CHEERS FOR THE JANITOR
I suppose I may be found in cluttered closets
Or in empty rooms after hours I’m prowling
Cleaning up so many unmentionable deposits
That’s partly why they say I’m often scowling
My job is neither management nor education
Just all the manual tasks that others do reject
It’s hardly reflected in my low remuneration
So my grumpiness is not that hard to detect
But truly and in secret, I become superman
I have higher degrees coming out of my ears
A champion in jumping over a lengthy span
But I prefer modesty to all the empty cheers
Now, with no more talents nor skills to hone
I am serene and reflective, satisfied and alone
It's a good paying job
one quite devoid of monetary reward
or financial remuneration.
It's an important occupation,
an essential branch of the arts,
one that takes third place to the least
or the last.
The poet has to be
a sculptor without marble or clay
a blind painter of visions
that cannot be hung in a gallery
or bought for a penny.
It is a grand and delusional task
poets undertake,
a wild hope that words alone
can move or improve a jot or a tittle.
This 'calling' this willing servitude
to only imaginative insights
has it own rewards
though accolades must be deferred
until the world awakens
or falls deeper into its sleep.
Ever wonder what happens to suggestions
Dropped in your employers’ slotted box?
They are extracted and read with questions
Seldom answered is somewhat orthodox,
Proposals by the great, “unwashed” masses
Of underlings seeking more remuneration,
Gutsy enough to speak, these lower classes,
Indeed, to want a scheduled, paid vacation!
Imagine a thirty-minute lunch break, I laugh,
Extending the law-provided ten-minute take
Or double pay for overtime? Surely, they jest
For all the silly complaints they love to make.
More work, I say!--simply what you do best
With my feet on my desk, I’m taking a rest!
Written August 9, 2022
The thing I least look forward to,
The root of my financial ills,
Is the vile administration
Of my monthly pile of bills.
You'd think a single guy like me,
Whose needs and wants are all but nil,
Could whiz through funds manipulation
When it comes to paying bills.
It's the interest on the principal
Of credit card accounts that kills
And perpetuates extenuation
Of MasterCard and Visa bills.
Man cannot live by cash alone,
Hence the propensity of credit mills,
And the gross accumulation
Of large revolving charges bills.
But when statements say there's naught to pay,
Oh, how that "zero balance" thrills!
No refund as remuneration,
Just dismissed from that long list of bills.
My credit's good, I shouldn't brood
Upon this fiscal tribulation,
But if I had my druthers,
I'd druther hide out in the hills
Than face the monthly calculation
Of my bills, bills, bills.
Graduate with mission and purpose,
Focus on financial breakthrough
But get a financial slavery...
I have the skills, qualifications
and personal strength align with your
need and mission,
I am the right person for the job,
remains the anthem....
Labour market with labour without freedom,
Life schedule becomes dissipate,
Remuneration with commission,
Referrals with workload,
dreams in feeble..
Time consumption without liberty,
In-depth review to decide fate..
Irrelevancy engulfed,
You're no longer needed,
Disesteem devalued..
Faded without glory..
That's just our Story ..
Passion or puppets they say
One or the other we knit up
In the end it is the same
Service to mankind either way
Sustain for remuneration
This is what we fantasize?
Aims and ambitions are vulnerable
One must Scrutinize for the solution
Few of the many do chose
Their dreams or their passion
While many of the few
Enmeshed in the daily chore
What I do was never I dreamt of
But in the nature's lap
Within a classroom of possibilities
I am gazing my writing and pondered upon.
The bright light, plentiful mirrors
seemed more numerous here.
Miriam wondered whether music lessons
were part of her remuneration.
She thought of people,
the very first time she had played a duet-
a little running melody.. her own
part, a page of minims.
She heard nothing but her hard
loud minims to the end.
Someone said she had a nice firm touch
The piano should always remember the blue remark-
the piano had been unrecognizable,
she had learnt her pieces by heart
..alternately the notes, almost soundlessly.
At musicale evenings,
as winter had sung afresh the effects
she could not discover
the secret of the notes.
Suzanne Delaney
Found Poem
from Pointed Roofs
by Dorothy Miller Richardson
Abya Yala your tears are red of blood
for the murdered innocent inhabitants.
The genocide, the holocaust – systematic murder.
The slaughter of entire generations, entire Nations.
The Colonists, the invaders, the perpetrators of crimes,
were baptized in the name of God –
so much worse it is for them.
Where will they hide on the day of remuneration?
Cry Abya Yala for the suffer of innocents,
for their tremors and spasm in agony.
Cry Abya Yala for yourself
for all what is built on injustice will collapse.
Fixing our dreams we start race,
Holding every tear, try all the best.
Cementing hope for every success,
We fly to goal, for making our nest.
Leveling shoulder with compassion,
For better tomorrow, we put top gear.
Don’t be a terrorist for big remuneration,
With least pay, it is better to be soldier.
Hugging all dignity, kissing every fair,
Adoring each truth, Race we may lose.
Win may be got with muscle or power,
That defiled stature, we never choose.
A race for chair; we all like ever,
A worthless life, we need never.
===================================
Blaring klaxons rouse the weary
Fumble for steaming mug of pain
Stiletto sunrise, eyes bleary
Sandman’s Valium starts to drain
Resplendent youth line up for inculcation
Foreheads kissed, lunchboxes brimming
Then practiced subroutines of remuneration
Contentious jockeying, sinking/swimming
A million convocations for stricken minds
Urgent catharsis, and perhaps, listening
Long awaited liaisons, pairs entwined
Pheromonal interweaving, skin glistening
Round beer babies nursing towards sleep
Gluttonous eyes devour psychedelic flashes
Daydreams of love, wide and deep
Half-empty bottles, faint taste of ashes
3/7/16
Keep me in the midst of my peers-
Far from the weeds hated.
We are brothers they say-
And there I shall reside.
Lower me deep though,
Far from their reach.
A root of no trace-
I will grow to be.
One eye out and one in-
Is my guard of safety.
To grow in strength-
For them to wane.
I'm not a fam of theirs,
To fear for their end.
Their space I must enlarge in-
Spread my tent far to their doors.
Their crops I will possess-
Enrich my branch with their drinks.
When they knock for remuneration,
Crumps for their silence I rain.
Wet their floors with sweat,
Scatter the leaves that grow wings.
Burrow the grounds they root in
And cut their shoots to never rise again.
To God I made a promise
That I would clean and polish my act.
No more Doubting Thomas;
I'll become His faithful acrobat.
Dance on the head of a pin;
Dodge the diamond bullet temptation
If He'll wash away my sins,
And ask for no remuneration.
And to Saint Peter I vowed
That, if he'd throw open the gate,
I'll be humbled, not so proud
Stop dancing in circles, and just walk straight.
I'll take the time to confess
The wickedness etched into my face.
I'll tell the truth, more or less;
Sometimes lies are told with better grace.
I am making a compact
With every Archangel above,
That I will treat them as fact,
As long as they promise not to judge.
A covenant, just in case,
To absolve all the deeds I have done;
The mistakes time will erase,
And the misdeeds that are yet to come.
A long, lost dream lay dormant for many years
Beneath a constant sea of delays and indecision
Stuck in a routine so unappealing to my spirit
Hours spent in self indulgence became the norm of each day
It did promote team spirit however, did nothing for my famished soul
At break of dawn, the alarm clock would sound,
Anger stirred deep in my soul; hindering my commune with God
Then along came Holy Matrimony, or so I thought it was
Graciously, light revealed the cobwebs that draped my life
It was then, at that crossroad where clarity and strength revived
My inspiration, one consolation, an angel sent from above
In defining ways, she would teach me what it means to truly love
With no expectations, no remuneration, observing in awe and pure joy
It was no accident that I found my lost dream in yesterday’s ruins
These gentle hands are blessed to heal, love and give care
I am leery of the slumber that follows,
Along with the aftermath upon its end,
Apprehension that plagues me at times,
Pictures that come during my dreams,
Take me to different traveled scars,
That of which I hide there details.
Hours of darkness call to me pleasant,
To which they are seldom pleasurable.
Sometimes creations in the dark,
Deliver truths, proven upon day.
Spectrums of other lives, I foretell.
Without any prior knowledge known,
These conceptions astound even me.
Others are bewildered, along with awe.
Except for when they are of jovial fact.
Then astounded, they jest.
Twilight overwhelms, my body in sleep,
However, my mind continues after sundown.
This period of obscurity is my sight.
Never knowing my dreams remuneration.