Long Workold Poems
Long Workold Poems. Below are the most popular long Workold by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Workold poems by poem length and keyword.
A simple man, I don‘t need much, I use few words; I’m Joe.
I once framed houses, now drive trucks. That’s all you need to know.
I love my wife and think she’s great, but one thing I can’t stand
She’s got so many things that it is getting out of hand.
Last month I hauled out all her * #^%$ and tossed it on the floor
of our garage because I could not take it any more.
When she came home and saw the mess, I told her: Listen up,
Your clothes take up three closets cause you’re such a cluster * %$#$#
I don’t care if the kids are gone. You don’t need their old space
to keep old clothes that do not fit and shoes such a disgrace.
The kitchen drawers are stuffed with junk that you don’t even use.
You have to clear the cupboards out before I blow a fuse!
I’ve taken all your Christmas crap and boxed it up for you.
It’s now in the garage there with your filing cabinet too.
These books and all the videos you never even play -
We’ll buy more bookshelves for them but throw a lot away!
You’re right. I never help to clean. but I feel too depressed
to wash clothes in the laundry room when I see all the mess. . .
the gifts stockpiled for grandkids; and that junk for holidays . . .
It’s got to be made orderly. Who needs it anyways?
I’m trying to be nice here. It doesn’t have to be
done all at once, but all this stuff. . .I feel like I can’t breathe.
I’m cleaning up my work spaces and then when I am through,
I’m going to redo the porch and uproot bushes too.
That sink we needed to replace I’m finally putting in.
I’m getting a new ceiling fan and also storage bins.
You poets here, this poem I post to keep you in the loop.
My wife can’t be here much this month at this here Poetry Soup.
I know she’ll come here anyway and say that I’m a louse,
but I won’t rest until we both have finished cleaning house!
* These are the expletives I had to take
out before posting because wifey said they don’t
accept swearing here. What a sissy site
For Nathan Dilt's contest: The Opposite Sex
and now for Destroyer~Poet's In the Mood * any poem goes Poetry Contest
John Wayne movies have been a thing of mine,
But my "Top Ten" I think divine.
"Rio Bravo" as number one I rate,
The "Duke" and the cast were just great.
"The Searchers" is a close number two,
His unique portrayal of a troubled character so true.
"The Quiet Man" is next in line,
I have to see it, come St. Patty's time.
Number Four would be "True Grit"
He won an "Oscar" for his role in it.
At number five is "The Shootist" for me,
The old gunfighter facing personal tragedy.
"Red River" comes in sixth I'd say,
From young man to old in less than a day.
Seventh to "The Sands of Iwo Jima" would go,
A reminder of the sacrifices our parents would know.
"The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence" comes in number eight,
"Tom Donovan", a portrayal of values and love just great.
"North To Alaska" forget I would not dare,
The role he played with such comic flare.
"They Were Expendable" rounds out my ten,
The action and heroism portrayed then.
But I have to admit that this ten was hard to come by,
As he made so many great films...to my minds eye.
"Wings of Eagles", "In Harm's Way", "The Commancheros" all are there,
Not to mention "She Wore A Yellow Ribbon" would not be fair.
Let's not forget his breaktrough role in "Stagecoach" when
John Ford picked him to be one of his "Top Ten".
Oh, I could go on and on about the movies he made,
But it was the American character that he displayed.
Maybe that's what is missing from our lives today,
A man that will stand for something, and lives as he'd say.
As movies for us are but a relief,
Especially in these times of grief.
"The Duke" was a man who lived life and the American Dream,
A dream that he captured, time and again on the "Silver Screen".
I sat down and watched the other day,
At an old man in a booth across the way.
This old man looked lost and wasn't there,
As he sat and cried,he ran his fingers through his hair.
I walked over and asked to have a seat,
He looked at me with sad eyes and defeat.
He said"sure sit down and I'll tell ya a story or two,
Because I was once a truck driver just like you.
Yea I had the world in my pocket on my right hip,
Somewhere I messed up,I stumbled and slipped.
I came off the road one day,thought I had a good life,
Came to an empty house,no children,no wife.
Killed in a car wreck while I was running loads,
Hit by a drunk on some ice covered roads.
Did not have a chance to say anything,not even good-bye,
When I found out,all I could do was cry.
So I went back driven that ole rig,
Hoping my time would come for that hole that they dig.
Lived all these years with the sorrow and pain,
All the money I saved could not hide the shame.
So here I am in this ole truck stop,
Suckin down coffee and shoo tin shop talk.
Think about life and if money is what you need,
You tend to miss a lot of things due to greed.
I dropped my cigarette under the bench I was on,
Picked it up,looked,and the ole man was gone.
I realized right then and there,
That was me sitting in that very chair.
Form:
Living from day to day,
Trying to make life a better day.
Doing the best you can,
To keep food on your plate,
And cool air from your fan.
Bettering yourself ,
The only way you know how.
Constantly wiping,
The sweat from your brow.
Satisfying the same rude boss
And customers working so hard,
To not let them get the best of us.
Crying out to your family at home,
Because you and your colleagues
Don’t get along.
Going home to answer the phone.
Finding yourself, doing the same
Things at work as you do at home.
The same old job that causes you
To prematurely age can’t pay
You more than minimum wage.
While at home watching your T.V.,
Hoping and dreaming, to have a crib
Like a celebrity, you hope to have a
Chandelier like theirs. Then you look up
At your raggedy light fixture. Getting the
Blurry image of you sitting in an old beat
Up chair.
You’re thinking, “Hey, I work every day.”
“I work very hard, and I can’t even get
My job’s credit card.” “What can I do?”
“I can do nothing but sit here and sob.”
“My health in success is failing, all
Because I’m dying for a dead end job.”
wrote in college while
sick of retail work
(2003-2004) somewhere in that time
Been all over this map, from dot to dot
Red and blue lines, like his old tired eyes
Running late up and down every interstate
It is a living, like it or not
Another truck stop, burger and a order of fries
Rather hauling cattle or packing freight
A long haul from Laredo to San Pancho
"Dead heading", from there to God knows where
Flirting with a truck stop Cutie, a hot cup of coffee
"Sure Babe, make it to go"
Millions of white lines and little prayer
The country, he is getting to see
Over weight, got to dodge the scales
Chain up in Bozeman, slip and slide to "The Mile High City"
Maybe there will be another load
"Black Ice" everywhere, white knuckle driving, biting his nail
Co-pilots, little white pills with no pity
"I need to get off this damn old road"
Blow into "The Windy City" then on to Fargo
Half a tank of fuel, it is freezing in this old "Pete"
Wind a blowing fifty or more, drifting snow four foot deep
Driving all night, nothing but snow
Frozen to the core, no sign of any heat
He is a road runner...Beep Beep
San Pancho is Mexican border slang for San Francisco?
Form:
Goodbye old friend it is time to go
Now that spring has melted the snow
The sunlight and rain brought freshness again
So it is time for spring cleaning to begin
It seems each year it is out with the old
Many things at a yard sale to be sold
Pots, pans, old clothes, shoes, and hats
Trinkets, tools, and a little of this and that
Someone will buy you and take you home
They will cherish you as their very own
Your time is only finished here and now
You’ll have a good life out there somehow
I don’t know what I’ll do now it’s true
I’m not sure I can live without you
Maybe with some fixing and a bit of a shine
I can make you last just a little more time
I think I will keep you just one more year
I would miss you too much, I see it so clear
This is the same thing I said last year
So we can’t tell my husband he can never hear
He’d never understand I’m not a pack rat
But let’s see him part with his cracked ball bat
So it looks like you’re safe right where you are at
But next year, well… I’ll think about that!
As you sit down for your tea, take a moment to think of me
I am the one who leaves the quay, to bring home harvest from the sea
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail
The quota’s nearly done for me, too many a catch thrown back to sea
The jobs-worth from the ministry, care’s nothing for my misery
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail
The sea cares nothing for my fate, the ebbing tide will never wait
There’s not enough to fill a crate, as I battle Neptune to fill your plate
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
Biting wind and roaring gale, I risk it all when I set sail
When deep-sea fish no longer spawn, when my rusty old trawler has been withdrawn
When fishermen are no longer born and the old Sowester’s no longer worn
Lobster pot and fishing creel, Dover sole and jellied eel
I trawl the waves from dusk ‘til dawn; there’ll be no fish cakes when I am gone!
Lyrics by Shannon Farlouis Music and Vocals by David Reinstein/Associated Content.com
I work my fingers to the bone,
all day long, all day long.
Then I'll find my way back home.
Something is going to come my way,
Yeah! I will find a way today.
A way for you and me, bring us out of poverty.
These old river blues will neer die.
So, mama don't you cry for me.
Don't cry for me.
I'm leavin' on the Delta Queen.
Gonna roll this river, see what I can see.
Gonna make a way for you and me.
Don't ask why and don't you cry,
these old river blues will never die.
Gonna take my guitar and roll this river long and far.
Gonna bring my harmonica too.
So, when I'm lonely I'll sing the blues.
Got to leave from here today.
Have to make a way.
Roll this river on that Delta Queen.
See as far as I can see.
Bring us out of poverty.
Sing them blues, don't ask why.
These old river blues will never die.
Don't you cry for me mama, don't you cry.
With his thick, brown, hairy legs,
He had climbed the back of an old white barn.
As his knotted, broad chest pressed
Against the dry-rotted boards,
He stretched his arms toward the sun
Piercing through some nearby branches.
Entangling his long fingers in those limbs,
He rested his head on the black shingled roof
Until his head became green and bushy.
His body clave to the building when he saw me.
He clinched when I tried to grab him
And he did not want to come down.
So, I cut him off by his hairy feet
From among his crawling children,
And I pulled and pulled him by the legs.
Though he fought to stay and kicked to return,
I tore him away from that old white barn
And down he came with boards and branches.
I laid him on top of a pile of old ivy vines
And scraped his remains off the building.