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.
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
Crypt and memories of the past
I feel like a corpse in a morgue, I am already that, a living dead
My crypt is so cold, dark, blind darkness everywhere, life after life
I got up, but the door was closed, this is my prison, found myself here the eternal life
Passed years, passed life, forgotten love, only illusion of my life, and illusory of the world, deceit
Child age, youth, parents, family, our house, sisters and brothers, girlfriends, workplaces, church, and my bicycle have not existed, it was all make-believe
Hmm, very bad this cemetery life, the smell of death, infinite demonic life, and eternal suffering became my class after death
Maybe this is Hell. Is this the Hell? Hmm, I don't know, it’s blind of mind, but not a human life, not a man's life, not a human being anymore
I want to leave this life, but I can’t this crypt is my jail, there is no light, just memories, and memories from the past run everywhere in my mind
Hmm, I can’t do anything, I am a prisoner of my past, when do I get out of here? I don’t know, no idea, time is cruel, my memories kill my life
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.
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 fields beneath a burning sun,
behind horses smelling foul,
we hacked the ground so seeds could grow,
walked hard miles behind the plow,
trying to feed all our families
out of the hardpacks, sand, and loam,
wiping off sweat, looking forward
to being able to go home.
Deep within tunnels beneath earth,
coal black dust destroyed our lungs,
we blasted out a country’s fuel,
ever fearful that the next one
could bring roofs down and trap us here,
in graves unmarked and unknown;
hauling out ore ’till closing time,
when we finally could go home.
Out in the sun on the highway,
each passing car a mortal threat,
building a road so normal folks
can to their workplaces get.
Feeling nerves every single time
we hear those big truck brakes moan,
unable to draw easy breaths
until we’re let loose to go home.
Surrounded by a factory
where red-hot steel is freely poured,
accidents are not unheard of,
we all know there will be more.
You can’t ever be truly safe
working metal so hot it flows,
we build the country at great risk,
then we can thankfully go home.
Perched high above a gotham town,
manipulating big I-beams,
raising up a great structure that
one day with glass panes will gleam,
hoping that harnesses will work
so we don’t plunge screaming below,
watching each step so cautiously
to be sure that we can go home.
Trudging hard in desert mountains,
hunting down the terrorist scum,
breaking evil that knows no law
but that enforced by our big guns,
killing them before they can go
rig out houses and stores to blow,
counting the days left in our tour,
until we can leave and go home.
Walking into those homes, at last,
Ii has been one nerve-wracking day,
but there’s no peace, for we must hear
our wives and our girlfriends say:
Ugh, your masculinity is so toxic! What is it even good for? You need to learn more from feminism or you’ll just be a violent brute and a threat to society!
….?
….!
Are you effing kidding me?
Looking for the unfindable
Unfindable. Is she missed, forgotten, invisible, lost, maybe dead?
I tried to find her everywhere. Workplaces, pubs, cemeteries, nights,
days, past lives, present life, next lives, in the light, and the dark
She does not exist, and that’s why I am alone in my so paralyzed cold life
Hard fact, hot desire, passing fire, shooting star my life turns on in the light
There is no love, but everything is more than love because life starts death of love
Never happening the love there, only the realistic love of mind, the intellectual light
I will live in the light, follow and take the shiny and glittering objectively realistic life
Oh, Light, come into my heart and shall be the way with your light in the life in mine
Light
Life
New
Ever
Light
Founded
Love
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.
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
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.
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