My alarm hit me like a ton of bricks.
I had to play life's game of pick-up sticks.
I leapt up to put on my working clothes.
There was no time to doze.
Dashing about, I did, like a bat from Hell
to arrive on time to my cubicle cell,
wondering if I might get very far.
I left my brain inside a jar.
My boss looked at me somewhat askance,
my underwear misplaced outside my pants,
"Today, as my performance you appraise,
I think it's time for a raise'".
Categories:
working day, silly, work,
Form: Rhyme
As the dawn awakens the sky,
The stars can settle for rest.
The sun in the blink of an eye,
Will breach the horizon's crest.
The weary rise to their feet,
To begin a brand new day.
A routine they must repeat,
In order to earn their pay.
Children will rush out the door,
To catch their buses to school.
Mothers must mop the floor,
To absorb the milk in a pool.
The city at last comes alive,
With the bustling of the crowd.
The hopes to be done around five,
Depends if their work is endowed.
When the clock gets closer to noon,
A half hour is given for lunch.
But that time goes by too soon,
Then back to the grind for the crunch.
Homeward they arrive in their cars,
And when supper is finally done,
The moon says hello to the stars;
And waves goodbye to the sun.
Categories:
working day, children, moon, school, stars,
Form: Rhyme
The working day
It was dark I had been to a place I should not
have been, when I saw a river of men coming out
of the subway filling the street with silence
and decorum.
Daylight came, neon light shivered and died
this was not a time for frivolities and false promises.
at the end of the day, it was like watching a movie
running backwards, the river returned filling trains
with packed politeness.
They are going home to the mysterious suburbia
and the stress of family life in small rooms.
Some, however, take a later train go to bars drink
beer and sing Karaoke and for a few hours
Forget about the drudgery of tomorrow’s office hours
A tiny screw in the wheel of commerce.
Categories:
working day, april, creation, cute, dance,
Form: Blank verse
had a hectic day with
lots of things to do
so glad i found my way
home from work
did not think i would make it
not with the dark, the cold and
the exhaustion conspiring against me
opened the door after some time of
fumbling with the keys
not sure what goes where
slummed the door shut and
dropped the bag on the floor
why let it burden me after
what i had gone through today
was hungry but it could wait
had only one thing in my mind
my sweet little comfortable bed
finally reached the room did not
think to turn on the light and
just fell on my bed
did not think i would wake up
did not care if i did
all i wanted was just a little sleep
was that too much to ask
forgot to draw the drapery
and when morning came
i felt a kiss of sunshine
as the morning rays raced
to my face, i smiled a little
and got a glow on
reassuring and brightening my day
because there was still hope
working under the sun
Categories:
working day, inspirational, on work and
Form: Narrative
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.
Categories:
working day, on work and working,
Form: Rhyme
I'll always remember Granpa Shreeve
at Eaton Road,where he+Gran dwelt,
a wide thick trouser buckled belt
no collar,braces+rolled-up shirt sleeve
He kept hens at the bottom of his patch
his soldier's back now bent to stoop,
collecting eggs from his home-coop,
each day letting them out to root+scratch
Organically grown,fed as range free
a pullet killed as a Christmas treat
each day a fresh egg for dinner or tea
Old-fashioned,a bit of a tartar,
far-off days..Gran was his domestic martyr
Categories:
working day, computer-internet, on work and
Form: Sonnet
Theres not many jobs so theres no money,
Times are hard and thats not funny,
Stuck in doors, day in day out,
No wonder parents are starting to shout,
Our kids are the ones that have to suffer,
They may get dinner but there is no supper,
The people in goverment just dont see,
Well their not you and their not me,
What can i do to make a change,
Not a lot, i am an ex-convict i am to blame,
If i only knew my life would be this way,
I swear to god i would have never have strayed,
Kids need to know the reprocusions of breaking the law,
As when you cant get a job it hurts to the core,
I got a wife and kids to keep,
And its getting harder now things are not cheap,
What will i do now to get the next meal,
Look for some-thing to sell, or some-thing to steal,
We know its not good and we know its not right,
I pray tomorrow will bring some light
Categories:
working day, hope, on work and
Form: Rhyme
Restless and consumed with dread I await the impending chimes.
Soulless and unrelenting they torture my weary senses.
Reluctant limbs melt away from the softness.
Contact with the harsh floor shocks me into motion.
Natures’ call is answered with rebellious eyes that defy the inevitable.
A whoosh of icy reality sends my breath hurtling towards the heavens.
Carefully pressed shirt and trousers donned, the imposing tie is tightened.
The noose of formality and correctness takes its merciless hold.
Outside, the mischievous sun delights in my captivity.
In these claustrophobic office walls it finds a powerful ally to combat my sanity.
The knowing keys beat a mournful tune on my computer, as the solemn clock
makes a funeral procession of the hours
The days end rides in like a triumphant warrior,
Releasing the shackles and oppression that have bound my spirit.
The welcoming bosom of my once estranged settee provides solace, though
already swelling within, the realisation that tomorrow brings but more misery.
Categories:
working day, angst, on work and
Form: Narrative
How near nothing something comes.
It is saliva laced on lips, a litany
of winter trees holding the sky in.
We rise automatically, fondle the heat
on, hear our newspaper words fill the walls
like stale air as we axe frost
from the windshield of moon
warming up in the driveway.
Outside, the wind rears up on hind legs
and screams. But there is nothing,
no scratches, no blood, no dried spit
of hieroglyhics languaging the glass,
no ancient stories to base our deaths on,
to tell the grand kids when they're too old
to care, too young to see between the stars.
Categories:
working day, angst, imagination, nature,
Form: Free verse
Body exhausted from a day of work.
Aches, pains, soreness seeping from every inch of my being.
Mind is tired, weary, words fighting to come out.
Difficulty moving pen across paper.
So much to be said but no energy to allow the healing outpour to occur.
Eyes so heavy, a burden to keep them open, to keep them alert.
Restful sleep calling out to me, but I refuse to answer it's call.
Refusing it as if a lover begging for forgiveness.
My heart of hearts objecting the undeniable reality that it is time to close down
shop.
Recognizing my true mission to flow, to let go, to release all pent up within me.
Trying very hard to put up a good fight, to battle on.
The day drags into night, as I drag myself to bed.
Not totally admitting defeat, not relinquishing completely.
Just going to rest my eyes, lay my head down.
Plan in my mind to use the dawn to refresh me,
energize me,
until the next day befalls me renewed.
Categories:
working day, angst, life, on work
Form: Blank verse