Life Work Poems | Examples
These Life Work poems are examples of Work poems about Life. These are the best examples of Work Life poems written by international poets.
as life happens we react
then sense consciousness contract
which is good because we learn
to overcome ego’s burn
though life seems like a circus
we are here for a purpose
and when love’s flame is steady
to meet God we are ready
Adored by all the plants and trees,
but forsaken by his wife,
he loved the sound of a gentle breeze,
and gave the grasses life.
When she said, "time to mow the lawn",
he knew which side that he was on.
On the road I try each guise,
Today I’ll meet them with new eyes.
Life has left me time to spare,
I bring some idleness to share.
Some may perish in this flame,
I live on gladly, all the same.
A boundless show, yet sweet refrain,
Their voice keeps singing out my name.
Are these feelings just in vain?
Still alone, to them I wend my way again.
Protect your mental health
Even on your job
When your employer try
To bully and take advantage
My mistreating you and
Invading your personal life
And space after work hours
In a bottle's transparent depths,
ants struggled, waves of chaos
each fighting for life,
yet forming a living pyramid,
a reverberation of unity's might.
Some submerged, others held fast,
a coordinated dance of aid
no panic, no selfish haste,
each ant surrendered to the greater fate.
A spoon's gentle rescue came,
ants emerged, one by one,
until one faltered, slipped back
into the water's grasp.
The last ant turned, dove deep,
clinging tight to the drowning form,
a bond of brotherhood,
a sacrifice that shook my core.
Shame on humans, lost in pride,
building walls, not bridges wide,
ants teach us unity's strength,
a lesson in selfless length.
True power lies in collective might,
let ants' wisdom guide our plight,
unity's lesson, forever told
in their small, mighty hearts of gold.
Hands that perform tasks,
creative exercise of creating...
Feet that walk firmly
in the fruitful movement of walking...
Rain that falls generously
in the blessed gift of watering...
The wind blows that blows beneficently...
benign work of blowing!
Sleeps the night... healing sleeps,
inspiring epiphany in dreaming...
Goats skip,
healthy vibrant revelry...
Children are enlightened by playing
holy craft of educating,
Men should only love,
divine and pleasurable mission... in God to live
as craftsmen of love in life...
eternal, millennial life!
newspaper business has brought us far
to these territories where desert rivers
descend from huge clouds cultivated
but we live on twisted lips to build
something for those coming in
oh you who love this place
by the tourist book is a man
who loves a woman by
a guidebook of sex positions now
a freshly mown lawn
the clippings become new mulch
the grass will thrive now
They bore the winds of time
as they rose from arid lands.
They sun poked past one peak
while my work crew waited
to move to another place on the highway,
and we knew the day would fade.
We knew
highways must always be mended
and the same with our lives.
We spoke in hushed voices
among these hills
made when the earth shifted.
Somewhere beyond rested
a blanket of stars.
We let traffic pass
and two of us held stop/slow signs
and they would stand at the ends
of the work zone.
Along the highway was a casino
and a bar. If we listened closely
we could hear a breeze tell a story
of the old west. Some patrons
gambled their fortunes every day
and they lived in shadows
of pioneers who gave their lives
for this land.
Every time something was lost
it would be time to start again.
One man I stopped said
that it rarely rained but when it did
it stormed.
To this day I envision him
when his house would shake to the sound of thunder
nestled under a deep cover of darkness.
It was a way of life to him.
poets !
poétesses !!
be vigilant
about word a
R
t
human space-time spoken
_____________read
amicability secondary to truth
technique the tool
form 4 beauty
beat 2 rythm
4+2 = 6 ?
> O U T w ard Move letters
speaking to humans faraway
&
life ascends ~
Mr. Smith sat tiredly, long hours at his desk,
by an old vacation photo, picturesque,
and a stack of papers; another twelve-hour day,
slowly, draining his lonely life away.
He looked at the picture and thought he heard
the voice of a tropical hummingbird
that lived inside that aged picture frame,
and, strangely, called him by his childhood name.
Could this be a hallucination?
Some out-of-control visualization?
He wondered, "Should I laugh out loud or scream?
I mustn't worry. It must just be a dream...
Or maybe it's a reverie, not a dream?"
The voice said, "I am His Majesty Supreme,
by needle beak, and by rotary wing,
I am the hummingbird fantasy king.
Smith felt his grip was growing flimsy,
when the bird said, "I also deal in whimsy".
"No! bird", you are my imagination!"
he screamed at the bird who forgot his station.
Mr. Smith disappeared, some say lost his mind.
Others say he left the world behind,
and he's living in a tropical dream
with a hummingbird, His Majesty Supreme.
We think that by keeping busy
and having a million and one things to do,
the Grim Reaper will walk on by and forget us.
By keeping our nose close to the grind,
our eyes won't meet and lock on his,
meanwhile ignoring the bell that sounds
for other unsuspecting souls.
In the meantime we keep on keeping
our nose to the grind and our eyes
locked on the targets of tasks at hand.
No end in sight to jobs to do
No time to die today
We're way too busy
Plans are endless
The list grows longer when
it should be winding down
It's a race to the finish line
and time is the stopwatch
with a fickle trigger finger
AP: 2nd place 2025
The sun my awakening
a strip of asphalt shimmers
off somewhere in Nebraska
hundreds of miles from home.
Sandhills seen for the first time
I look at them with eyes of a child
but my body aches
as life springs forth
from underground streams.
Center lines are being painted
an arduous day of work promised
it always arrives too soon
but serene skies stretch to endless horizons.
My co-workers and I follow each other
to the meeting spot miles out of town
where we’ll ready ourselves for the assignment--
we’ve come from different stages in life,
I see a bison farm in the middle of nowhere
and must tell others about what I’ve seen
to the sound of nothingness at the spot we meet
and wispy clouds drift across the sky
such wonder shared, I feel it must be a story or poem.
At the end of the week, we say good-bye,
Birth is a common denominator,
Where the journey begins anew,
In the cradle of dreams and laughter,
Life's canvas awaits you.
Age humbles the most valiant,
With each wrinkle, wisdom grows,
The fierce warrior of youth,
Now dances in softer prose.
Work is demanding of our essence,
A grind that shapes the days,
In the hustle of ambition,
We find our varied ways.
Marriage, a tapestry woven tight,
Threads of joy, sorrow, and care,
Two souls entwined in the dance of life,
In moments both rich and rare.
Death, the silent whisper,
The end of a story told,
Yet in the heart’s quiet chambers,
Lives the legacy bold.
In this nominal universe,
We rise, we stumble, we learn,
Each chapter a fleeting moment,
In the cycle of life’s eternal turn
The day passes, an idle hitchhiker,
Thumb half-heartedly protruding
A posture half begging, half daring
Go ahead… seize the day
Good luck with that challenge
For daylight slips through the fingers
Craftily dodges with shadowy stealth
All attempts to control it, confine it
A few minutes in a crowded Starbucks
A cold compress of iced coffee
A mindless “atta boy, go get ‘em”
From a high school drop-out Barrister
Another “rope-a-dope” meeting
Stay on your feet, they’ll stop talking soon
How did it come to this
You were once a contender
Another ten round draw
Everyone seems happy
You didn’t embarrass anyone
Rematch tomorrow...8AM