Hate Working Poems | Examples
These Hate Working poems are examples of Working poems about Hate. These are the best examples of Working Hate poems written by international poets.
It's all in your head.
It's all in your mind.
One day, you'll be dead.
One day, you'll be hard to find.
We say, "we wish we could fly."
We say, "Give us some time."
They'll work you till you die,
They'll work you till you commit a crime.
Freedom is only in your head.
Freedom is only in your mind
I was glad to escape the school run by demon spawn
thrilled to extricate myself from this hell-hole
disengage from a hateful situation
distangle myself from the mess they call normal
I am pretty sure the students feel the same way
Their “no hate” campaign is working.
Brain research shows that if you say “don’t climb that tree”
a person must picture themselves climbing the tree
before they can visualize not climbing the tree.”
No hate is certainly working.
I limped out of there in a listless spiritless way.
Unable to save anyone but myself.
I hate wearing gloves
lots of layers of clothing
still cold like winter
I feel like I've dug a hole so deep it's better to distract myself from the fact that
I'm dwelling in it
I create while I live underground, buried but not dead. I slowly dig tunnels,
looking for a way out, I won't quit
I contract from fear too often and I'm starting to understand why. I'm afraid of
failure and success, which freezes me in limbo
I expand in short moments of grandeur, not long enough to take a stand but
long enough to reassure that I should not go
I've learned that passion is worth fighting for, beneath the crushing weight, the
misguided hate, I know I have the potential to be great
I've learned that life is worth dying for, as I stagger through the darkness, finding
my way; I must help myself and elevate
(24/08/2-2012)
Who would’ve thought I’d be his? I used to hate him.
What was expected seems never fit the wish
When my mind was for other, fate directed my heart to him
Where is my hatred hiding? Or has it melted then vaporized?
Why now I can’t put a smile without his? Can’t bear my life without him? I guess I do love him
Written for Harry Horsman's '5 W's Contest'
These two men died with a rope dangling
Them from a tree
Like they were ******* in southern
Captivity.
Why could they not make labor day in May?
The proper way to commemorate a life
Is on the day the life changed history.
These two men, they died
And history for all workers was the same
For all are now scorched by hate
That torch those who bears Afric's name.
They died manacled to their dreams
Coffled to our history
They died to change the workers lot
To put more food in starving pots
They died, and with them died
The movement's greatest pride.
I thought as hard as I could
Of how I would my first poem begin
But this I knew
That once I put my pen to paper
Then I could write a full book
So I started to write
With my eyes moving from left to right
And a lot running through my mind
People will hate it
While some others, it will change their lives
But this again I knew
That behind the best lines are worst words too
I hope it would be given a fair trial
My heart couldn't hope for any better
And at the end, you would say
How I love to read this poem again
A big Mack truck
Can get stuck good
In muck road ways.
Put on the chains
Traction gains hold
Hate rains in Spring.
It’s a mell of a hess
But I guess a
Good test of nerves.
Then I’ll get back
Wash the Mack and
then stack the chains.
End the day’s strife
See my life love,
my wife. I’m home.
I can do my job while sleep
and bishops splay
and angels weep
tears of fears of
home made stewin'
nine eleven coffee brewin'
discontent and fox news spewin'
hatred that's ungood.
There's no sense in poverty
of coupla billion folks like me
who have no interest in the sheen
propagated by an instinct mean
ingless. When ya see the entire scene
it seems
that's how it goes.
WORKING UNDER BRIGHT LIGHTS AT HOME
My quirk is I don’t like this work; I just lurk in the murk and smirk.
My wife does not shirk. I irk her but her perk is to call me a lazy jerk.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Entered in Susan Burch’s Contest
“Couplet Challenge” (Something you hate to do at home)
Heaps of debris piled in manner hodgepodge.
I truly hate job of cleaning garage.
Won # 5 in contest
Entrant into Susan Burch’s “Couplet Challenge” contest
There’s this one chore I only do if I must
I hate working on it, making myself dust
Fiery pits with thick smoke
I remember it made me choke
I remember the heat that stung my skin
Reflecting the fiery heat and conquered from within
Sinister and choking the balanced shame
Firefighters fighting the monster flame
Burning my heart and searing the blood
Draining my energy basking in the sun
Sweating bullets and so full of fear
The time of my judgment is very near
Relying the source of fiery hate
Describing to you something I cannot relate
Sinister thoughts balance my mind
Searching for something I cannot find
Lost and forgotten I wait for this fate
Try as you may ~ you'll never relate
Black smokes wisps throughout the night
As I uncontrollably battle this fight...
THE INTENTIONS OF OUR THOUGHTS,
LEAVES US WITH OUR MOTIVES INTENTLY DETERMINED TO;
MINIPULATE US WITH NEGATIVE MEANINGLESS WORDS;
WHICH ARE SPOKEN HARSHLY,
TOWARDS THE ONES WE LOVE THE MOST.
SENDING OUR DELUSIONS OF LIES WITH;
EVERY VINDICTIVE MALIICIOUS NEGATIVE THOUGHT;AND
WITH ALL THE CRULTIES OF OUR HEART AND SOUL.
AN INVITATION OF THOUGHTS
An Invitation of Thoughts
Angels, dare not enter;
for our city prides on greed and hate.
Fear takes betrayal without heed,
A means to an end.
Our Soul holds more importance,
rather than our indulgences "need".
In the heart of the beast,
reigns the seed of decency.
Bankrupted sorrow, and despair
becomes tomorrow's healing nature.
Heavens peace only comes from within,
not on a faithless belief.
A brief chance to believe that in time,
our spirit will strenghten,
rekindling humanity's faith in god;
and our love for him.
Write, write, write
That is a unique part
Of my life, life, life.
I was born, born, born
To do it. I could, should,
I wil, write, write, write,
All day, all night.
I love, love, love
To write. Along with
Many other activities
That make up me, me,me.
If you hate, hate, hate
On me about my gifts
Don't be suprised if I
Write, write, write
About that then you'll
Feel played or better yet
Straight jacked.
I write, write, write,
And do many others
In fact. How you love
That?
wrote 11-23-10