I.
I stumbled down a corridor of screams,
Where shattered children claw at broken glass.
My temples bleed black rivers, thick with dreams—
Rootless thorns that pierce but never pass.
II.
I was a star torn open in the void,
An angel crushed beneath its shattered light
Now I crawl through wounds I self-employed,
And swallow silence sharp as night.
III.
Dreams gnaw my spine like rabid beasts of bone,
Pages ripped from lungs that choke on breath.
I speak no words, just bones turned to stone,
A syntax forged in the furnace of death.
IV.
Time’s razor splits my chest in two cold halves,
Its walls drip names I once wore like skin.
The moon forgets me; my shadow laughs
I’m lost to all the selves I’ve been.
V.
I dig for voices buried deep in scars,
A fossil tongue soaked in salt and rust.
I vanish in this hollow prison of stars
Where loss is hunger, and hunger is dust.
A Handcart and a Ring
A man I knew had a handcart and became self-employed
I often saw him in the town with a load of parcels and sometimes furniture
He was a contented man.
One day, on his way to the railway station, the wheel of his cart came off
four suitcases fell into the street.
So, what to do?
He traced his steps and soon found the missing pieces that kept the wheel
on the axle, but he also found an expensive diamond ring
he put it in his pocket as he was occupied with fixing the wheel
and get his load of suitcases to the railway station
In the paper, he read about a lady who had lost a dear ring
he contacted her via the paper, and she was happy,
she didn’t give him any money because, as she said, honesty has its reward
The people at the paper thought this was too mean for words
made a collection and handed the kind man the money.
A Picture of him and his cart, the paper, and a nice story for the paper to sell.
when too old to push his cart around, he became a poet of the small things in life
and not about the life of aristocrats
I don't get paid by the hour,
I'm employed by a higher power,
Blooming like a flower,
Opening up to empower,
It was never about the dollar,
As I shower my world with wisdom,
Breaking apart the old system,
Abundance comes in with them,
Taught to condemn ourselves,
We keep dreams on shelves,
As we delve into endeavors,
Just to make us feel better,
Work going on forever,
Now looking for pleasure,
Release the pressure,
You are the treasure,
Worthy of your measure,
Grab the tether and pull,
Until your cup gets full.
hostage
Trapped, falsely imprisoned, identity stolen, wages deprived, abuse of power, denied freedom
Unable to move and measured, no structure to enter, prisoner of war.
A movement of legal monetary policy allows for these crimes against me, today, 3/23/2025
Self employed as a writer. Inhumane conditions for working in the country, the city workers fail federal codes, failing to report crimes, participation in crimes. Failing to turn themselves in to the authorities
His knees shake, he's feeling weak
His hands tremble and he cannot speak
He got an email early afternoon
It's tax time again - it's much too soon
His accountant queries things long past
But his filing system is not up to task
Bits of paper cover the floor
As he prints reports by the score
He can't remember, his mind won't budge
What he's declared and what he's fudged
IRD is breathing down his neck
Wanting answers now - he is a wreck!
Interest is charged, he is aghast
Late paid penalties are mounting fast
A refund due would be as nice as pie
But it's more likely pigs can fly
Complex tax rules blow his mind....
It's a bloody stressful taxing time
The picket line’s a lonely place
With just two of you there
Fighting for a membership
That doesn’t seem to care.
Two members turned back;
Just two, no more.
Most of them slipped quietly in
Through the hidden back door,
And quietly slipped out again
And we saw them driving by
Funny how none of them seemed
Able to look us in the eye.
We stood there with our picket boards,
Were snapped by the local press,
But we lost that action ,
The carnage not made any less
For the lack of any backbone
Must have made the management laugh
And very shortly afterwards they started
The decimation of the staff.
I had to swallow my pride,
For ironically at the end
I helped negotiate leaving terms
For most of my blackleg friends.
And in case any wonder
Just to let you know
I was one of the first
The company decided to let go.
Less than two years later,
Lacking any Union voice,
The rump that was left was
Given the stark choice:
Self employed status
Or clear your desks and go.
Not being vidicrtive I resisted
The urge to say I told you so
The picket line’s a lonely place
With only two of you there
Fighting for a membership
That just doesn’t seem to care
Last week I was assaulted by the boss
Self-employed, I was probably into the sauce
Whatta ham I am
As serious as I can
No need for the cops, just got some minor flaws
A Vendor's Life
At times, sleepless nights,
Filled with worry and fears;
The life of a vendor
Means laughter and tears.
Patience and perseverence
Are essential and soon learned.
An exceptional ability to
Try again once burned.
Defeat's not an option;
There's a desire to impress.
Gifted with talents,
And a need to express.
Optimism abounds,
As doubts are chased away;
No time for such thoughts
In a vendor's busy day.
Each day another chance
To attain a new goal.
It seems a vendor's life
Is in the heart and soul.
With so much at stake
so what is the lure?
There's just nothing quite like
being an entrepeneur.
By Lisa Webb
The MP and the Gardener
She works for an M.P. who claims expenses
Gardener cuts grass, digs ponds and mends fences
The MP gets much more than he really needs
The gardener digs a hole lovingly plants seeds
The MP self isolates in a multi bed house
The gardener is starving living hand to mouth
The MP’s are saying we’re in it together
The gardener’s skint at the end of his tether
MP gets ten grand for laptops to work at home
The gardener starving so he takes a bank loan
Promises, promises were giving you a grant
You won’t actually get it, but it’s pointless to rant
Now if your self-employed we’ll promise more
But the money never leaves, the chancellor’s door
The MP eats steak and sips a glass of champagne
The gardener’s family’s cracking under the strain
The MP’s secretary. forced to use a laptop's screen
The gardener loses his house, but the grass is green
David Cox 22/04/20
Does anyone have the slightest clue ?
Exactly what the hell is going on ?
And if you do ?
Can you please lend me some money ?
Because i have a ton of bills to pay
And i am self-employed
So no work ,
No pay
And i'm not even sick ?
Unless you count ?
Totally and utterly
Sick to death of all of this
I thought i had seen everything before
I thought i knew the world before
But now i am not so sure
My father, Joseph
my hero
was a chief
in the Navy ship
A veteran of World War Two
a mentor
though the years, surefooted
a guide
served 2 terms
got out ended up in Omaha
in a moment of loss
in a storm
found a woman named Annie Bell
proposed marriage till death did they part
you are the one,
my father, Joseph
you had some sons
of which I am one
I thank you, dad, for all you've done
I thank you for being faithful to mom
I thank you, dad, for showing me
how to save money
you were self-employed for 20 years
I saw in you a strong, loud little man
Only had tears in your eyes that I saw twice
When your mother died, when your wife died, mom
Miss you now that you're gone
Been 33 years since your death, in my prays I say
Happy Father's Day!
Jonathan was a self-employed plumber,
Before a diagnosis of corneal dystrophy,
So he moved out as a plumbing worker,
And began playing judo professionally.
He’d done judo as a youth, came easy,
And won his 1st dan at the age of 18,
So took his first senior competition flee,
In the 2010 Welsh Open, he was mean.
Jono also suffers from ADHD, tells others,
And in 2013 took the gold in the US Open,
In the 2014 Grand Prix, bronze feathers,
And at the 2014 Worlds took bronze token.
In 2015 at the Eger World Cup, Hungary,
Jono tangled and fought to take the bronze,
And in Rio he came fifth in -81kg category,
Against fighter Rovshan Safarov, no cons.
He's not a man who runs the streets
He's hard working, and educated
Infect he's a self employed brother
A man who enjoys the best in life
He has good credit, a house, a car
And many other fine things
But he doesn't have any kids or a wife
Now don't get it twisted
He don't have any problems
In the romance department
Because he's a ladies pleaser
Very easy on her eyes
He makes woman wink in the knees
And moist between her thighs
He's strong, confident, and built like a statue
With just one weak, or a smile
Ladies, he'll bring the closet freak out in you
He's known for taking
That woman that calls herself
A man eater and transforming her
From the man eating lioness that she calls herself
Into a mild little pussycat
And leave her broken hearted
Now ladies,
You call yourselves a man eater
C'mon is that what you really think of yourself
Because when I think of the term 'man eater'
I completely think of something else
I think of a smart ass business woman
Using herself, to run game on men for sex and money
That sounds like a smart as prostitute to me
Now brothers isn't that funny
He's burnt obsidian black
Tall and handsome as a matter of fact
This son on scooter, around Town.
If you could see him now
He's tireless Veteran with duodenal ulcer
That ballooned in the Middle East.
He hailed from land of Carib breeze
Forgotten sons drenched in pain
Suppressed
Some faced deportation at their own command, from frustration.
At home, in Belize, he's "Yankee"
He's self-employed and commands attention, with ambition
He's builder of homes
Does electrical, plumbing, and landscaping
He must stay poised
This son without suit and tie.
*
*
mid night street dogs howl
all they are unpaid watchers
self employed workers
fight with each other
their kingdom of anarchy
own regions' rullers
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.