Here is a list of Work Poems ordered by Most Commented, posted by members. Read poetry, post your own poems or comments. Poems on these pages are copyrighted © by the authors who entered them. Click here to post a poem.
THE PAINTER
He sits at his blank canvas pondering what to paint
Brushes ready he ponders what to paint
will it be a land scape today pondering he thinks
resting his head on his knee he thinks
he looks at the views all around deciding on his view today
a nice water view he desides to do today
boats floating up and down on the water
the calmness of the gentle floating water seagulls flying over head
the gentle sea breeze the coldness of the day
he warms his hands to take away the chill
with brushes in hands,he paints away
his background color white of course
he covers his canvass in no time at all
ready to start he draws his figures he moulds his scene like the paccso he his, gentley sketching his figures come to life boats there
figures there, seagulls of course floating in the air
his talent has no bounds a paccaso he is
now with brushes in hand he slowly lovingly glides his brushes like a work of art painting many colors on his work of art
slowly he builds up his picture brightly lite colors
his picture opens wide to let spectators view inside his work of art
now open to view
now finished and open to view
they come and stir and glare at his art some smile some people laugh
they stare containtly for major detail all looking at his art
with a beaming smile and pride, he joins them and smiles looking at his art
Brushes ready he ponders what to paint
will it be a land scape today pondering he thinks
resting his head on his knee he thinks
he looks at the views all around deciding on his view today
a nice water view he desides to do today
boats floating up and down on the water
the calmness of the gentle floating water seagulls flying over head
the gentle sea breeze the coldness of the day
he warms his hands to take away the chill
with brushes in hands,he paints away
his background color white of course
he covers his canvass in no time at all
ready to start he draws his figures he moulds his scene like the paccso he his, gentley sketching his figures come to life boats there
figures there, seagulls of course floating in the air
his talent has no bounds a paccaso he is
now with brushes in hand he slowly lovingly glides his brushes like a work of art painting many colors on his work of art
slowly he builds up his picture brightly lite colors
his picture opens wide to let spectators view inside his work of art
now open to view
now finished and open to view
they come and stir and glare at his art some smile some people laugh
they stare containtly for major detail all looking at his art
with a beaming smile and pride, he joins them and smiles looking at his art
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Oct 2010
About this poem:
the joys of painting
When I grow up
When i was just 6 my mum asked of me,
when you are older what will you be?
I went and i played and i gave it some thought,
A doctor or a lawyer, even an astronaught?
As I got older it came to pass,
I would stick in at school
and do well in class,
I got good grades and kept my nose clean,
"Its doesnt matter where im going, I know where ive been"
After high school,
I got my degree,
My parents face,
thier so proud of me,
I took a deep breath and told them my thoughts,
"Mum, dad, ive decided, im gonna be cop"
They smiled and said
"Thats a wise choice son,
you can do this job better than anyone"
Life was good,
I had everything you see,
A new born baby and a wife to be.
One day at work I was breaching a house,
I snuck up to the door quiet as a mouse,
"Police! get your hands up!"
As i ran through the door
BANG, i found myself laying on the floor.
In my thoughts i reflected,
on all that had passed,
doing well in school,
aceing each class,
making my parents proud and living my life,
My gorgeous little girl and my darling wife,
This all didnt matter it had to be said,
When I grow up I dont want to be dead.
when you are older what will you be?
I went and i played and i gave it some thought,
A doctor or a lawyer, even an astronaught?
As I got older it came to pass,
I would stick in at school
and do well in class,
I got good grades and kept my nose clean,
"Its doesnt matter where im going, I know where ive been"
After high school,
I got my degree,
My parents face,
thier so proud of me,
I took a deep breath and told them my thoughts,
"Mum, dad, ive decided, im gonna be cop"
They smiled and said
"Thats a wise choice son,
you can do this job better than anyone"
Life was good,
I had everything you see,
A new born baby and a wife to be.
One day at work I was breaching a house,
I snuck up to the door quiet as a mouse,
"Police! get your hands up!"
As i ran through the door
BANG, i found myself laying on the floor.
In my thoughts i reflected,
on all that had passed,
doing well in school,
aceing each class,
making my parents proud and living my life,
My gorgeous little girl and my darling wife,
This all didnt matter it had to be said,
When I grow up I dont want to be dead.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2010
About this poem:
I have no idea why I wrote this, I used to be a cop, Im not anymore.I guess this is a poem for all the men and women of law enforcement across the globe that put thier life on the line each day to save others.
Benefits of knowledge
Knowledge is gain, ignorance – loss,
This is what even children know.
We either learn or stay in the dark.
We learn all that is written in books
Through much boredom and toil.
This is what even children know.
We acquire the knowledge
Based on human experience
Through much boredom and toil.
Leaning on progress of old and new
We benefit from the knowledge
Based on human experience.
Equipped with the knowledge
Picked on the road to survival
We benefit from the knowledge.
It being a maxim, as everyone knows,
Knowledge is gain, ignorance – loss,
Picked on the road to survival,
We either learn or stay in the dark.
This is what even children know.
We either learn or stay in the dark.
We learn all that is written in books
Through much boredom and toil.
This is what even children know.
We acquire the knowledge
Based on human experience
Through much boredom and toil.
Leaning on progress of old and new
We benefit from the knowledge
Based on human experience.
Equipped with the knowledge
Picked on the road to survival
We benefit from the knowledge.
It being a maxim, as everyone knows,
Knowledge is gain, ignorance – loss,
Picked on the road to survival,
We either learn or stay in the dark.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2010
About this poem:
An experimental poem with many deviations, I am sure, as an example of benefits of learning from my fellow poets how to write terzanelles, pantoums, etc. It is up to them to decide whether this particular poem is a terzanelle or not. Any comments are beneficial, therefore very welcome.
am I done yet?
Am I done yet?
Glancing at my watch, wishing it's time to go...
Am I done yet?
Looking at my work load, wishing it's all cleared...
Am I done yet?
Pacing, sitting, standing, fingers fidgetting...
Realizing it's still long hours more,
I stopped asking myself.
Turning to my work load,
I embraced and focused on the task.
Added melody by moving my lips,
straightening my back.
Not noticing time raced by,
Glancing at my watch, fingers last move,task done.
This is my day,
pushing myself to be useful and productive.
Glancing at my watch, wishing it's time to go...
Am I done yet?
Looking at my work load, wishing it's all cleared...
Am I done yet?
Pacing, sitting, standing, fingers fidgetting...
Realizing it's still long hours more,
I stopped asking myself.
Turning to my work load,
I embraced and focused on the task.
Added melody by moving my lips,
straightening my back.
Not noticing time raced by,
Glancing at my watch, fingers last move,task done.
This is my day,
pushing myself to be useful and productive.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jan 2011
About this poem:
I was getting bored at work, and still see the tons of task to be accomplished. Excited about after work activity, I was pre-occupied. But realizing I should finish something at work, I have to push myself into focusing and determination, in order to be useful and worthy to be there..
Chair Lift Operator
I see them go by
The hottest women
They wear their hats
They wear their smiles
They wear their expensive ski outfits
They live in a world of plesure
I live in a world of low wages
I get jealous of them
jealous of their beauty
jealous of their joy
jealous of their families and friends
I get to ski for free
I have to ski alone
I don't have anyone to share it with
I eat my pretzel m+m's, combos, cheese, and summer sausage
I drink my free mt. dew and hot cocoa
I sit and watch for them to fall
I stop the chairlift and help them up
I wish I could be doing what they are doing
I watch the kid bounce the chair
I grow weary of the rich people
I look at my watch as the minutes slowly tick by
I feel grateful for having an easy job
I see it is time to go
I shovel some snow on the ramp
I drive home on Blackjack Road
It's twists and turns are dangerous
Five deer walk out from the woods and I miss them
I call in today to find I can have the day off
I wonder when the snow will melt and I will be done
The hottest women
They wear their hats
They wear their smiles
They wear their expensive ski outfits
They live in a world of plesure
I live in a world of low wages
I get jealous of them
jealous of their beauty
jealous of their joy
jealous of their families and friends
I get to ski for free
I have to ski alone
I don't have anyone to share it with
I eat my pretzel m+m's, combos, cheese, and summer sausage
I drink my free mt. dew and hot cocoa
I sit and watch for them to fall
I stop the chairlift and help them up
I wish I could be doing what they are doing
I watch the kid bounce the chair
I grow weary of the rich people
I look at my watch as the minutes slowly tick by
I feel grateful for having an easy job
I see it is time to go
I shovel some snow on the ramp
I drive home on Blackjack Road
It's twists and turns are dangerous
Five deer walk out from the woods and I miss them
I call in today to find I can have the day off
I wonder when the snow will melt and I will be done
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Feb 2011
Post CommentFootshot
I seem to have a talent for,
Destroying all my efforts put.
By taking very careful aim,
To shoot myself in my own foot.
Once had a job in telephones,
And could have stayed forever,
But quit to work for an old friend,
Thought I was being clever.
His business skills turned out to be,
The cause of our undoing.
Went belly up with taxes owed,
And all the woes ensuing.
Then found some work in finances,
A vice-president was I,
They moved away but I chose not,
Another job gone bye-bye.
So now I search the want-ads for,
Some sort of a position,
But no one's hiring 'cause of the,
Economy's condition.
I think I'll hang a shingle out,
An idea that cannot fail.
Be my own boss, work when I want,
"Custom poetry for sale."
Destroying all my efforts put.
By taking very careful aim,
To shoot myself in my own foot.
Once had a job in telephones,
And could have stayed forever,
But quit to work for an old friend,
Thought I was being clever.
His business skills turned out to be,
The cause of our undoing.
Went belly up with taxes owed,
And all the woes ensuing.
Then found some work in finances,
A vice-president was I,
They moved away but I chose not,
Another job gone bye-bye.
So now I search the want-ads for,
Some sort of a position,
But no one's hiring 'cause of the,
Economy's condition.
I think I'll hang a shingle out,
An idea that cannot fail.
Be my own boss, work when I want,
"Custom poetry for sale."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2010
About this poem:
Wish I'd just win the lottery or something so I don't have to concern myself with these mundane banalities.
semi-sail
the rig sails on
the captain at the wheel
steel billowed crosswinds
and Willie's gruff twang
come back...maybe not flip-flop
rigs riggin' is sailin', movin'
waving goodbye to yesterday
I'm a stowaway into today
ahead is clear horizon
aft is crewed distant past
the ropes taut, creaking
and diseal's low rumble below
port is where we're headed
starboard is starry shafts
stern relentlessly unappeasable
riding the waves bowed
someday I'll tighten up
swigging the anchor line
laying roots off of route one
but at present, rig's tackin'
we're decked out directly
hauling freight, liners for
what in life we're lackin'
so, harden up to the wind
crestin' hill, descendin' trough
this rollercoaster ride of life
keeps sailin' on to skyline
just the mate 'n' the captain
© agoodguy2have 2011-05-20
the captain at the wheel
steel billowed crosswinds
and Willie's gruff twang
come back...maybe not flip-flop
rigs riggin' is sailin', movin'
waving goodbye to yesterday
I'm a stowaway into today
ahead is clear horizon
aft is crewed distant past
the ropes taut, creaking
and diseal's low rumble below
port is where we're headed
starboard is starry shafts
stern relentlessly unappeasable
riding the waves bowed
someday I'll tighten up
swigging the anchor line
laying roots off of route one
but at present, rig's tackin'
we're decked out directly
hauling freight, liners for
what in life we're lackin'
so, harden up to the wind
crestin' hill, descendin' trough
this rollercoaster ride of life
keeps sailin' on to skyline
just the mate 'n' the captain
© agoodguy2have 2011-05-20
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2011
About this poem:
1 come back / flip-flophttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_CB_slang
2. swigging
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nautical_terms#S
3. harden up
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nautical_terms#H
What is writing?
What is writing?
A series of coor
dinated muscle move
ments and electric im
pulses acting through mere
utensil comprised of but
wood, plastics, staining
a sheet of average
lined paper. A graphic
representation and
replication of vibra
tions of larnyx from
air forced through
then received in pho
nemes by the ear. Yet
what magic in use
unconsciously that makes
each sentence so unique.
Writing puts down the
words we all speak
so meaning we may
later seek.
A series of coor
dinated muscle move
ments and electric im
pulses acting through mere
utensil comprised of but
wood, plastics, staining
a sheet of average
lined paper. A graphic
representation and
replication of vibra
tions of larnyx from
air forced through
then received in pho
nemes by the ear. Yet
what magic in use
unconsciously that makes
each sentence so unique.
Writing puts down the
words we all speak
so meaning we may
later seek.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2010
About this poem:
I just decided to be a smartass one day and wrote about writing. Like metacognition for the written language.A Field Worker's Soil
Come kiss heaven's hand and give a warm embrace;
Soil the roots of wisdom unto this desolate earth.
A barren land you blisfully sow high hopes,
plant with joy a prosperous toil reaped with dirty bones.
Sacred be your pastures green labored hard and long;
Blessed are the grounds in which you now step upon.
For valued is the meadow that your hard-work built,
nothing is ignored now for decent work dispels all guilt.
The spirit does appreciate burning blood and tears;
and blistered hands of effort-fetched by arduous years.
Rewarded be the sweat of a field worker,
for bountfiful is the fruit of his labor.
Soil the roots of wisdom unto this desolate earth.
A barren land you blisfully sow high hopes,
plant with joy a prosperous toil reaped with dirty bones.
Sacred be your pastures green labored hard and long;
Blessed are the grounds in which you now step upon.
For valued is the meadow that your hard-work built,
nothing is ignored now for decent work dispels all guilt.
The spirit does appreciate burning blood and tears;
and blistered hands of effort-fetched by arduous years.
Rewarded be the sweat of a field worker,
for bountfiful is the fruit of his labor.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jun 2009
About this poem:
Most people (ignorant, so to speak) immediately assume that all hispanic immigrants are good for nothings, that they belong in the rice fields. Little do they know, hispanics in general are labor ready workers, hard-workers, willing to sacrifice whatever it is necessary to provide their families with daily food. They're underpaid and disrespected, this poem was written in honor of those great men whose fruit is the product of their labor.To wonder, To wander....
My soul searches often , as my feet start to travel the endless miles they tread. I wonder , I wander , to view what compells me. Insatiable desire , for to journey I must , boundless desire , to quell my wander lust. Faces ,places , they come and fade to dust , grains of sand in my jar , I must fill till it busts , no cure for this wondering , wanderers lust.....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2011
About this poem:
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