Working Man Poems - Poems about Working Man

The Working Man

He wakes every morning before the rooster crows 
He gets up and puts on his work clothes 
He moves a little slower 
His smile hangs a little lower 
He knows he’s getting older 
He can feel it in his shoulders 
Not one to complain
He works through the pain 
He doesn’t mind 
It’s all part of

The Poem of a Working Man

Living through the raging storm 
I am battered yet still alive 
Thankful for God’s grace 
which help’s me to survive  

At times it seem’s the darkness 
is  going to take my life
But I hold on through the turmoil 
with visions of my children and my wife

It is my duty to protect them
Until I

The Working Man

The Working Man
Should have been born with a dorsal fin
That was made to stand proud 
Only for time and oppression to cause it fail
Oh, tilikum, we weep

The working man is made to perform 
His painted smile so fake
To please his masters, to earn his food
Oh, tyke shot 80 times, we weep

His fighting spirit tamed at

The Tired Working Man

One more time, I must reiterate one more time
that I'm not complaining
I'm for once trying to find the bright side 
of this inflatable balloon called life
with a glass half full point of view 
but my bottle is all the way empty and I feel like throwing up
Are the palms of my hands 
supposed to turn

Pray For the Working Man

Pray for the Working Man
The one with calloused hands
Who has often been forgotten 
On the roadside of life's demands
The one that's seen faltering
At every juncture, every step
The one that seems to get it
But hasn't got it yet

Pray for the Working Man
As he fights for what little's left
Doing daily battles
With the thoughts inside his head
In what

The Working Man

The Working Man
sought get old with my high school beard chased through each pillar a delight to deliver
our nations youth in sorrowful truth got them knocking best north the working man
nor a mere shoulder to cry out sweat the lulabye from a slight reply help you get by
each new day let them come your way

I Am a Working Man

Another Day
Another dollar
That's what I get
For, I'm blue collar
Working hard
For all the bosses
Sitting upstairs
In the office

Grab a coffee
On the way
do the same stuff
every day
nothing changes
It's routine
That's the way
It's always been

I am just a working man
Doing the best job that I can
Nine to Five, or Eight to Four
Do my eight and out  the door
Loading trucks

Working Man

working man

early, six days 
before dawn
while I, still curled
warm in bed, listen
he leaves
whispers goodbye
as he passes my door.

every day
as the noon whistle blows
I carry his lunch pail
we sit surrounded by scents
wood, varnish, turps
sunlight washing over us
sandwiches, hot tea and stories.


at night I wait 
perched on the stoop 
watch him stride
down our street
swinging his arms
dusk crosses

The Ballad of the Working Man

The working man had five sons
He had dreams of what they would become

The eldest was not very strong
And he weakness meant he didn't last long

The next son in line had a ruthless streak
And he was able to make his life complete

The third eldest was the middle man
And he would sit astride any disagreement 

This cost

Nothing Like a Hard Working Man

"Nothing Like A Hard Working Man"

He's a hustler 
By all meand
He told me baby
Nothing come to a sleeper but a dream(a dream)
I am your provider
I just need you to be my rider
Promise that you'll be by my side
That you'll always be truthful nothing to hide
I get up everyday,to get out here and grind
I am truly

Working Man - Revised

This man cannot grasp 
His task at hand.
With fervor he tries
Diligently.
Trying, working, his
Sweat soaks his brow.
It is getting dark.
What will he do?
He tries to finish
But, can’t get it.
The sun sets, time runs
Out, defeated.
Time to pack it in.
He bows his head.
Maybe next time, he
Thinks to himself.
With a last big sigh,
He lays to rest.
For soon the morning
Breathes

Working Man

This man cannot grasp 
His task at hand.

With fervor he tries
Diligently.

Trying, working, his
Sweat soaks his brow.

It is getting dark.
What will he do?

He tries to finish
But, can’t get it.

The Sun sets, time runs
Out, defeated.

Time to pack it in.
He bows his head.

With a last big sigh,
He lays to rest.

Maybe next time, he
Thinks to himself.

A Hard Working Man

A Hard Working Man

Many days have gone by and still I hear you across from the depot
There you sat on a bar stool and took off your ring
Thought I'd try to get a closer look, so I walked on over
As I sat down and started to ask him  his name
Then the drinks finally had

Working Man

WORKING MAN

he worries a lot
about income
as though money
had anything to 
do with poetry

he claims to work
for me and the
family
and cannot figure
out why we are
not grateful

we would still talk
when he could feel
before selfishness
made us all thieves

afraid of death
he kills himself
with work
just to be safe
keeping his passions
on the side

leaving a surrogate 
family
lonely and disarmed


© Kim van Breda—28

Working Man

Working from dusk to dawn
Going home worn out 
All he wants to do is go to bed and sleep
But he has other things to do 
Take a shower and eat
Watch a little television 
Read the newspaper 
Then he might go to bed
Sleep endlessly 
Hear the alarm go off 
Time to get up 
Getting ready to

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