Long Workplaces Poems
Long Workplaces Poems. Below are the most popular long Workplaces by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Workplaces poems by poem length and keyword.
I just read that U.S. Democrats stand in solidarity
against Trump,
but what else?
What is democracy for?
First,
democracy, rather than republican plutocracy,
here confuses collaboration against our competitive opponents
with solidarity,
which must be for both ourselves and our appositional tensions.
Second,
democracy trusts empathy
rather than mistrusting antipathy
much less active distrusting pathology
so democracy stands in solidarity
with polypathic regenerativity,
with wealth optimization as health maximization.
So,
please,
if our parties and cooperatively-owned
and managed
and cared for
healthy workplaces
wear the label of "we are pro-democracy"
then rest assured that being for healthy polycultural evolution
and against degenerative monoculturing competitions
is a humanitarian platform
not limited to gathering votes from 50% of the humane-natural population,
but capable of drawing every vote
from every mind and body of age
to become pro-health for all Earth's species,
including this less upper-caste privileged variety
of democratically polyamorous party animal.
Today there's a War of the Words going on
Today there's a War of the Words.
It's taking place all over this beautiful land of ours
Polluting our precious air and clear-blue streams
Muddying our forests, our meadows, our parks,
Trashing our buildings, our subways, our cityscapes.
Today there's a War of the Words going on
In our workplaces -- our offices, factories, and construction sites
In our schools -- our classrooms, corridors, and teachers lounges
In our palaces of entertainment -- our theaters, concert halls, and sports stadiums.
Today there's a War of the Words just about everywhere you turn;
It's almost impossible to avoid being a minor casualty if you have two ears.
Because today there's a War of the Words going on around us:
Foul-smelling and tasting, putrid, gross, abominable, wretched,
Horribly inexpressive, unacceptable, not-so-long-ago prohibited
Unthinkable even, insensitive, insensible, but uncensored
Curse Words.
There's a War going on, my friends: A War for the Soul of this Nation:
Let us return to civility, to civil discourse, to reasoned discussion
To toleration of others and others' opinions or idiosyncrasies
To a time when rage was not found on the road or the radio and
Rants were not heard from nearly everyone on everything everywhere.
America: Let us win
This ongoing War of the Words
Let us self-censor our
Curse Words
Entry in "Societal Discontent" contest, sponsored by Brendan J. Simons
Deadline: April 23, 2018
Why disturb a functioning country? Why force untried
Socialogical patterns.? Why dis-place positive gender
Roles? Why encourage seperate (communitys?) Then
Advise coming together? (Why?) Why would anyone do
Such iniquity.? Why encourage more people into higher
Education? When there was not enough opportunity?
Thereby leaving manual workplaces needing more applicants? Why cause less birth rates? Encourage even.?
Why alter course? in a (false medical emergency) after
Taking world class advice to go through! to gain bodily
Immunity.?? Why do such evils? Why encourage women
To compete with men? Espicially In hard sports' Why.?
In the tapestry of life, memories weave their threads, and the echoes of past workplaces linger like faint perfume. Seacrest, with its morning shifts and graveyard hours, left an indelible mark—a mix of disdain and nostalgia. The Stench, both literal and metaphorical, clings to the corridors of memory.
Retirement, a withdrawal from life’s hustle, offers solace. It’s like stepping out of a turbulent river into a calm pond. Yet, self-reflection creeps in—an inventory of wasted years spent in an institution were money reigned supreme. What good remains? The ledger is blank, the balance elusive.
Here, at sixty, sanity is my prayer. A few screws may be loose, but not enough to rattle the Monkey cages of life’s absurdity. Kindness flows, a gentle current, but I know it can backfire—a vulnerability in a world that thrives on sharp edges.
And you, a familiar face, a reminder: “This path, tread cautiously.” In my next life, I’ll be a poet—a real one, successful and unyielding. A master tinker, weaving words into magic. A philosopher, unraveling life’s mysteries.
But for now, I am Annie—the content creator, the mother, the friend in need. And perhaps, that’s enough.
Reliving Upside Down
by Odin Roark
The Jungle Gym geodesic glistened,
Afternoon showers dripped,
Languorous droplets fell,
Saturating sand below,
Just like then.
Bench of parents
Reflected memories old,
Stroller wheels struggling,
Obstinate sand as obstacle,
Giggles and screeches
From canopy covered pram,
Bumpy ride for my brother,
His laughter, sheer joy.
Fathers,
Mothers,
Sitters and nannies,
Attentive to children’s every move.
So many eyes saw me
Atop the dome’s iron lattice,
Hanging by my legs,
Seeing the world upside down,
Shouting, “Look at me, Grandpa!”
He didn’t notice this day,
His sudden slumped body,
Dropped the half eaten sandwich
To the ground.
Part of me wanted not to upright my view,
That safety of abstract vision so foreign then,
So understandable now,
So strangely comforting then,
So painful now.
I now straddle atop the bars,
Thinking thirty-three years haven’t made it easier,
Save the bench now replaced
The sand succeeded by concrete,
The tenders and watchers now often of different purpose,
Staring at me not knowing
I’m anything but a nut case.
Some of us just discover
Life’s remembrances
Sometimes prophesy what is to come.
Some, like me, will realize
Their whole adult life is programmed upside down,
Its sophisticated induction lures escapees
Into free-for all playground-workplaces
Where capture so often comes by way of
Pills,
Powder,
Liquid
Needles.
I smile.
Swing down to the ground,
Throw an embrace to Grandpa’s bench,
Look up and shout…
“Reliving upside down moments of love is okay.
Really…
It’s okay.”
BOX OF CHOCOLATES
My heart aches for those who vanish —
a variety like chocolates, melting
into vanquished existence.
First and farewell - those lucky
who have died, without having
their names besmirched —
the young and old, the hospitable
and the sweet character of a spinning
song, twirling on a record player
charming like a little girl’s dress
spreading with happiness. But
others leave us up in arms
they tug and pull, like Cinderella’s
stepsisters, leaving our lives
in tatterdemalion squalor.
Some vacate seats in our pews,
we feel their smiles floating,
fleeting and their hugs — incomplete.
Our workplaces like a revolving door
bringing in presents, leaving with bows
and my heart bobs near the shore.
Often it is the way people let us down,
chasing away the way we want things to be,
leaving us with a sore muscle, entangled
in hopeless chains, with slender fingers
reaching for the wispy-mist of life and love —
and endless raging river of serrated waves.
So long and farewell but know this, I
for one miss...you and you and you
for somewhere lies a perfect life,
with golden names and trellises, pearls
like lampposts, vivid-red apples, a
fairytale come true in degrees of hue.
A box of chocolates, recaptured, brought to
holy knees — taught by God to be friends
of a lasting succulent kind where death’s door
can never open or close, roses kiss our lips,
lovely robes touch or hearts, and hallelujahs
with wings perpetually pump agape life into our lungs.
12/26/2017
Am I really the only one thinking outside the box,
When it comes to pension costs,
Regardless of whether people are able to work or not,
With some working til they drop.
Let me open my box and tell you how to stop the rot,
In my box is all the evidence that points to the life experience,
That those who are for a pension now due can bring to the table,
Along with the math's calculations that says how much they can give back,
If we ask their help,
To mentor the young and keep them out of jail,
To share a lifetime of knowledge that we may need if the internet breaks,
So, we don't end up back in the stone age.
To help on their good days or even good hours to reduce the rubbish pile,
That is costing us more every minute to manage,
Then there the hidden costs they can help us with,
When you start thinking out of the box,
Like, the longer we employ them when they are incapable,
Of doing their job there is a cost,
Or the fact that increasing their age of retirement,
We delay the intake of the young,
And if the age of retirement keeps going up,
The number of those unemployed for life goes up,
A cost that would burden us for generations to come.
Then there are the facts about the health problems,
With older people in workplaces,
Bladder issues,
Skin that is less resistant to knocks,
To name but two which will leave businesses no choice,
But to raise prices.
Another thought I came up with while thinking out of the box,
Is that to get the best out of the old work wise,
We should be looking at retirement as a gradual process,
With flexibility for gradually reducing a persons work hours,
And shifting them to light duties, including mentoring roles,
According to their individual health and abilities to do their job,
This should create opportunities for more young people to
Enter the workforce.
Then still thinking outside the box there is the mental wellbeing of
The aged which effects their physical health which impacts,
The overall rate of spending on health.
The more useful and less anxious people of any age feel,
Is a win in terms of real dollars saved.
If we can get more people thinking out of the box on this issue,
We will find it is not an issue at all,
Once the number crunchers see the new evidence,
That was sitting outside their box,
Who knows they might be tempted to think outside the box themselves.
Dismal tale of men and women in the dirty rail compartment
No conception of the charm being knitted by the movement
Of the necklace of gentle light in the pants shirts and blouses
All is too occupied in their struggle to notice the kind crescent
As they are returning home from their respective workplaces
Piteous story of apathy and woe all of them are absorbed in
An old lady chewing parched rice taking it from a rusted tin
In a dark corner is seated a youth with shirt all bloodstained
Suffering from tuberculosis and looking very fragile and thin
A worthless life of empty existence still wretchedly retained
Though no threshold he will come across leading him to a
Plate of rice and curry as at least one square meal a day
A hawker of playthings approaches them in a smiling face
A second vendor selling some human figures made of clay
A gloomy motion picture of life running in an unfair race
10/07/2017
Rhyme Time with 5 Poetry Contest sponsored by Laura Loo
Using the five words viz Piteous Bloodstained Threshold
Conception and Dismal
Tapestry of Life**
In the intricate tapestry of life, vibrant memories weave their threads, each one shimmering with its own hue. The echoes of past workplaces linger like faint, nostalgic perfume, evoking a bittersweet blend of longing and relief. Seacrest, with its relentless morning shifts and haunting graveyard hours, etched an indelible mark on my soul—a complicated cocktail of disdain and wistful nostalgia. The stench of those long hours, both literal and metaphorical, clings stubbornly to the corridors of my memory like an unwelcome ghost.
Retirement feels like stepping away from a chaotic dance into a tranquil oasis, a serene pond that promises solace after years of turmoil. But as I bask in this newfound peace, self-reflection creeps in uninvited, urging me to take stock of the years lost in an institution where the pursuit of money overshadowed the pursuit of passion. What good remains from that chapter? The ledger of my life seems eerily blank, with joy elusively out of reach.
At sixty, my sanity becomes both a prayer and a quest. A few screws might be loose, but it has yet to shake the foundation of my understanding in a world that often feels absurd. Kindness flows within me, a gentle current that softens the harsh edges of life, yet I am acutely aware that this vulnerability can be both a strength and a weakness in a world that often thrives on sharpness and sting.
And you, a familiar presence, serve as a gentle reminder: “This path, tread cautiously.” In my next life, I envision myself as a poet—a genuine artisan of words, successful and unwavering. A master tinker skillfully weaving language into magical creations that inspire and enlighten. A philosopher delving into the depths of existence, unraveling the mysteries that surround us.
But for now, I embody Annie—the devoted content creator, the nurturing mother, the steadfast friend. And perhaps, in this role, I find that it is enough.
I've heard of a place where people smile
where neighbors all go the extra mile
I've heard of a place where folks of all races
get along just fine in their workplaces
I've heard of a place where highly paid doctors admit
there are diseases about which they don't know a whit
I've heard of a place where instead of bald lies
politicians seek only to compromise
I've heard of a place where you don't lock your doors
for if you did, the sheriff would ask you, 'What for?'
I've heard of a place where's there's little divorce
where loving couples would never use force
And maybe if you've heard of this place too
You and I can give the world a preview
October 18, 2020
Completely Your Choice (#29) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand