Allow NO ONE to belittle you
for the position or field you have
either chosen or landed –
whether it be temporal or permanent,
whether it be a job or a career –
to you.
If it’s legal –
regardless of what it is you DO –
It is most definitely HONEST living.
There’s NO shame whatsoever,
Only MODESTY and DIGNITY
in TRUTH and HONESTY!
Hence, give NO regards to those that underestimate you
For whatever it is you DO for a living in your occupational field.
Let NO ONE speak ILL of you for doing NOTHING else for NO ONE!
If you have EVER been EMPLOYED, you are SELFLESS – not SELFSH –
By having worked for someone, you’ve invested in THEIR dream, contributing to THEIR success and constructing toward THEIR achievements – NOT YOURS – one brick at a time – even LONG AFTER you’ve already been honorably resigned or abruptly terminated!
For the term you’ve served or filled – however LONG or however SHORT –
You’ve occupied “the vacancy” and fulfilled whatever “the need”
you DO or DID…every day you reported for work in exchange for a
“stipend net change” of the business founder’s “gross pay dollar…”
YOU, SELFLESS DREAM-BUILDER, YOU….?•
IN GOD’S OCCUPATION
In all God’s seasons,
Labors of love are engaged:
Thus, be who you are.
You have been chosen by God,
To be the TEACHER'S teacher:-
After all these years
I'm the same as I ever was
still a child at heart
(plus some older parts)
I've not changed because
what was important to me then
is also true today
nothing and no one
will ever sway my way
yet unlike so many
who know not their station
and only identify themselves
by their occupation
I'm aware of who I am
it determines what I do
don't need a certificate
to prove anything to you
we may not see identically
or exactly the same
but I can agree to differ
diversity is the name of the game
In all God's seasons,
they're laborers of his love:
the TEACHER'S teachers:-
we always thought
Jasper’s occupation was clandestine
He works in Chicago and Miamai
where gangsters work, right?
So is he a mobster?
He dresses like one, all in black.
We dared not ask him what he did for a living.
Having no idea he was in commodities
Legal gambling for the affluent.
the archaeologist stood
on the original floor
above her was laughter
loving and war
the archaeologist stood
at the foot of a pit
beside broken lepers
and gentlemen sit
the archaeologist stood
in the ditch of a moat
where bloodied invaders
and townsfolk would float
the archaeologist stood
to her knees among bones
of all history's people
in all of their homes
Is it any wonder that nobody likes vacuuming the floor,
Mention the word vacuum and there is a rush for the door.
Reading a newspaper or a woman's magazine is a dangerous occupation,
If the vacuuming has not been done.
If for the sake of long term security you are willing,
I will give you a shilling every time you find the vacuum working.
Blocked pipes are another reason that vacuuming is so time consuming,
When others on a break are laughing instead of helping.
There are so many similarities in Vacuuming,
To what others call working for a living.
Tools that are useless,
Workmates who pull their weight less.
Never enough money for a new machine,
But always enough for a fishing line.
No interest in your invention,
Of a machine with more function.
A supervisor on your case,
You can never seem to please.
So, lets make it official,
Doing the vacuuming should be rewarded more than a little.
One time when I was in nursey school, Miss Shanahan had everyone sit in a circle and one-by-one say what we wanted to be when we grow up.
It was what you’d expect…
Doctor
Firefighter
Astro naught
Truck driver
Race car driver
Veterinarian
Police officer
Movie star
Baseball player
Actress
Princess
Detective
Engineer…and the like
Then it was my turn:
“What do you want to be when you grow up Bobby?”
I thought about it a minute, and said
“God.”
That threw her for a loop.
There was no braggadocio.
No narcissism, no conceit, no misplaced pride
I didn’t think I had a shot at it or anything.
Just seemed to me it would be the top job.
Can’t blame me.
The occupation
Black is yellow
Amber is green
War is peace
And everything is the truth
When spoken from an autocue.
By a man who never got
An Oscar.
More wars in Afghanistan
And it will go on till someone loses
In this case, the invaders.
A dead sea of suffering
May the west be forgiven
Trespassing
In the Middle East.
In the end, Israel
The western transplant
Will not set root.
Two thousand years is a long time.
Propelled by undeniable passion
That is trademark of my occupation
Whether in writing and or motherhood
I treat both with wholehearted* likelihood
Grateful to bask in writer’s sweet delight
While blest with God’s love for special child’s plight.
*Colossians 3:23 And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men.
April 3, 2021
9th place, "Reveal Your Other Muse" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Margarita Lillico; judged on 4/21/2021.
Unsubstantial statutory subliminal
Ordinary dilemma
Domineering calypso dancing
Munching on habanero
Desert Kool-Aid promenade promenade
Soil diapers in the shower
Cleanse your mind soul body by the hour
Occupational observational
10/23/20
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2020
O-ccupation
F-inds
W-ay
L-etting
I-t
F-und
E-very
S-ustenance
I-n
N-oble
G-oal
A-bout
P-rogress
O-f
R-emarkable
E-conomy
Form: Vertical Monocrostic
The Boy from Syria
Made me think about life and hysteria
The Boy from Syria
Smiled and left me shocked
The Boy from Syria
Can not afford a bicycle, I didn't say I had a car
The Boy from Syria
Had not found a job yet from the time I met him last year
The Boy from Syria
Left with a hope saying do let me know if you find something my dear
The Boy from Syria
Left me questioning of how ungrateful I am of all in life
The Boy from Syria
Froze the clock for me to find how I can be so blind
The Boy from Syria
Taught me how faith can be a fire and hope the air
The Boy from Syria
Taught me of how Truthfulness can withstand losses even there is not a buyer
Young trainee driver behind the wheel blurt out a helpless damn
Were starting down hill brakes are gone I'm afraid were in a jam
To the old trucker in the bunk what should I do
His reply your behind the wheel it's up to you
Straight up in the bunk old trucker sat when the drivers door went slam
The occupation
There is a small house in the sticks of the Algarve
It has been alone for a month and has taken the looks
Of an ignored older man who needs to change his shirt
Moreover, a hot shower.
I take it mice have moved in feeding on my duvet,
Moreover, I have to get rid of them don’t know-how
I could gas them, but I’m no sadist, I could catch them
One by one, release them in the woods but they will
Remember the good life and return.
I have to become concerning only mice can prove
They have lived here the last ten generation are allowed
In the rest, it will be expelled.
I could see the Us air force, but they bomb everything
In and ask question later.
So, I have to be a Swedish liberal and embrace the mice.
I digress as it is as I live on a traffic island and like to go
Return home.
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