All white, like the two walls of my room
A glass bottle sitting on it, same shade as the other two
A switchboard beside, with the router plugged in
Only had the ceiling lights --- brightness is quite dim
Four rows of a vertical shelf and a dressing mirror
But the two wooden shelves on it, is what I actually admire
A wooden bed frame, the door and a window
Yet something about the whiteboard made my brain follow
The humid air turned the room musty
Yet the worktop wasn't at all dusty
But oh ! I reached for the two shelves, and the dust had piled
Then I realised that the cupboard roof also needs dusting once in a while
The adapter plugged into the switchboard, also needs to be wiped off sometimes
I love my workspace but it shouldn't be where I'm confined
Tivano Cutting Board Built-in juice grooves channel liquids away, helping maintain a dry, clean workspace.
Nothing seemed peculiar or out of place.
Just another day at her workspace.
Bright and early at 7 am, she clocked in.
It was
Friday, a time for some productive work before the weekend.
She had plans to work and return home.
But angels had other plans for Ms. Prudhomme.
From her cubicle, she quietly took flight,
Away from the daily grind and futile fight.
For four days, her avatar sat alone,
No more life, no more earth to call home.
For four days, nobody came to see about her.
Maybe there was a phone call, text, or email, but there was nothing after.
Nothing peculiar or out of place,
Just another day at the workspace.
Camelia - Rabindranath Tagore
Kamala was her name.
I saw her name written on her journal
She was traveling on a tram, with her sibling along, toward the path leading to the college.
I was a back bencher there.
From one side, of her face, the smile line is visible
And the unbridled hair, touching softly her neck underneath the braid
With the book and journal in her lap
I missed the designated stoppage where I was supposed to stop.
Now, I have a stricter time, allotted for a walk outside
That calculation is not quite a musing with my workspace
Almost befitting with their leaving time, whence it is time.
Often we meet
I ponder in silence, regardless if there is any relation or not
She is my co-traveler.
A face with innocent intelligence
Was evident there, fulbright.
The young forehead had untied haid rushed to upside
The bright eyes had a gaze, unhesitant
It comes to my mind, why there is not any crisis, ensuing
Saving civilization from, to make this life glorious, charismatic, flying.
On the inside of the doohickey
is the cogwheel thingamajig.
And that thingamajig keeps the thingy working well.
It turns and cranks and circles around and round
like the second hand on an analog face clock.
On the inside of the workspace office
are the people that run the show,
and even if they have the most expensive of mechanisms
will be a chaotic environment if not
for the heart of the office glow.
On the inside of the human
is a mechanism most grand!
The heart that pumps a life giving, bloody, stream of life.
And the heart is the center of our emotions.
Our heart is the reason we laugh
and its the reason we cry the salty tears.
But no matter the location on the GPS
or no matter the engine in the truck,
and no matter the ink in the pen,
the heart of the person is the mechanism
that matters more than the most.
I race toward my workspace, now battle station
Code Zebra, ASAP, batten down the hatches!
Ka-boom! Boom! Boom! A trance-like sensation
Shipmates scramble for smokes and matches
Ray, Dale, and Russ don’t show
I think: run, jump; if you die, die free
Not trapped and sealed in steel below
Not buried alive like me!
Kaboom! Overhead bolts shoot from the seams
Above is a warm Hawaiian autumn
I’m weak as blood from my neck streams
Where am I now? Of course, I remember
It’s noon, I have a date with a girl on the beach
She’s eighteen and a bit silly, like me
What a gorgeous sight, she’s now within reach
I’m so happy and complete, so free
7/12/22
Tears Of A Valiant Soldier Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Faraz Ajmal
Handsomest man under the Milky Way
Caught me drifting to display
Fashion with a line unique
Blues, Funk and Soul musique
Mannequins with big torsos
Ranges of clean custom clothes
Breathing colours-natural, bright
Resonating rhythm tight
Harmonising lulls repeat
Round a twin of ‘quin petite
Where you smirked and kissed my lips
Touching tenderly my hips
Alluring love becoming image
Destiny tomorrows vintage
Seizing such a fantasy
Artists work of mastery
Somewhere lost in silk and lace
My lover fell within the space
Transforming time to alter more
For my love I adore
Where silence beats the heart within
Louder in transitioning
Passion to evolve again
Dreaming in my art domain.
Santa and crew are in a panic
The elves composure is so frantic
Lockdown is in Place
Toys crowd workspace
Due to Covid, chore list-gigantic
All the reindeers are so sad and blue
They’re idle and have nothing to do
Rudolph has a plan
Involves cousin Stan
Plan was, mail each kid an I owe you
Contest: Santa’s Covid Christmas
Sponsor: Carolyn Devonshire
12-05-2020
9,9,5,5,9 per ”How many syllables”
The Employment Interview
By Elton Camp
Frank is convinced that he is the best
To him don’t apply rules for the rest
A suit and tie there is no need to wear
Nor is it necessary to groom his hair
He thinks a casual shirt, boots & blue jeans
Won’t blow the interview to smithereens
Frank boasts wildly just as much as he can
And paints himself as a sort of superman
Of course, he expects to get benefits galore
Whatever the salary, he will ask for more
He must be allowed to work at his own pace
Since no job is worth getting into a rat race
A cubicle is not a workspace suited to him
And Friday afternoons he goes to the gym
After six weeks he will expect to get a raise
And his work is to receive nothing but praise
The impression he think that he’s creating
Is very far from what the boss is estimating
“Frank, thank you granting us an interview.
I will let you know if we have need of you.”
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