My boss once said, “Your work packs a punch!
You’ve impressed every exec in the bunch!”
I started to beam
Then he ended my dream
Saying, “That’s why your workload just doubled by lunch.”
Written November 11, 2025, for contest sponsored by Brian Strand
****************
Screen glow
Slow throw
Burnout
Turn out
Workload
Cloud road
Ping pong
Yawn song
Zoom call
Moonfall
Grindstone
Dreambone
Clock face
Soft grace
Task list
Kiss missed
Push pull
Hush lull
Bedtime
Head climb
When shawn
Mows lawn
Today I pray for the workers in health the doctors and
Nurses, those who were placed on the shelf.' Masked
As (unclean they still worked on) avoiding mandates
To accept the new potion.? They stood strong.! And now
They are back to a bigger workload..May Jesus be with
Them on this hard road, as they support all the others as
Sickness it seems grows.? (They are safe and effective)
And steady as it goes,. They never denigrate others! those who
Went through, with the flawed interventions.' Lockdowns
And other such ado, they are standing most steadfast though things
Look now quite tough.? Indeed all of innocent health workers
No matter their case
I pray.' Will be lifted and protected, this in Jesus I request today!
Forget complicated spells,
That require obscure ingredients,
That have no safe substitutes,
When a pair of helping hands,
That can magically halve the workload,
That can massage away the meanest headache.
And a set of listening airs,
That can hear what is unsaid,
That can pick up the slightest note of harmony.
And a voice that speaks volumes,
That is low in decibels,
That speaks from the heart,
Are the only three ingredients,
That are needed to create a spell to remember,
That leaves no sticky residues,
And can be easily brought together at short notice.
It’s been too long since you went away.
Now nights are long, and days are gray.
Tears too frequent and embraces missed,
The sound of your voice and your tender kiss.
Your empty seat at the dinner table
Leaves us unbalanced, and life unstable.
When you are gone, all is diminished
The workload is hard and much unfinished.
But oh, how the joy and gratitude flows
When you come into sight and my heart explodes!
I discover how great and surpassing our love
When I see you again, we are hand in glove.
Every time you return, the house is reborn
The family is whole and there’s no place to mourn.
There is no replacement, no other can take
The place that you hold and the difference you make.
All I ask is: "Come home your place is here."
Stay with us forever and keep us near.
We value your sacrifice, service and more
Just be sure to come home and darken our door.
Overwhelmed workload
tired and bodies aching
so much more to do
An out-of-money experience
Is almost like existing without an essence
This period is one so awful
No money, no elation, just doleful
The money in your bank is broke
The money in your hand is nil
Who to call that is not broke?
Who would give without being left nil?
One too many is the responsibility
One too many is the workload
Little to nothing is the payload
Little to nothing is the mobility
A sluggard off another's dough thrives all good
A bilker thru' bilkering gets all rich good
He, a worker, gets less luck and cash at a distant range
Why should this be? he finds so strange
Should the reward for a scammer be being rich?
The scammer ought not remain being rich
Should the reward for a worker be being broke?
The worker ought not remain being broke
She took Santa for a ride in her red Ferrari.
He had told her he needed a pick-me-up.
She drove like the devil, was short like an elf.
He was fattened by cookies, not at all himself.
Why were reindeer just lazing about? Rubs
his eyes. Where is that red-nosed disguise?
That she-devil clattered all over the road.
Santa was used to flying high with his workload.
She talked, talked, talked, as her lips toked.
She croaked like a frog, conversation was abhorrent.
He was certain she ran over wildlife on purpose.
Bump, bump, bumping down the road made him nervous.
What would Mrs. Santa say, when he tried to explain?
How did he get into this Christmas dilemma? The milk
was sort of whiskey sour and he drained the cup.
Now he’s down on the earth instead of up, up, up.
Something overhead catches his attention. A sled!
Who holds the reins, but his wife; and she looks mad.
She’s ready to kick some red-headed Ferrari butt.
If she wasn’t North Pole nice would’ve called her more than a nut.
Whether the work-load is manual or high-tech exercises;
Whether it taxes our brain, leaving us without answers;
Or dirties our entire body with dirt, dust, and grease;
Whether the tasks stress our emotions to the max:
Or compel us to take prescription pills to relax;
We all labor so that we may reach a point of rest and ease.
This Labor Day, I am inspired to consider One who has already
labored on our behalf and pointed us to the entryway of eternal
rest. The workload of laws, rules, and regulations; the religious
taskmasters of do's and don'ts have been nullified and set aside.
Christ has taken our laborious job on the 'work your way to heaven
train' and set us free from all the guilt, shame, and pain.
So, on this Labor Day holiday, if not a Christian, consider the
possibilities. If a Christian, meditate on the reality of One taking
away all of the heavy lifting that has been driving and promising us
much but yielding only losses and no gains. Consider Jesus who says,
"Come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you
rest". * May we cease from spiritual labor, and enter His Rest. Happy Labor Day.
090123PS
*Matthew 11:28
Time shines with diamond in my life
I’m smitten to catch, I’m enticed…
I chaste to hug and value every second
For speedy growth of my work-productions
To get the abundant fruits or flowers all in bloom.
Oh, I love every diamond of time
Squandering is remote for me, workload whines
I hate any deficit, bankruptcy or loss
For I could never bring back its swift passages
So I’ll save, use wisely…on air-
I’ll always catch, grab and never toss.
We can’t buy diamond of time
No one can measure its price
But it's found everywhere-- available and free
Valuing it is also a great appraisal
On our self-worth ---object or agree?
May 24, 2023 6.31am
Soft snow swirls down as cold breeze blows
A snow-white crown covers the earth
Life is in hibernating throes
Let’s stay inside near the warm hearth
Cold wind-flows keep us wide awake
External body-aches and pains
Pray Winter relief for Christ's sake
Keep mobile, keep warm, and keep sane
Pleasant recalls of days of cold
Work went on and buses would run
Days that would take total control
Still, the workload had to be done
042623PSCtest, Dear December, Joanna Daniel
4P.
If there is one piece in the whole world that works more than any other,
that works more than a machine, and that works more than the most
hard working type in the eastern and western hemisphere combined!!
It is the HANDS of ANY, ONE, PARTICULAR, PERSON.
The hands of humanity are among the most abused pieces in history.
They are put through so much punishment it doesn't matter if its intentional, careless, or even unintentional. The pain in the muscles and the creaking in the bones moan out in exhaustion.
I will say this: You think that person has had a hard day? try being a pair of hands under all that workload and THEN talk to me about being overworked!
arrive in morning
descending gloom
inboxes full
deadlines loom
insufficient wage
big workload
crazy colleagues
boss a rogue
lunchroom a mess
carpet stains
no tea bags
milk's off again
hide mistakes
phone a mate
take early lunch
come back late
scroll the net
sneaky snacks
(the kind designed
for heart attacks)
delete master files
shift the blame
finger pointing
hide in shame
illicit affairs
rumour mills
pointless meetings
fire drills
no confession
to copier jam
sometime next week
get serviceman
watch the clock
wander about
hunt for pens
eat birthday shout
go slowly mad....
but don't despair
holidays are due-
you're out of here!
Yesterday And Today
Miracle Man
5-13-2022
Once I walked proud,
and my speaking was bold.
This morning I sit thinking,
scratching my chin.
“Walking proud” predated,
my years turning gold.
Yet today’s thoughts produce,
a mischievous grin.
As years have accumulated,
my steps have slowed.
Now balance problems require,
the use of a cane.
No longer are days tolerant,
of a scheduled workload.
And from food that tastes good,
I’m being told to abstain.
Never thought I’d view myself,
as just some old man.
I’ve so many ailments,
that I could write a book.
But I know that for my life,
God still has a plan.
Though today I’ve misplaced,
my positive outlook.
They made him repeat a class,
Promising him that he would pass,
This backing up with eyeglass,
Urging him to read even on grass;
To plan always for The Big
And be willing to for it dig:
For the More-Original-than-A-Wig
And the Fruit-Promising Fig.
Then, off he just slunk
From his long-lazing bunk
Wearing the weirdest punk,
In his arms some readable junk;
Not much of the money in him sunk,
Soon again to exams flunk …
Workload had seemed Gargantuan
And he’d never been Academic Centurion;
Trust in him a Romance with Farce,
Sure again to repeat that class.
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