Is man but a workhorse
to be slowly ground to death
To slice his limbs to ribbons
on a slaughterhouse machine
To breathe in sewer muck and mire
or hurl on tractor-trailers never-ending tires
To toil in anonymity on a thankless assembly line
or inhale the toxic fumes of an Appalachian coal mine…
Young man, learn a skilled trade or train for a profession
Life does not have to be misery and depression
Initiative, nor ambition upfront,
Hire him, he’ll be good as my assistant,
I just want a workhorse,
Not one for the racecourse,
A pony’s oft good if not adamant.
____________________________
A boss said to his HR head
Limerick |16.07.2024| humour
PEN
At first, it was just another pen
A ballpoint, as is called by some
Not one in that old clear plastic
But shiny metal, looking fantastic
A present, as fancy as they come
Quite the classy image back then
That silvery glint in my top pocket
And a perfect weight in my hand
I used it for all my college work
And if ever I lost it, I’d go berserk
All avid students will understand
It was my thing, so don’t mock it
Over time, it became my identity
Still as the messenger of my writing
My signature in places I had to sign
Unique, clearly to know it was mine
Then creative stuff became exciting
On the page, words flowed rapidly
I replaced the refills, always black
In my life it was a solid workhorse
I held it up to point, for emphasis
It was a poor performer’s nemesis
As detailed in my notes of course
A reliable instrument I’d never lack
From the first day that I was hired
I wielded that pen just like a sword
The barrel shone, the clip was strong
No smudging and never went wrong
Given a new gold pen by the Board
A parting gift when we both retired
Four score and many more
And still within her prime
In her mind and in the woods,
Hunting, fishing, trapping,
A workhorse of a woman.
Watch her go- swing the axe,
Cleaving wood, making fence posts,
Shoveling sand, raking it,
Trapping rabbits, beavers, bears,
Skinning, cleaning, bottling,
Pelts, skins, berries wild,
Out doing many a man is
This woman of the North.
She built her own houses, a carpenter,
Lover of her cabin and the wild
In Hawks Bay, Newfoundland.
Celie never rests.
God bless her as she attributes to Him
All her abilities and good health.
Celie - the woman does it all.
A W.C.Hull Poem © 2010-2022-704 (D)
It was here
Here where
Everything fell apart
Went to hell
I am to blame
A workhorse lamed
I was awake
Alone in it
All the aftermath
You were never coming home
Not in a way that I could hug you
And feel you hug me back
It's a nightmare
That became reality
And I blame myself
Because I was not there
To take your place
Because you had so much
So much going for you
Such a bright future
You were far from perfect though
But there is never a day where
I don't regret still being alive
As your birthday comes soon
I ready myself to be the stone
Everyone takes their emotions out on
I am lost, hurting and alone
My solace is elsewhere
A field of flowers, dark and drying
And a full moon casting down
On a lone trail
I am grateful you were my brother
But I am still here, as always
Feeling my way through
Everything after the nightmare
in a country where the black man is enemy number one
where police so quick to use a gun, how do i live
they attack one of us they attack all of us
black men have been crucified in this country for a long time
the children of devils claim this is not a crime
the black woman has been deceived to not trust or depend on her black man now black women must stand as a man, she is nothing more than the best economic resource
uncle Sam views her as his workhorse eating from his hand
only raising her kids by America's plan
meanwhile hot ass bullets break the flesh of the black man
how can we tell our children about justice and peace all they ever get see
is black folks being killed and beat in the middle of the street
time to rise up and take what is ours
our ancestors came so far and they went so hard
the ancestor live within us
so that we can have the power to make them pay
for what they are doing to us
Viagra
I get irritable over emails about Viagra
the pill that is about extending the natural evolution
from stud to an old workhorse.
Everything comes to an end and to make love with
the help of a pill is artificially pressing the body to go through
acts it can no longer do alone.
there is some unethical about it as it no longer gives pleasure
only proving the old horse can still gallop.
LF52 ASV
Farewell Independence 106,
You served our Joseph well,
From driving lessons,
To Scottish holidays,
What stories you could tell,
Also a runaround for me,
LF52 ASV
Dearest Peugeot model 106,
Your toughness you did hide
A prang at Black Dog,
Then rear ended in Bath,
You took them in your stride,
Accepting what would be would be,
LF52 ASV
That wonderful little 106
Took Joe from boy to man
From sixth form commutes
Workplace, and pub quiz nights
And doubling as a van,
Showing the workhorse you could be
LF52 ASV
You exist no more you 106,
You're at the breaker's yard,
Paperwork all done,
Scrap fee received in full,
The farewell's been quite hard,
Goodbye our trusted jalopy
LF52 ASV
In a horse life.We can play with a burlap feed
bag, an empty milk jug, or chew on the barn stall
door.Just to kill some time, or to kill some every
day bordom.In a horse life.We get names like
Black Beauty, Flicka, Seabiscuit, or Secretariat.
In a horse life.We do tricks like bowing our heads
down, or placing our shoe upon a pedastool.Picking
up the cowboy hat.While tapping our feet rata-tat-tat.
In a horse life.We like a good block of salt.With lots
of minerals, to lick upon.A wholesome bale of hay.To
start off a brand new day.Or a bucket of grain.To keep
us all healthy, fat, and sane.And a fresh bucket of water,
to wash it all down.In a horse life.I could be losing a
horseshoe.While the rider is losing his mind.In a horse
life.We can be a workhorse, a race horse, or a trick pony.
Or maybe a showhorse, or possibly a circus horse.With
out all the phoney baloney.In a horse life.We can run all
day in the open sun, or run the race trak.While the betters
place their wagers.Of course, at the horse racing track
betters window.In a horse life..
great aunt, kissed me yesterday
after bidding fond adieu's
to fleeting flashbacks of youth
streaks of invincibility
stiffened her spine when a gentleman came calling
courting her future
a legitimate suitor
awkward member in good standing of the
Chicago Fire Department
A man unaware of the elements due to generations of Irish breeding
mule, mick, jackass, workhorse, turf-cutter,
he responds to all equally
stones of rough leathered hands... make him free
to cast a roving eye, flash a quick smile
share a wink with a girl hanging laundry out back to dry
aunt kissed me today, longer
holding on to that sweet floating feeling
that anything might happen
and would
when the Holy Trinity cuts her a break
if Paddy can turn the other cheek
oblivious to water that Mary's mother threw off the back porch
onto his only brown suit
onto his pride
onto Halsted Street
bright Sunday morning in June
The triplets had ruse in motion
ascetic, etched from strict culture
preordained her new life of solitude
Paddy, fresh off the boat
wet behind the ears
soaked in shame
never came back
auntie grieved
unwed
will always kiss
On the rise of a hill, overlooking the bend
Where the old gravel road, seems to narrow and blend
Stands your bony remains, weathered timber and nails
Posing regal contentment, without praise or complaint
Lacking attention, but for birds and the rain..
Leaning slightly in back, from the north to northwest
Squeaking a bit, from a past of neglect
It clings to the wind, to a past that has spent
The years have abused you...
No longer called useful?
I beg to reply...I think you are beautiful
Strong beams held you strong
Your day's work was done
When the wind caught your breath
and death came with drought, where doubt found a home
Now the birds make their home on the wings of your song
Pride came from the hands that came to erect
Hammered a nail with faith's dedication
Placing each board, with hope and conviction
A wheel, standing regal, a workhorse with fervor
Once brought new life, from the depths of a river
The years have abused you...
No longer called useful?
I beg to reply...I think you are beautiful
--------------------------------------------------
dont be a nightmare
toiling on and sleepless
a workhorse in the dark