175.
Worthless Workless
Day by day as I wake up in the morning
Knowing that I prepare for nothing
Makes me to rise up unwilling
It's hard being workless
The air whispers I'm worthless
My inner stamina depresses
As the hands of time pass by
And I do nothing but standby
My soul chides me, I just sigh
Being jobless makes me feeble and fat
Becoming disgusting to look at
Like a weak-limbed fattened rat
Without a job, I feel unworthy
To take in meals three times daily
Consumed by aura of lethargy
Oh Lord, deliver us from this abeyance
Give me business or work by chance
Lest I be caught by an ambulance.
-07/18/2012
(Dumarao)
*My Dark Poems Collection
Hate doesn’t look like a monster —
it looks familiar.
People like me don’t need people.
I’m the person people want.
We point at the evil ones —
politicians, criminals,
anyone who hurts without reason.
They stare back believing
they’ve done nothing wrong.
Some know they’re cruel,
most just call it purpose.
Take religion:
eighteen thousand gods
worshiped on this planet —
more than the population
of a small town.
I’m an atheist,
judged for believing
in one less god than they do.
Everyone wants to be right.
It annoys me knowing
I’m not evil —
I’m perfect.
That’s why I don’t like people.
I’m one of them,
but I choose not to harm.
The dumb call that weakness.
I don’t fight,
don’t argue —
just smile when I’m bored,
nod when I’m done,
look for an easy way to leave.
And everybody walks away happy,
the pretty girl unsure
who she loves,
the man unsure
who he even is.
Meanwhile I stand aside,
quietly watching —
because the happiest people
are often the ones
who never think too hard,
the dumbest,
the vile,
the ones who never look too deep.
xo
A neon light illumined
the soiled feet projecting from the box
in the nighttime doorway of the store.
Made in China,
the box,
and the soul within it.
If you see me like a workless,
Don't define me as a talentless.
You don't know my suffering,
Trying to hide my pain with happiness,
Doesn't define i'm trying less.
You don't know the pressure I hold,
Behind every smile like a bold.
I dare to take a new step for rising,
Again, outcome made me trying.
Your little support gives me strength,
Like an umbrella hold the rains.
You don't know how it feels from inside,
Being rejected and criticized every time.
I'm sure I'll rise again,
Your perception doesn't change my mind,
I know I'll go with some new plan,
Hoping tomorrow will rise again.
The world is swimming in coronavirus,
and the borders are quiet!
The nature is speechless,
and all human beings are helpless!
Our relatives are far away,
Everyone's heart stops beating today.
Every country has this trouble, no one can't be fearless!
In this crisis, the earth becomes heartless,
Children have been leaving their parents!
No food at home, and people are workless.
The pain of losing family, friends
and loved ones make miserable all of us.
When will the nature be calm, will the universe be back?
Will we get back our normal life?
How long coronavirus will last in the climate?
Will we get used to be with this pandemic?
God is absolute and eternal, all of creation will be silent!
I'm disillusioned of this modern world
This quantum, promise-palter singularity most days leaves me hollow like empty Technology
Picture an old colour tv- tubeless workless-
abandoned on an urban bombsite; that's me
Deep unsettled forebodings haunt my sleep, itself a fitful deal
On better days, I see the plan
But most days the pit looms larger than an internal universe of anxious raving racing outward expansion
It's possible I've aged enough - just enough, mind - to have become the prick the younger me kicked against.
Not likely though. The evidence overwhelms.
This time-ripping exponentiality denies all of my feeble tries at the explanatory
Let's see, shall we?
The ineptitude of THAT maternal platitude both exacerbates and contradicts the corollary
You see? That's the point now.
The Mask has slipped
And has anyone even noticed?
Let's see.
Let us see.
To whom do we make this silent plea?
Workless Future
We are fast approaching the time when robots
can do 98% of the work, the middle classes will disappear
altogether; and here is where a universal pay will
kick in someone has to buy what robots make.
But if you think you will get a pay packet every month
you are mistaking it will be in the form of stamps you
can use to buy foodstuff and the more expensive things you
buy, the more stamps are used.
There will be two types of stamps. Blue and yellow the last
for entertainment such as going to a restaurant, if you
use all the yellow ones it is possible to bribe the waiter
to accept the blue ones.
Driverless cars are for monthly rental; you can also save
on stamps and buy one that way.
There will be no election as there are no parties
to elect and the authorities will be a remote entity that
cannot be reached: I wish you well in a life of no work,
except if you are a chef, robots only makes bland food.
The rotting wood below my feet is stroked by the shadow of a chain
Which keeps my hands still, but busy; an agony in unison, afloat.
My mind has learned to drift and wander, many miles away
But the pain always finds a way to intrude, to pierce, to cut.
I hear the crack of the whip, and a scream, and I do not feel a thing.
Again to my silent relief, only seen in my sagging shoulders; it is someone else’s pain,
The constant clap and glide of the oars continues unabated; ‘cept one
As he shudders in a heap, the oar nudging his head; one hundred comforting him.
Our backs face our destination and only the pilot sees the course ahead
Which now waits for us as we rest; for the drum- beat has now ceased…
There is no relief in that workless moment, for our thoughts moan and cry
At the time just ahead, when we will sway and pull and scream
Silently.
But with a roar, the sky shouts and weeps for us, and bolts shoot
Down and silently, missing us against our pleas and prayers.
We do not want to die, but the life we have is no alternative.
For we are dying
Slowly.
The whip cracks, a man weeps, and we all
Shiver.
1
Bravo for their workless piece,
Men with fastened coats can burnish
Poets of the early earth;
whisper lyrics on their breath,
And the child that has had no birth,
smells odour from his working nose
2
Roam the worlds; the worlds of my mind,
On earth's cold ground, I am as blind as he,
The birds sang songs when children were children,
Four candid souls,
for a candid solution
The boundaries of a single circle;
life or death
stings its mark upon her breast
3
Life has evaded; and I'm alone like the other,
But not like a tree; I have no wish to wish upon death
Though it will surely come;
The birds will fly when dark clouds fall,
And to heaven they shall take me,
Overlapping, like the berries on a branch,
The cygnet floats, like big black boats
And men with fastened coats,
Whose poems should they keep away?
Poems for the poor - behind many in the lunch line.
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