
in the midst of gang members cross fire.
yes im calling because im in crisis
you know theres so much i could do for this world...
please dont hang up....
theres so much i could do for this world if they would only
understand my disabilities
if they would only provide decent housing for the disabled...
please dont hang up
if they would only understand these things...
we are the richest country in the world...
but the government is broke, you say?
gotta build more bombs still?
whats that? you have another call?
please dont hang up
theres so much i could do this world
i could create art, act, and inspire people beyond your wildest dreams
but the governments broke, you say?
gotta keep giving those tyrants money, you know
gotta keep giving the one percent those tax breaks
they are job creators you know
even though i cant find a job
and have a resume that would knock your socks off
whats that? you have to go? budgets are tight and they laid off more crisis
workers?
oh, please dont hang up...
A world I thought being enterprising
Never once realizing
Once had a job
Laid off being nobody fault
Landlord evicted a tenant out
Living on a city street
The pavement no one wants to be
Stuck in defeat
Must step on my two feet
All alone
No family
No shelter
Courage to muster
Settling in
Totally broke
Homelessness is no joke
No longer having an official address
In my own stress
Never knew homelessness before
Used to see people and just ignore
In the circumstance for sure
A lesson to learn
For grace it is now me
Now I know how homelessness feels
Feeling it and it is for real
Society is not your friend
Cover up being pretend
Cold and frustrated
The happening for a reason
Be careful in what you think
Open door wonder
Devasted
Homelessness could be you.
A shepherd girl named Bo Peep lost her sheep and her Jeep
And didn't know where to find them.
She fell asleep stoned,
When she woke they were gone,
Leaving hoof prints and tire tracks behind them.
She offered as ransom a handsome reward
And assured there'd be no repercussions.
Then the cops said, "Go home
And wait by the phone
For the culprit to call with instructions."
They nabbed an indigent herder who confessed to the murder
Of all of her sheep and to stealing her Jeep.
But still Little Bo Peep lost her job herding sheep,
And then, to her added dismayment,
She lost her practically new Jeep Grand Cherokee, too,
When she couldn't keep up with the payments.
Let this be a lesson, boys and girls, when you're grown
And are working and making it all on your own.
Though it is an annoyment, you only get unemployment,
If you're laid off, not fired,
From the place you were hired.
(Soliloquoy : An act of speaking one's thoughts aloud when by oneself or regardless of any hearers, especially by a character in a play.)
Mark a book, book a mark.
Not every household has the same pattern of backbiting. Not every mother in law mentors the daughter in law in the same manner and vice versa. It is always noteworthy why you are finding the cliches in your own poem. Where you are still a hype in your own school thought, never made the ground , strong grip to label them your own. You just have a pair of eyes that is getting updated with spectacles with each and every new year, and you knew that maturity is process of losing too. Why you could not say you are a lingering thought too, with the fallen leaf.
Think about something simple, butterfly, grasshoppers, chirping of birds and lots and lots of green. I wish for the cat that got immortal in my only memoir. My freezer still has a green container where she was served. The cats roaming in the here and now are two different stories.
Yesterday, leaf was dragging her little head, between my legs. Under the comforter, she was cooing. She has layers of sounds, I can barely touch her. But most of the time, It unfolds in a make belief story.
Clover is a laid off serviceman. He supplicates , for peace and hopefulness. Yet her hands , has a story of the nicest puffy ball, almost like henna, never too much weary, never too much troublesome.
Leaf is the mesmerized housekeeper with a bombarded situation of underdog keys. Her cooing reminds me about a possible interjection,"Look at this mess! O pony tail, just look at this mess!"
And I will think about the next whole milk powdery treat. For me. For Clover. For Leaf.
When thoughts become obsessive,
is my heart being made redundant,
laid off, cast off, sent astray
recycled pulse rates mere skip hire fodder,
atrophied organ sinking into deep morass,
panic stricken warning notice object,
abject part indigenous scarred,
or scared from sudden rupture,
once a golden seal enactment,
the intensity of love and verdant pathways,
but thoughts they zigzag devious,
without a leash, curb or rein,
they stray like homeless after dark drifters
whose piercing blue eyes scupper vagrant mist,
but oh those torrid thoughts,
of past romantic Himalayan peaks,
where nostalgic loitering a back to front yen,
currency of tantalising moment,
fluctuating in a reckless high stake instrument,
cliff top shudder inadvertent plunge,
yet each thought I used to frolic with,
in meadows of a mythic mystic mind,
we’re so glare blind and delusional,
dragging me on circuitous dandelion epiphanies,
symbolising gurgle stream limestone cave exit,
some dual world attachment barely visible,
detachment on aloof scorched red wood boundary,
thoughts are like those joined at hip beings,
feeding off the actual mesmerizing carousel,
of fleeting guests and life events,
or so it seemed, perhaps it’s just a thought,
of all those things that never settle in one spot
Grey skies in March
as I walk through
the littered yard.
The grass is brown.
No one sees me
except the man
across the alley
loading scrap
into his pick-up.
We talk weather—
snow two days ago
today mist and rain
while we bear
the weight of our lives.
He says he’s laid off
but hopes to return soon.
I talk about lost love
and an empty heart.
We agree we want
to reclaim our lives—
the calendar says spring.
A heavy piece of metal
thrown thuds unto his truck
and he says
Another day another dollar.
I say
All the world’s a stage
before I hop into my car
but no one else is around.
On a quiet morning
bare trees near the ravine
at the end of the alley
raise their weary arms.
I allow a moment to watch.