Work On Poems - Poems about Work On

The area where the coffee scent fills the air Where the homeless see the well off and just stare Everyone has their heads down into their phones Beautiful buildings and waterfalls running off stones The people are too educated to be nice and polite Front desk security is called if something isn't right Plenty of places to choose from to fill...

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Johnny's parents owned a bakery, selling cakes and yummy confections. Though only nine-years-old, Johnny showed interest, asking questions. He was soon making tasty cookies, to the glee of his baby sister, Anna. For parents are the best teachers, like golden days, leaving in glamour. Johnny's parents decided to offer, some of his buttery cookies for sale; For he had...

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On a sunny day Right in my parlour Laying on the couch I was going through my phone Then I paused for a moment Because of the sound of our wall clock. The time keeps ticking Every second You see how busy nature is Why sitting without labouring? Don't choose comfort At the age of labour Then you...

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We are spring plants Stretching towards the sunlight, There is no excuse for "I can't"s If we strive and don't lose sight We will bloom and produce fruit As long as the summer season permits, If we work with an earnest pursuit In autumn we can harvest the benefits....

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Come out of the darkness, stand in the light. Speak from your heart and give us insight. Don’t treat us like animals lured by honey. Saying you care and you’ll give us your money. Offer instead, a small thread of hope, A plan to slow, illegal immigration, guns, dope. Shore up our borders, build a great wall, Help the murder and theft...

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Tilling the fields ‘neath a hot blazing sun Removing the weeds when the rain's pouring down Baling the hay in the heat and humidity Breathe the dust of the chicken coop, abject...

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at one with nature the sun sets on the weary ~ reward for hard work...

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Surefooted men work hard on the roof. Their job: to make sure it's all leak-proof. But in the heat, they're baking and the work is back-breaking. Of their travails I'll not be aloof....

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To be literary only if it is of matrix of all colors high writing only if it is sculpted iron and strength ...

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Having learnt the art from her mom, ...

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Gotta go to school it's the same old story teach me a lesson would be good for me learning all the rules five days of the week don't fall behind don't think don't speak gotta go to work it's the same sad story get me a job that's sure to bore me working for a wage five days of the week don't...

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To to dummy that has been stealing my work I have my original work saved on an usb Stop rewriting and changing titles on my work They always blame things on hackers, but this is an inside jobs the truth is the truth, Its time for this old patriarchial system to die these covens will be done away with!...

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Written December 19, 2024 Constantly find myself looking for a thrill Another day another week another year but still I might as well be right back where it all began Still looking in the stands for my biggest fan Nothing compares to the fever dream Yet I think I might be running out of steam At times I dream of the corner...

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The city speaks in static not loud, not soft, just indifferent. It hums beneath the sky's neon bruise, where overpasses arc like broken spines above rivers of unmoving faces. I wait for nothing at the pedestrian bend a chipped corner where the dust gathers like the memory of a voice I haven't heard since home. The gum-stained cement remembers me. The railings dull with a thousand...

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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...

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